nanowrimo begins.

I’ve been waiting about a month to write this book. And now, when I sit down to actually start typing the words… I don’t go blank like I thought I would. I imagined myself sitting here, totally clueless as to how to begin or where to go or what exactly to write about.

Maybe I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.

I painted my fingernails tonight. A silver-grey kind of color. Yes, grey with an E. I think it looks classier. It looks more how I imagine grey would look. Stop hating against my spelling, Mr. Spell Check Underliner Guy.

Yeah.

It’s funny that I started this month off with one of my “I have given up on guys and all that cuddly, yummy, romantical stuff. Seems like the perfect way to start a novel. That slightly jaded, bitter yet still hopeful idealist who has decided that she is better off alone. This is where, if plot sequences hold true like they do in the movies, the man of her dreams comes along and presents our heroine with a whole new set of problems.

It is always about love, isn’t it?

What if you wrote a book that was all about you and your daily excursions… only stretched and skewed just enough to make it seem ridiculous? Maybe that’s what this experience will be like for me.

My life on extremes.

But then again, my life doesn’t really need to be taken to extremes to hold elements of the ridiculous.

So here we go kids, on a thirty-day adventure. Or, more realistically speaking… thirty days worth of journal entrees that just rambled on way too long.

I apologize in advance to anyone who actually reads the whole thing.