I’ve learned a lot about determination during this NaNoWriMo season.

I started off very well – on the first two days of November, I wrote more than the requisite 1667 word.

Then I apparently decided to take a full two week break and not write a single word.

I hopped back on the wagon with two spectacular writing days, and needed approximately 2500 words per day for the remainder of the month to reach my 50,000 word goal.

Then I didn’t feel well and just had to sleep.

So now I’m up to 3000 words per day to reach my goal.

I’m tired, but I’m still going.

So I sit on my computer listening to my son smack his gum while sitting on the couch next to me. It’s not just a smack.  It’s a juicy smacking, broken up intermittently with failed bubble blowing attempts.  And questions.  Questions about where every college I’ve never heard of exists in this country.  And I have to smell the disgustingly sweet scent of artificial watermelon flavor.  And feel the couch jiggle incessantly as he gyrates.  Currently he’s laying next to me.  Oops.  He’s moved already and now he’s upright with a leg draped over the arm of the couch.  Oh, my bad.  Now he’s leaning precariously on his side with one foot draped over the back of the couch.  Now he’s yelling, just because.  At least his yelling has turned into words I can recognize.  His constant volume is way-too-loud.

I’m distracted.  I can’t concentrate on my novel.  The best I feel I can do is relate to you what is happening on the couch next to me.

Sure, I could move.  There are other places in my house I could be, but none of them is as warm.  I suppose he’ll eventually go to bed or I will learn to block out The Boy and his TV.

So, back to determination.  I can think about that for a moment because he turned up the volume on the tv and leaned away just enough so I didn’t have to listen to his smacking.  But now he’s up and snapping.  And dancing.  He does a mean Bernie.  He really is cute.  See that?  I got distracted again.  Now he’s all up in my space breathing on me with that fake-watermelon breath.  I can see the juiciness deposited on his lips that just looks so sticky.  And he has a trail of failed bubble cascading down his cheek and chin.  He’s back on the blanket, but now he’s wearing the remote as a hat.

Nevertheless, I am determined to get that final 20,000 words.  But maybe not tonight.

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