10:29 p.m. One hour, 31 minutes until I begin penning a brand new novel for National Novel Writing Month.
At this point in my life, I consider myself a pretty seasoned writer. The novel I will start in just an hour and a half will be the 29th in my adult career since I began keeping track back in 2005. I know what I'm doing. I have a formula for writing books. Yet, a blank page with 0 word count is still intimidating. It's still a minimum of 50,000 words that I'll have to pull out of thin air in just 30 days. It's still work.
For some, especially if this is their first attempt, there is the option to not finish. To take pride in whatever they're able to accomplish, and try again next year. For me, not finishing is off the table. I know right now that I will have a complete novel, more than likely well over 50,000 words, in 30 days. No question. I also know what it will take to get there.
It's completely normal to be nervous whenever starting something new—that's just part of being human. How one deals with those nerves is what counts. For the next hour or so, I'm going to finish watching Suspiria and sip on a Diet Coke. And then I'll write, because that's what I do.