There’s a pile of papers on my desk that desperately needs to be graded.  There’s a pile of laundry in the hamper that needs to be washed.  There’s a pile of mail on the dining room table that needs to be sorted.  But do I care?  No. Why not?

I’m writing a novel this month.

For the first time, I’ve decided to participate in NaNoWriMo.  Originally, I planned to add 30,000 words to my current WIP and finish it.  Only 1000 words a day as opposed to the 1,667 required to reach 50,000 words by November 30th.  I wouldn’t claim a badge or brag that I’d written a novel in 30 days even if I did finish my novel.  However, once I started writing, I realized that I could actually do it. I could actually write 50,000 words in the month of November.  I’ve far surpassed the goal I set for myself, and I plan to keep going.  As of now, I am more than halfway to 50,000 words.  I’m only slightly behind because of a big weekend, but I plan to catch up this week.

And it feels so, so good to be writing.

Sure, the bathroom could be cleaned, the dog could be walked for a bit longer, and I could use some exercise. And those dishes?  They can wait. Why?