The thing about Official No Writing Month is that it is inevitably followed by Begin Writing Again Month, which is considerably less fun than Official No Writing Month (and a Half).
I don’t know where I left off or where to begin again. Am I even writing a book? When I have been away from the writing so long, I wonder if I am writing a novel or nonfiction. After all, what is real? What really happened? Aren’t memories fictions anyway? It is possible to overthink in order to postpone the writing.
There’s the question of whether to start again at the beginning of my draft. I need to rewrite the first chapters of the book. But should I do that before I reach the end? Should I try to reach the end and rewrite the beginning at the same time? I feel like I need to redo the beginning in order to know where I will end up. But what if I get to the midpoint again and still don’t know?
I procrastinate. This I know. I had to unpack, of course. I had to organize my desk. I need work space, after all. I consider new furniture, new organizing boxes and files to contain all of the papers and supplies I brought home from Boston. I visit the IKEA web site. It is true, I need a bookcase. Since I’ve returned to SF, my books have begun piling up on the floor. The piles are getting quite high.
But none of this is urgent. The writing is; it’s nearly May 15 after all. I have to have a full draft by mid-September, four months from now. Time to get to work.