Doldrums and NaNoWriMo: Yup, It’s November All Right

Freezing Fall Rain

Fall freezing rain,

thick, white, and cold,

sluggish even

when gravity pulls you

down. Flowing slow,

an inevitable wash of gray

like hair or bone-branched trees.

Wash among the branches

of late-autumn’s few-remaining leaf-clad trees

and be the pale bleach

on those meatball colors, yes,

wash away the stain;

and leave behind a blend that came

from washing the colors with the whites

and adding Clorox: the gray. Nature’s best suit

seems best suited now

for the mourning for summer. Fall, freezing rain,

bleach the trees bare

until the pale dandruff falls from the sky

and the bleach finally works,

leaving a white clean canvas. Watch,

the world is dissolving in milk. Wait

for spring, when nature’s paintbrush

will touch the color back into the world.

Late autumn, as I’ve learned, is a rather dreary time of year. You can probably tell the melancholy is weighing in extra heavy on my end. Lots of rambling in that poem there; I meant to be talking just about the freezing rain there, but then the laundry metaphor ran into a dandruff cream ad and had a twelve-car pileup with a painting supply store. Now the whole thing’s smoking. Gray, again like the rain. If this is my bored and doldrum-y state in fall, how will I be come February? Hee hee, we’ll find out soon…

Let’s get out of the depressed November metaphor, and take a look at November as a month. Can anyone tell me what November is? I’m not talking turkey time (triple t trouble too), but that other thing that Wrimos with banjo…

(Small, flustered child with pigtails raises a hand trembling with emotion. “Nanny rhymo?”)

Smack the bell and give that girl a chocolate cigar. NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month for you regular people) is here, fellow writing ‘thusiasts! Or novelists, as I’m sure you’d rather be called, since that’s what you’re writing. Yes, it’s that time of year again. Time for coffee, candy, videos, pep talks, and generally doing everything except writing a novel. It’s a miracle that any work ever gets done; somehow, with huge black circles under their eyes and trembling from caffeine, the greatest procrastinators pull through at five seconds to midnight with 49,998 words and are typing in the last two: THE END. Note the capital letters and the boldface font.

Hopefully since I’ll be writing and near a computer every day, I’ll be better at keeping up with my blog. Probably the November doldrums’ll break at last. Probably I’ll struggle with 1,666 words each day. Ahh, I love the smell of stressed writers in the morning.



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