Words from the dustbowls of the Great Depression, music by a bunch of New York Jews…



Thicker than raindrops on November thorn

Frida Kahlo (1907 - 1954)  Self-portrait with Necklace 1933

Already November is here; mists, mellow fruitfulness, all that, but also Na-No-Wri-Mo and Movember.

I have always ignored the fuss made about Na-No-Wri-Mo.  Even while I was taking Creative Writing courses and could tentatively call myself a writer, the thought of tackling the n-word at all was inhibiting.  I can barely read one in a month, so the thought of attempting to write one in that time made me want to find a quiet corner and sob.  So I did what I do when something scares me, I ignored it and nestled in the smugness of its non-existance.

But a couple of weeks ago, I blew it.  I told someone I could never do Na-No-Wri-Mo.  Not only did I admit its existence – thereby making it undeniably real – but I also awakened my inner mule; tell me ‘you can’t do that’ and I will huff and puff and I will find a way.  My way can be flexible and non-linear, but it will have the essence of the original in the way that a poem will be the essence of a truth even if details must be changed to get there.  It is in this spirit, then, that I have reinvented Na-No-Wri-Mo for the word-challenged: Wri-Mo-Micro.  Instead of 50,000 words in 30 days, I will attempt to write at least 100 words every day throughout November.

As for Movember, that’s easy.  I’m with the guys.  Come November 30th I’ll be twiddling my handlebar as I read back over my month’s vast writings.