It’s 8 in the morning. The sun is rising above the tree tops, and the squirrels have started to play across the roof. I can hear them scampering across the ceiling, or dropping pine cones from above. There is one cheeky fellow that likes to sit on the tree right outside my window and make noise. It’s a weird growly noise that I did not know could come from a squirrel. I almost thought it was in pain the first time I heard it, but now. It jumped from the roof to the tree and back again, angrily swishing its tail and me as it scampered back and forth.

Who needs coffee when you have squirrels?

I have been awake for twenty-four hours now. Sleep is starting to poke me, wondering when I’ll give in, but not yet being insistent about it. This is not unusual for me. I have no schedule, therefore I enjoy the darker hours when the nights are cooler. Texas is a hot place, after all, and I have not acclimatized. I don’t know that I will at this rate.

I should be writing. That’s why I’m sitting here at my desk with the pc in front of me. I am denying myself the video games I want to play while the page of words sits open on my desktop.

I tried to read them, and something balks. Some part of me that knows there’s something wrong with the story, and I haven’t quite figured it out yet. I want so much to finish it, but I want it to be good. I want it to be enjoyed. And maybe that’s why it’s taking me a little longer to finish this one then it should. I don’t want to fail.

But we all fail, right? The plumber who goes from house to house fixing drains and repairing sinks has failed at times. He didn’t let the glue set long enough, or he forgot his wrench, or he didn’t swerve in time to miss that thing in the road that gave him a flat tire. But his mistakes could cost a family water damage in their home, or repairs on his car. For me….it’s words on a page.

The first time I entered NaNoWriMo we talked about that. Getting the words on the page, turning off the internal editor and just writing. Even if it’s bad. Even if you know you have to rewrite it. Because even if you have to rewrite it that’s faster than not writing at all.

Lately I’ve been forgetting that. I wrote a few pieces that just seemed to flow, and the words came naturally. I didn’t have major pieces to rewrite. I didn’t write whole chapters knowing there was something wrong with them and I would have to go back and redo everything. But it’s better to write something than nothing at all.

So here I am, turning off that editor, and going to go write garbage. And maybe, probably, it will be better than I think it is. But first, the first draft.