On Writing

I love stories. True stories, made up stories, sad stories, funny stories. I love to read them and I love to tell them.

There is just one problem. For years now, when I have sat to write a made up story, nothing comes. And what does come through feels too familiar as if I’ve somehow heard it all before.

But I still find myself wanting to create a fantasy, a world of make believe. I don’t know why, except that I do. Of course, November is approaching at a steady, and brisk pace. Most writers, I think, know where I’m going with this now, right?

November is National Novel Writing Month. I have never written a novel, not even something close to one. I did attempt NaNoWriMo once upon a time and didn’t finish, not by a long shot. And because of the job I’ve had the past few years, it’s been easy to not give NaNoWriMo more than a passing thought.

My conference is October 31 – November 3. Starting a novel that time of year?

Well you see, the thing is this time I actually have an idea. I actually have a concept buzzing in my brain. It’s this idea that I am really starting to like as it keeps unpacking itself like the world’s largest matryoshka doll. It’s the kind of concept that I’m pretty sure I could sit and discuss endlessly.  It’s the kind of idea that I’d actually like to bounce off people’s heads. The sort of story that’s fun to conceptualize. So maybe… maybe this time… perhaps…