Yes, yes I am. I am crazy, delusional, and all that jazz for checking myself in yet again (this will be my sixth or seventh year). A multitude of personalities take up quite a bit of space in my head – they all have different voices too so you can imagine the chatter when they get to fussing about things. Toss in an amorous Muse (with a deep sultry voice and an insatiable appetite at times) and the many characters from my stories who also talk to me, and you have one weird combination of things going on in my mind at any given time. And right up until today, quite a few of them were pushing me to NaNo. Several new characters popped up, hands waving saying they had stories they wanted written. My Muse was busy whispering sweet nothings in my ear that turned into paragraphs of notes and potential new novels. With all of that sweat inducing activity going on in my head, I just knew this year’s NaNo was going to be stellar.
But as I said, here it is the day before NaNo kicks off and it is strangely silent in my head. I’ve got less than 24 hours to decide which one of the many stories I’m going to take with me into the asylum. And none of them are able to give me any directions. NaNoWriMo is the equivalent of checking yourself into the looney bin and I want some company dang it. I mean, seriously….30 days to write a minimum of 50K words! Who wants to go about that without the warming comfort of the crowd in their head? Especially my Muse. Oh the delicious things he does to me in order to get me to write. Keeping me up till all hours of the dark, touching, teasing…caressing me with his inspiration. And people wonder why I write erotica. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, when Muse is working his jelly, the words flow from me like water. Not sure why he’s with holding the goodies now though.
The year I earned my badge, I remember being in a fugue state of sorts. Characters spoke to me at all hours of the day and night. I wrote through the difficulties of a not so positive relationship, money issues, and assorted other general life dramas. I was a woman on a mission. Muse and I made love daily and for hours on end. But then last year, I sat down to write and like this and the years before 2009, the voices fell silent. No visions, no passion, no characters chomping at the bit to have their stories told. The only one of the many personalities I seemed to to hear from with any kind of regularity was the Critic (or Evil One as I affectionately call it). It’s whispers started this morning. Maybe its got the others bound and gagged in a basement somewhere. Its evil enough to do something like that.
However it works out, at the stroke of midnight, I’m going to check myself in for another 30 day stay in the NaNoWriMo Home for the Terminally Insane (writers). I’m hoping they have electro-shock treatments this time.
PS. If you’d care to join me, click here. I’ll request you get the cell next to mine.