Honie Briggs

Fingers poised above the keys, staring, waiting for some mystical motion as if summoning spirits with a Ouija Board, thoughts pierce my temple. Should it be first person? Should I tell the gruesome tale of the young woman who got away with murder and half a million dollars? Maybe from the point of view of the man who keeps her dark secret for a price? Would readers prefer a story with riotous misadventures, a surprise ending, desperation that turns deadly?

What do I do now? Outline the plot, develop the characters (not too many), tame that internal dialog and churn it out to give them a voice! Google it. No wait! Don’t. What is the goal? What is the end game? What hasn’t already been said by writers through the ages; ones with talent…and agents?

On the first part of the journey I was looking at all the life, there were plants and birds and rocks and things…

What? Lyrics to America’s “A Horse With No Name,” where did that come from? If that’s all I’ve got, it’s best to call it quits on this whole writing journey and dust off my resume. Let’s see how would that go? For the past five years I’ve done what exactly? Okay, enough of that! Today is pep talk day. So, why am I trying to talk myself out of doing this? The self-talk is an everyday challenge for me. Most days it takes more than guts to stand up to myself and admit that I can’t always do it alone. That’s why instead of winging it, relying on my wits and a tattered Funk and Wagnalls to crank out 50,000 words that someone might actually want to read, I’ve decided to go against my nature and become a joiner.

That’s right, a joiner: One who willingly links to organized collectives to obtain acceptance, appreciation, peer pressure support. (NOT the Merriam Webster definition.)

National Novel Writing Month begins tomorrow. Even though I have that still untitled book in the hopper, I’ve decided to delay the excruciating editing and relentless re-write process, of what no doubt will turn out to be a best seller, to participate in the wild raucous that promises to be just the thing to give my confidence and creativity the boost it needs OR the frantic fiasco that finally lands me in the funny farm.

Here’s a little something for the trip:

Now you know. Wish me luck. Hopefully when the month is over I won’t look like this: