Well, friends and sycophants, it’s been almost a year and eight months since I started posting. I made this blog with the intention of saying a lot of silly things and a few serious ones. I’ve said more than I anticipated of both.
And now…now, my friends, I am going to die.
And not just in the way that we all will die someday. I will die some time in the month of November.
No, I have not received ghostly premonitions. No, I have not been diagnosed with a new incurable form of cancer.
You see…I have made a very foolish, somewhat rash decision.
Can you not hear the evil in that phrase, the pure, unadulterated malice?
You can almost imagine that phrase being chanted by ancient Canaanites as they sacrifice babies to Moloch. What does this hideous cacophony of syllables mean? What madness lies at its core?
National Novel Writing Month.
GASP! Even spelled out in toto, it heralds no kinder fate. I have decided to write a novel, 50,000 words in length, in but 30 days. Not even 31, as the kinder months might have offered, no…November gives me a mere 30 to scrabble out the work of my hands and imagination.
What madness inspired me to such mad action? Alas, one day I was innocently perusing Facebook, when I saw that a friend of mine, the author of the blog Life Less Boring, had posted a link to a video of a Ted Talk about trying something new for one month. I repost this video now only for your own protection, and not so that you may befall my own awful fate.
And upon the inspiration of this video, I made the foolish and mad choice to pursue NaNoWriMo, to prod the great literary grizzly bear until it mauls my writery face off. Would that I could take back this vain decision! But already I hear the sounds outside: the NaNoWriMo druids have gathered, torches in hand, to witness the Lovecraftian horror that is to unfold. Should I fail to write an average of 1,667 words a day, they will cast me upon a flaming pyre of unfinished manuscripts, all the while intoning Hemingway prose in stark monotone. Is man truly capable of such inhumanity to man? Oh, the terror!
As my life reaches the end of its appointed course, I shall try to continue blogging, so that you may be somewhat enriched by viewing my descent into further madness. And in keeping with this madness, I choose to pursue another Novemberian tradition, one which I have not observed for many a year. I speak of course of
Not since freshman year have I paid due fealty to Bea’ard, god of goatees, muttonchops, soupcatchers, molestaches, chinhawks, and facial hair of all sorts.
But with all the writing I must do, I shall have no time for such foolishness as shaving! And my beard shall chart my ever-growing insanity, for as you can see from this five-year old picture, my beard is a beard of madness:
So farewell, friends and neighbors. I may not write on my blog, save to give occasional brief updates on how mad I truly am, and whether or not my beard is trying to strangle me in my sleep. If you hear nothing from me again, then, as I feared, the task of writing a novel has proven quite fatal indeed.
And if I survive…then I will have a bizarre, poorly-trimmed chinwig and a bizarre, poorly-written 50,000 word novel involving clone armies, God, and the weirdest holy war I have ever imagined.
Wish me luck.