One week, and a large portion of the writing community I’m in touch with is on NaNo watch. They’re hurrying to finish (start?) their outlines and gather research for their NaNoWriMo novels. The starting line is just ahead. One of the FB groups I belong to has a number of writers who are ready to hit the keys. I’m all up for cheering them on, and I’m really trying to resist the urge to rub in the fact I cleared 50k+ words in 28 days. Nah nee nah nee boo boo. Being a NaNo veteran has some advantages 🙂
A sweet earthy scent fills the air in my writing area. Autumn leaves. I turn. My Muse is getting comfortable in one of those folding chairs that tuck into a bag. He rests his feet on a short, fold-up stool. He’s keeping with the rough, outdoorsy look, complete with flannel, denim, and lack of shaving for a few days. “You done yet, love?”
“Just get on with the bragging. I’m beyond ready to put that garden of yours to sleep for the winter.”
“Don’t say the ‘w’ word.”
He laces his fingers and rests his hands on his lean belly. “Why not? They’re predicting snow showers possible for Thursday.” He makes a winding motion with a finger. “C’mon, move it along so we can get to work.”
Grumble. “I worked this weekend. Where the hell were you?”
He scratches at the scruff on his cheek. “At the seminar.”
“The Muse seminar.”
A blue coffee mug appears in his hand, complete with a logo that says “The Muse Seminar” in bold white font. Below that, it looks like, “NaNo, NaNo,” beside a caricature of Robin Williams in his longer hair days. “You don’t think we have to prepare for NaNoWriMo? Who do you think every writer participating turns to when they jump into the fray? Their Muse and any associated muses they’ve got on their roster.”
“Um, okay. Why didn’t you go last year?”
He sips something that smells like hot apple cider and brandy from the mug. “This is our first year. We’re mostly doing it for the NaNo virgins.”
“NaNo virgins? Let me guess, those are the writers who finally decided to participate this year for the first time. Do their muses–er, I mean, Muses really need so much help you had to put together a seminar?”
“You have no idea how scared some of those Muses were. Fifty thousand words is daunting to many writers. How do you think their Muses feel, especially when it’s their job to keep their writers going? Now, are you going to post those pics of your potato haul or what?”
Wait. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this seminar thing. “So, did the veterans give workshops? Speeches? I just can’t imagine over a hundred thousand Muses getting together–”
“It was closer to fifty thousand, and we rented the Olympus Parthenon.”
“Valhalla was already booked; the new attention on comics and Norse mythology is really screwing with our venues. Calliope convinced her sisters it’d be a good idea to rent out the space. Could’ve used more tropical decor, though. The food was good. Beer, not so much.”
“So, did you give a speech? Seeing as how you’re a NaNo veteran and all.”
“Naw. The keynote speakers were a couple of Calliope’s sisters. Oh, and Edgar Allen Poe’s Muse. Spooky chick. Special trip from the Other Side and all that since it’s so close to Halloween. I gave a workshop on keeping your writer motivated when all she wants to do is garden.”
Har har. “It’s not want, it’s–”
“Yeah, save it. Post the damn pics, already.”
Fine. Here they are, pics of my potato haul.
We grow Yukon Gold potatoes from last year’s leftovers we didn’t get a chance to eat. There might be some Russets involved, but mostly the Yukons. Yes, that is the same plastic softball I used for size comparison with the onions. And I already dug a bunch of potatoes earlier in the year, so all told, both barrows would be full.
My Muse sips his drink. “Better. Now, then, let’s see what you did this weekend.”
Gotta go. Enjoy your week before the madness!