Plotless

It seems like I've been avoiding nanowrimo, which I literally cannot be bothered capitalising in the way its creators would like, forever.

I know that sounds contrary, and it is. I just don't like organised stuff: team sports, national novel-writing events, musicals, you name it.

The other reason I've been avoiding it is this: I am hopeless at plotting. Hopeless. The world's worst plotter. I never have writers' block, but I always, always, always have plotter's block. I can't plot a story to save myself.

Despite these gross intellectual limitations, I sort of volunteered to participate (off the grid, you understand: there will be no signing up for this little plotless moron) in this year's Big N with The Second Canadian. When he asked someone to talk sense into him, and stop him from participating, I told him I'd do it if he did.

So, here we are.

And by some miracle I came up with a plot on the weekend. A plot that doesn't seem too cheesy and, simultaneously, isn't born of my darker urges, those personality flaws with which we all wrestle. See? I told you it was a miracle.

I'm usually pretty psyched after I come up with a plot. This time, I'm actually looking forward to writing it, though...