I can’t do NaNoWriMo. I’ve tried before and I either run out of steam after two weeks, or I start writing the most awful gibberish just to make my word count for the day, and end up with a “novel” that makes no sense.
But if I’m ever going to write a book, I have to actually sit down and do it. I can’t keep putting it off. For one thing, if I wait too long someone else is going to come up with the same idea – I actually saw a comment on an author’s blog on Tuesday encouraging them to write a book very similar to the one I’ve had in mind for the past couple of years.
So I’ve come up with my own novel-writing abbreviation: EmSiDoWriNoA, which stands, as you might expect, for “Emily! Sit Down and Write a Novel Already!”. Every night I have to sit down and write for at least an hour. I can do an hour. I waste more time than that channel-surfing and listening to my dad complain about whatever is on the news. I don’t even have to write anything good – which is a relief, since if yesterday is any indication, I’m incapable of writing anything but inane drivel – and I don’t have a word count quota, but I do have to spend at least an hour a day working on my story.
And in fifty years I might even have something to show for it. 
