Tuesday, November 06, 2007

For The Long Haul.

So apparently, I'm in it to win it, as they say.

I realize that we're only on like, the sixth day of this thing, and have thirty or thirty-one more of them to go before we reach the finish line.

But tonight was dart night. And you know what usually goes great with darts? That's right...beeeer. And you know what goes amazingly well after darts and beer? Uh-huh...wings!

That's how last Tuesday night went, anyway. Darts. Beer. Wings. But that was a dart night in October. And this one...well this one just happens to fall in November. And not only is it a Tuesday in November, it's a Tuesday on which I hadn't yet posted a blog entry.

Swerve! Swerve!! Now go home and blog.
So my thoughts tonight were centered nowhere around beer and wings. Instead, I kept thinking, "What if I have a flat tire on my way home, or hit a bison or some other road-blocking ungulate, and am unable to get home and sit down in front of my computer until 12:07 a.m.? Tuesday, November Sixth will have passed me by! I'll be a NaBloPoMo failure."

As I hope you can see, I made it home unscathed, and with all four tires intact. And post No. 6 is only a click of the mouse away from being official.

I wasn't sure how I'd respond to this post-a-day regimen, and as I said...I know we're still miles away from the end. But I like it so far. I'm having fun with it, and I'm anxious to see where the next few weeks take me.

At the forefront of my mind tonight wasn't darts (and it showed in my stats! eesh.) or beverages or wing sauce so hot it makes my tongue numb. Nope. It was words on a screen. And the "Publish" button.

I'm not the sort that can sit and get half schnockered up when I write, claiming that altering my mind in that way provides inspiration. I might be wrong, but I think Hemingway did that...drank a lot when he wrote. I'll do the research some other time, I'm kind of under the gun here to get these words down.

And that might be a cool, hip way to be a writer, too...with a snifter of brandy beside the keyboard. The problems with that scenario, however, are twofold: 1) I don't own a snifter; and 2) I don't care much for brandy.

My thoughts as we get rolling along into this blog-posting month are that if I'm unable to complete the challenge, it won't be for some lazy-ass reason such as lying on my couch, watching the clock tick past midnight, with no care or desire to even attempt to write a post.

It will be the work of a natural disaster, or a sudden overwhelming loss of blood, or I'll drop my car's transmission on the highway, seventeen miles from home, at 11:12 p.m.

Or perhaps as soon as I publish this post, my computer will start to smoke and gurgle and my monitor will melt. (in which case, I'll become a library rat every damn day until Dec. 1.)

November is upon us, people. Let's do some bloggin'.

All that being said...you can probably expect my post next Tuesday to be written and published shortly after midnight, so that my evening is free of blogger's guilt.

(did I mention I like beer? and wings?)

"To the right, books; to the left, a teacup.
In front of me, the fireplace; behind me, the post.
There is no greater happiness than this."


  1. An item for your research...

    Stephen King has stated many times in interviews that he has no recollection of writing Cujo. He was a huge fan of the drinky-drink and he composed a book about a rabid St. Bernard snuggled deep in the arms of the alcohol fairy.

    For the record, I've always felt it's one of his lesser books but, interestingly enough, one of his leanest books, prose-wise. It's terrifying, but only on a very surface level.

    An additional item for the record...

    I composed last night's post, the one about Tom Sawyer, with three beers in my belly, which, for me, is more than usual. My wife purchased a new Samual Adams brew, Boston Lager. VERY TASTY!!!

  2. A testament to the talent of Mr. King. I liken it to the time I beat Super Mario Brothers while blitzed out of my mind.

    One of my proudest accomplishments. But it didn't net me a dime.