I guess October is officially over. I was thinking today about November and all that it holds. And then I got depressed.

Ok, not really; but for some reason, November just doesn’t get me excited the way October and December do. October is the first official month of fall (since September consists of 9 true days of fall, it does not qualify), which is my favorite season, and there are so many great things about fall.

Flavored coffee creamers, hoodies and scarves, leaves changing colors, hayrides, pumpkin carving, seasonal candles, candy corn—the list goes on and on. October is a tough act to follow. And December definitely steals the show.

Parties, snow, winter coats, Christmas lights, Christmas music, festive colors, family and more?! With October beforehand and December right behind, November doesn’t stand a chance.

To make matters worse for November, I’m one of those weird people who sees months in colors, and November is quite hideous. It’s a mix of depressing olive drab and muddy brown, whereas October is a mysterious orange and plum and December is silver and ice blue with accents of black.

I mean, who can compete with that?

In November’s defense, there is Thanksgiving as well as Black Friday. But I hate spending money, and I know I’ll have papers and exams and portfolios due at the end of the month.

Some might say I’m coming at this the wrong way. I should look at November’s better qualities and be grateful for those. Alright, alright, fair enough. I’ll try; either way, I’ll be so happy to say goodbye November, and hello December.

Just submitted a play for a play contest being held in the English department. Deep breaths and fingers crossed. :)

Last night, as I was driving home from Jon’s house, I got my latest story idea. I really like it.

It’s completely different from anything I’ve ever tried to write. I’m kind of intimidated by the idea, really. Maybe I’m just intimidated by not being able to do the story justice.

However, I realize that writing is an art that is only perfected in practice. I’ve realized that the more time I spend letting stories brew in my head, the more stories I lose. It’s like I can’t really write a story I’ve thought over too thoroughly. There’s got to be more gray areas in the story than clear ones in order for me to get something decent on the page. It’s all about exploration and discovery. Not strategy.

So, later this week, I will give this story a try, before I get it too mapped out.

I will either succeed or severely injure my pride trying. C’est la vie and bottoms up.

I just finished writing a story, and I am glowing. I feel like a new mother. I have written hundreds of stories before, but very few of them have I had this feeling with. In fact, I haven’t felt so attached to a story since I was 13.

I guess it’s just showing me that this truly is my passion. If ever I forget, I need only to pull out this story.

Right now, I am a mix between elated and sort of sad. I’m so happy for my characters—they really overcame a lot. But I’m sad, because…well, I guess in a way I feel like the journey is over.

Which is hilarious…because that would suggest that I have a perfect draft…and there is no such thing as a perfect draft. Not in my portfolio, anyway.

Now…I have to be up for work in two hours…to sleep or not to sleep…

I’m getting a gym membership but I don’t know where to go. In the area, there’s only two real options: The Rush or the Y?

Thoughts?