NaNoThankYou, But Good Luck!

I've won twice, yea, but oh, the aftermath!
Two years have passed since my last victory
And I'm still editing -- and though my path
Is quite atypical, I still don't see
The benefit of yet more high-speed crap,
Which is what I produce this time of year
When I join NaNoWrimo. I'll still clap
For all my friends who do so, sip a beer
Whene'er you post new word counts (that's unless
I'm at my day gig, naturally). It
Is quite a fine thing, proving that you can
Write an entire novel, that you're fit
To keep on doing so. Ah, but for me
It's time to make what I've done fit to see.

In Which I Rejoice In Having Lots And Lots Of Company!

Of NaNoWriMo it is Day One; I
Have yet to write a word, but am not blue.
Though precious hours keep on ticking by,
I'm sanguine, though there is so much to do!
Those fifty-thousand words of fiction won't
Just write themselves, but I think I might feel
A bit like they are! Now, dear readers, don't
Go thinking I'm blase; this is a real
Commitment, but this year so many friends
Have made it with me that I'm giddy from
Anticipation. We bust out our pens
(Or typewriter in my case) and succumb
To that old urge, court muses, make our starts
And know that all around beat sim'lar hearts.

In Which I Fidget A Little Over NaNoWriMo

I am a both-feet jumping kind of girl,
As I told a good friend just last week. I
Spoke then of matters other than the whirl
Of furious creation that soon to fly
Into my face: NaNoWriMo doth come!
My life, already out of shape, will warp
Still further, though not quite so much as some:
I have not made an outline, do not sport
So much as one lone character sheet yet.
That feels like cheating, like a lack of trust
In my November self. I shall not get
Into that frenzy 'till I truly must!
Though just here in this sonnet, I'll admit:
My friends who've done so seem prepared as spit!

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Look Towards A Month Of Madness

October's near its midway point which means
A special month approaches - very fast.
My friends and I, oh such writing machines
Already, now prepare for that great blast
Of scribbling fury that's NaNoWriMo.
I have the germ of an idea in place
Thanks to a crazed white rabbit who with so
Small effort tossed it my way that my face
Just melted. Now I roar out: bring it on!
And hope that all of you will do so, too.
It's crazy and hard work but once it's gone
We have rare prizes, each: one bright, brand new,
If roughly written, novel, and the pride
Of finishing a project (somewhat fried).

BONUS SONNET: With Buzz And Gravy Of A Friday Evening

It's evening at the Casa del Blow. I

Watch Old Man Buzz, the Blowman's Therabee

Go round and round and laugh. The hours fly

As Mrs. Blow, the Gravybhtch, joins me

In drooling o'er a stove, shiny and new

Which came today (yes, we've got oven porn).

I laugh at Buzz's toy, yet wonder -- ooh!

Next month, when I embark, as I have sworn

To write my NaNoWriMo, using that

Beloved white Olympia portable

Typewriter you see pictured up there at

The top of this page, might my hands cramp up?

Some exercise for them might help ramp up.

In Which I Face The Fact That I Have Far To Go

Confronted as, I've been, today, anew
Quite baldly with the fact that while I did
Achieve a NaNoWriMo win, I, too,
Did build a teet'ring tower of - I forbid
Myself to name the substance I've in mind
(It's not the truth; there's something I can save.
It's true that to oneself one's rarely kind -
But also true that this will draw no rave
Review from any reader I'd respect).
The talking heads are filler; they can go,
Or morph into some action. I'll reflect
Some upon this ere I rashly throw
Them ALL away, of course; the opposite
Would be as dumb, or dumber, let's admit.

Why I Don't Want To Win A Special Edition Helvetica Moleskine Notebook

I have no love for that sans-serif type,
Helvetica, nor for the foreign-made
Moleskine notebooks. I do resist the hype
Around them (oh no! I have been betrayed
By that small stack of them upon my desk,
My NaNoWriMo project for '08;
Ignore that, please). But I'll join the burlesque.
In these hard times I tend to place more weight
On where a thing is made. Take those FIELD NOTES!
They're tiny, practical, FUTURA BOLD
And made in this here country where I votes!
But Moleskines are pretentious, boasting old
And arty, famous use, a pedigree,
A lineage that's better off, sans me.

Procrastinating On My Procrastination, I Pontificate Upon It

Last night, instead of packing up my stuff,
I spent an hour or so just making jam,
And when that did not seem to be enough
Procrastinating - this is how I am -
I calculated taxes, got them filed,
And then at last was tired and went to bed.
Meanwhile all the belongings I have piled
And stacked and gathered all danced 'round my head.
So much for rest. The irony is, though,
I'm putting off what I've used to put off
Preparing something I promised to show.
Some readers now will bellow, nod and cough.
I wrote a novel back when it was Fall.
It's still in longhand, ne'er been read at all.

In Which I Expose the Darker Side of National Novel Writing Month

Just 50,000 words in 30 days,
A challenge I've accepted several times -
That's how I spend November, in a daze
Of scribbling. But at least no thought to rhymes
Must trouble me. The word count, that's the thing.
A friend once said to just go write crap fast.
That's what I did; my thoughts and pens took wing
(I pluralize because this year, at last
I stole a trick from Neilhimself's own sack:
As different hues of ink let him compare
Today's hard work to yesterday's dead slack),
Neglecting all, I wrote without a care...
So now I've got a massy glob of prose.
'Twill take a lot of polish 'til it glows.