"My hasting days fly on with full career..."

I only wish it were my three and twentieth year drawing to a close as November and the rainy season approach!

And what do I want?

I want that poster, for one! All $25 of it! But beyond the noir graphic, this question has been plaguing me for the past several months as I contemplate my upcoming milestone. I want a lot of things, that, at this point in life seem entirely unattainable. (Even more so than that poster.) I want to marry a kind man and buy a rambling old house with plenty of room for children and guests. I want to travel the world and love the people in it.

Right now, if money were no object, I should want to fly straight away to England for a walking tour in the Lake District or a week of shopping in London. But I have spent a birthday in England already, and it seems a frivolous expense when I am looking at grad school in the next year or two. I'm already bad enough about indulging my whims and buying little presents for myself whenever I like. (But I buy presents for others, too!)

But my gift to myself this year, I've decided, must be attainable, affordable, and instead of merely satisfying a whim, must pose a challenge to my character.

I've decided, my youthful ambition on the wane, to dedicate the month of November working on my writing. I'd always supposed I would write a book by the time I turned 25, but that didn't just magically happen. And in discussing my writing woes with a friend, I've discovered something about myself as a writer. While it seems I have little control over my creativity, I do have a little self control. I know what it takes to write good stuff: time and focus and a lot of black ink. I'm not claiming I'll actually write a novel, or a book at all, but I'm going to work at it and see what comes of the attempt.

After all, November is officially National Novel Writing Month, and it comes just on the heels of Nimrod, the creative writing conference held annually at the University of Tulsa that has so well nourished my writer's imagination in past years.

Let's see what comes from November showers, shall we?

(If you wanted to contribute to my poster fund, I wouldn't object. I might even mention you in my book's dedication!)

Title credit: John Milton, Sonnet VII, Luminarium.org
Image: NaNoWriMo.org