Am I doing NaNoWriMo this year? I’d been planning on it, but for the last month or two, every time the thought came up, it came with a wince. And a sigh. And a facial tic.

Life’s been complex and stressful and irksome and frustrating of late. And by “of late” I mean “for several months, at least.” And the fact that it’s not been anything grand or epic or tragic or awful that’s been keeping me up at night or driving me to the asylum by day doesn’t help any. (Indeed, in some ways that might be a relief, since it’s hard to kvetch about being nibbled to death by ducks when others around you are locked in mortal combat with wolves.)

So taking a deep ladle-full of creative stress on top of that — turning my already sketchy free time and ability to get things done that I really want to and plunging it into a deeper deficit for the month of November — is not sounding like a good time to me.  Working around family visits and prospective business trips and Thanksgiving and all of that is not something I want to recreate. Finding something else to whip myself into a frenzy of “you’re falling behind” guilt and “you have other things you should be doing” nagging is not a recipe for entertainment or personal fulfillment.

On the other hand, I really feel like I should be doing NaNoWriMo.  That I have stories to tell and I’ve already been way too much of a slothful slacker in telling them.

On the gripping hand, I really feel like if I am approaching NaNoWriMo as a should versus a wanna, I’ve already missed the point.

So, pathetic cry for help?  Or simple pre-NaNo jitters?

I guess we’ll find out in 17 days.