Wake-up calls

My phone has started doing something interesting. At approximately six o'clock every morning, Monday through Friday, I get a call. When I answer, a robotic voice says,

Hello! I'm calling for a substitute.

Now, this is not totally unexpected. I've been hoping to get calls like this. That's what I was aiming for when I applied to be a substitute teacher. But there's just one problem: I can't accept the jobs yet. To accept a job, I need a PIN, so that the system knows it's really me- but the sub subcontractor (hahaha) has not sent me those precious digits.

It's like getting woken up every morning by a maid in a frilly apron with a tray of strong coffee and Cocoa Puffs who stands in the doorway, laughs, and leaves.

So I'm spending my days reading, replaying old Doctor Who episodes in my head, tangling up large quantities of yarn, and wondering how I will ever last in a classroom full of restless natives exuberant children. Mostly I imagine all the ways this new job, if it ever materializes, could go very, very badly. When I get stuck in that mode of thought too long, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and think of November, because November proves I can do anything. Twice.

What? You don't remember what November is? You must need some coffee. (I always need extra caffeine in November.)

We're less than two weeks away from National Novel Writing Month, and I'm starting to get excited.

Well, excited and nervous.

Well, okay, mainly nervous.

It may seem like a minor thing, in light of the chaos the rest of my life is in, but my muse seems to have gone on vacation. He checks in every once in a while, sends me postcards with pictures of beaches and a hint of a plot idea scrawled illegibly on the back, but basically he and my Inner Editor have gotten married and are off on an extended honeymoon trip. There are flashes of inspiration, sure, but they're lightning bolts, and I would settle for a nice, steady night light. The plot I was thrilled about at midnight has faded by the time I wake up at noon. Characters are figures so shadowy I can't see the whites of their 70's disco wear, let alone their eyes.

Last year I started planning in July. I am starting to panic.

I know other NaNo writers have been in this same position many times- some of them late in November. And I know others have wise advice on how to reach the 50,000 word mark. I just fear I'm going to end up with a month's worth of confused and verbose dreck. Particularly, I dread having to take up a strategy like that of one "Indie", whose forum topic is titled "This Year, I Shall Mostly Be Padding My Word Count With Pornography".

No, this year I want to write a serious novel. Not characters being chased by agents of death and stopping to play mini-golf. Not misfit alien voyagers who make chicken soup and teleport onto football fields. I want to write a Real, Proper Novel. One that doesn't involve randomly placed animals or long discourses on cheap food.

I need a panic button.



Ahh, that's better.