One week left to Camp NaNoWriMo. One week left to write my chicken memoir, the vehicle by which I will achieve fame, fortune, and the adoration of millions.
No, thousands. No, hundreds. Well, maybe twenty people, including my spouse, my childhood friend in Brooklyn, a couple of people at work and, if I'm lucky, my sister-in-law. (My sister in law even traveled to Arkansas, back in my chicken days, to visit my spouse and me. Now, that's a sister-in-law!)
Some people had their salad days. I had my chicken days. And, my salad days, too, but I digress.
I was idealistic once. And then, life beat it out of me. Not totally, because I still believe in the sustainable lifestyle. But trying not to freeze in a leaky cabin in Northwest Arkansas heated by a wood stove made from a 55 gallon drum during a Blue Norther, is not my idea of sustainable living. It shouldn't be yours, either.
What I would really like to do is write a funny memoir, but then I don't know how I would deal with the sad stuff. There was some sad stuff. Sad stuff comes to us all.
So, right now, because Camp NaNoWriMo (like the official NaNoWriMo 50,000 word novel in 30 days competition in November) is about nonstop writing with no editing, I have 6,985 words worth of "I did this, I did that, and,if you are interested, here's how to raise chickens and definitely how NOT to build a leaky cabin." If you want to read about potsy and Spauldeen balls, and Black Austrolorp chickens, this will be your book. If I keep up the memoir writing after Camp is over, that is.
Now, all I need to do is follow through.
Have you ever written your memoir?