Consider this fair warning: If you are unable to locate me during the month of November, I will be buried in a book. The tome I plan to pen personally. Chained to my desk for 30 days, I must make good on my promise to meet a daily quota of 1667 words. By the time the month is over, I will have a manuscript of 175 pages.
     My quest began when I logged onto an international website for people with the same aspiration. Chris Baty began the National Novel Writing in a Month movement (NaNoWriMo) in 1999. Twenty people in the San Francisco Bay Area joined him. Last year, over 79,000 people enlisted and almost 13,000 finished their project.
     I made a half-hearted effort in 2006, but never registered on the official website. Now that I have, I’ve been studying the rules; it appears my first attempt involved some unintentional cheating. Unable to meet my quota some days, I dropped in previously written pages. It didn’t matter. I only reached 11,411 words (including the fraud) before I gave up.
     This year will be different. I’ve read Baty’s book, No Plot? No Problem! and received promises of encouragement from NaNoWriMo after I signed my name to the contract on the website. Some of my friends have also enrolled in the mission. We will offer each other support. Like members of a self-help group, we’ll have a lifeline to reach out to when tempted to jump ship. We’ll talk each other off the ledge and back inside to the laptop.
     I’m not sure what type of book I’ll be scripting. I’ve always heard you should write what you know. But what do I know? Would anyone care to read a story based on my life? Sure, I’m familiar with heartbreak—my parents’ divorce and my own. As for adversity, I was booted out of boarding school after my freshman year. I’ve written about eloping when I was a college student, but the members of my writing group could barely keep from nodding off when I brought that story to a meeting. A travel book would be fun but the most exotic place I’ve been is Florida. How many ways can you say sand, sun and seafood?
     There’s always my family. David Sedaris has written many books about his. I laugh like a lunatic when reading about their antics. Many times I say to myself, "His relatives have nothing on mine." But the truth is: every time I put pen to paper about my kin, I hear my mother (May she rest in peace.) saying, "I’ve told you to never air our dirty laundry in public, dear." Now that I think about it, though, my family’s laundry isn’t really dirty, just slightly soiled. Slightly soiled will never make a best-seller list.
     Many people have gotten rich writing about their dogs. Hemingway could not find inspiration from the beige ball of fur lying at my feet. Daisy’s been snoozing and snoring since she finished breakfast four hours ago. She’ll do more of the same after lunch.
     What if I spend the whole month staring out the window and nothing happens? No UFO or runaway train. No blizzard or pestilence. I may have to call one of my sisters and start a fight. Please don’t tell Mom.