For several years now, right after learning about Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month), the Muse and I have debated my staying power.

“A month?” she said.  “Yeah, right, cowboy.”

“Your cologne can keep me going for that long,” I told her, using the arrogant I never hurt voice that so many of us men perfect before kindergarten.

She looked at me in that way that women often do when we use that voice (we men either fall for it, believing our opponent to be the badass he claims to be, or we give in, knowing how important it is that people take us seriously when we use that voice).

“I could do a month,” I told her years ago when I first heard about this program and still believed that I could never be distracted.

“May I ask you a personal question?” she asked.

“Seventeen inches,” I said, “but please don’t tell anyone.”

She snickered, the way she always does with that joke, and then she looked at me seriously.

“Your day job?” she asked.  “Don’t you realize that you need it to eat?”

“Well, yeah,” I said.  “I just thought maybe my writing would take off and I could quit my day job.”

She laughed again.

“You writers are all alike, you just don’t realize what comedy this is,” she said.

I pictured Socrates losing his Greek wrestling erection after hearing one of her jokes. Continue reading “Camp Nanowrimo” →