As November Begins...

November has been, for the past two years, a month in which I attempt to write a 50,000 word novel. All my attempts so far (all 1 on them) have ended in failure. Mostly due to ill-developed plot lines and a rather strange obsession with developing the basic situation. You know, the part of Shakespearean plays that take maybe three pages? That's my favorite part to write. I really don't know why either. That shouldn't even be the exciting part, because it's not. Anyway, I'm attempting it once more so I can maybe, possibly, hopefully finish. But I don't know what'll happen to it. Or if I can stick to a deadline. Or if my characters will listen to me.

Nevertheless, the novel begins, as I begin taking on the many joys (and horrors) of November. The eleventh month always seems like it's relaxing. Nothing really important in it except for voting and Thanksgiving, which no one really cares about anyway since it's mostly a lie and an excuse to gorge yourself with foor. But for some reason, November always ends up being insane. I'm hoping I can subdue it's wrath by completing a large majority of my homework beforehand, surviving water polo conference championships (this weekend, at that), and staying caught up in my math class. It feels kind of stressful to me, but maybe I can shoot it down.

And now, briefly looking backward to the wonders of Halloween. I love Halloween. It's my favorite anti-holiday, but I like the idea of Halloween more than I like actually celebrating it. I like the idea of ghosts and vampires and zombies being able to cross into our world for only tonight to terrify younger kids and get some respect. I don't like that it's major association is with candy. And I especially don't like that every girl nowadays ages 12 and up dress like sluts and parade around in skimpy outfits while people say it's "cute". Because it's just for one night, right?