NaBloPoMo started on November 1st, and I missed it. I can't possibly take part in NaNoWriMo this month, seeing as how my life is collapsing in around me, financially speaking. But the blog? The blog I can write. A post a day, I should be able to accomplished. I didn't find out about NaBloPoMo until a day and a half ago, and I was caught totally unawares.
I have hideous writer's block at the moment. Oh, how I used to scoff at writer's block. My old, prolifically productive self used to roll her eyes at writers who said they'd lost their mojo and couldn't write. How can you not write? If I didn't write back then, my head felt as if it would explode.
Now... actually writing makes me feel that way.
So I've been writing -- not at the computer, but by hand, with a pen, on paper -- about not writing. How it used to be. How it is now. How it started. Why it goes on. And on. And fucking on... forever into goddamned infinity.
For my birthday, my daughter and her boyfriend's mother, Stephanie (the other grandmother to Sylas), made me a gorgeous copper necklace with glass and copper beads and a beautiful copper and malachite pendant. I've been wearing it ever since. I looked up the gemology of malachite, and it's supposed to be good for unburying secret fears and guilts, even if you don't remember what's caused them, and sending the away. It's also supposed to be good removing blockages. Savannah didn't know about these properties when she and Stephanie put the necklace together. But the Universe is wise and guides us with unseen hands, I guess.
The long and the short of it is that I owe The Chron three posts after this in order to do right by her. She's been good to me over the years -- introduced me to some great friends, gotten me into some wicked hot arguments, made me think and given me a place to rant and rave and tell my story. I owe her. Three more blog posts, to be exact. So I'm going to try and post a couple a day, until I'm caught up.
Then, I'll go on posting. I'll write what I've written about in the journal on my writer's block. Write it down, then let it go.
Welcome to November.