I'm two, no three, days into National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and I'm already starting to lag in blogging. How are there enough hours in the day to novel, blog and work at a day job?? Ugh. All I'm saying is this better not increase the frequency of suspicious gray hairs on my head that have become a tad more prevalent and just a smidge less hidden in the last few months. (When I go all gray is when I'm going full-blonde. Look out, Marilyn.)
Anyway I'm about 10 pages into my third novel and things aren't going as splendidly as they were last November. But I suppose this is to be expected since I now constantly feel like I'm under a debilitating time crunch with...well...everything. My commute takes FORever (two hours each day), and once I get home I need dinner. So I either settle for something canned or bagged from Trader Joe's (hopefully along with some semblance of a salad) or D and I hit up our favorite eatery (Taco Bell). After that, daily tasks like walking Fluffhead and taking a shower are in order, running any errands like toilet paper trips to Target come after, and by the time I'm ready to sit down and crank this puppy out I'm already stressing that I have to wake up early (6am, ouch) for my hour-long commute the next morning and my subsequent 9-hour day.
Oy. Just chronicling it exhausts me.
But I keep plugging away anyway. I refuse to let it be an excuse to not do NaNoWriMo. I'm still on par with where I should be on word count and I do love my story (even if it's not being told as perfectly as it should). That's why they call it a first draft, right? I've got an amazing title for it that I'm a bit secretive about, but I will let you in on the fact that I'm attempting a chick lit book (it's about time, right?). Here's the gist:
Main character loses her marketing job (like most of America) and decides after months of no good job leads to market herself as a brand to try and find a rich husband. Then comes a makeover after which hilarious dates ensue. There are winners, losers, extraordinarily excessive hedge fund banquets and upper-crust sailboat regattas with the disgustingly wealthy. But through it all, in her quest to secure her future with a rich man, she begins falling in love with a handsome barista -- more so than with any of her rich Harvard- and Stanford-educated prospects -- who may be hiding just the secret she's been looking so hard to find.
Phew. Basically that's what it's about and I know it sounds totally cliche but the comedy is in the details and I'm not writing a Pulitzer here, just what I hope is a fun beach read.