NaNoWriMo: Getting Work Done

I haven't blogged in awhile because... well, there haven't been many New or Exciting Events and a girl wants to please her readers.  Sam, though, said I should write a paragraph every day - he prides himself on being an excellent writing coach but a crappy writer. So, I felt obligated to write SOMETHING down and originally intended to just write a November blog in text and pictures (though not the 30 paragraphs Sam recommended) and I was surprised at how much stuff we did.  So, I'm commencing a bunch of short November blogs.  :)

I joined National Novel Writing Month (nanowrimo.org).  Translated: I signed up online to write a 50,000-word novel in the 30 days of November. I decided to write a book about being a psych prof and dean at a small college in Iowa. Then I decided to write a bunch of short essays, glimpses, if you will, rather than do all the work of character development and plot and climaxes.  So, it's sort of a stylistic combination of favorite authors Mary Roach, Anne LaMott, and Jim Heynen.

As the daily Writing Chart shows, I got off to a great start, frantically recording all the crazy pranks, embarrassing moments, and run-ins with various barely-disguised people from Dordt. Then, partway through the month, I felt.... finished somehow, like I'd gotten down all the stuff I wanted to remember.  I didn't feel the push to keep going, I wasn't sure about my audience anymore, and maybe this was more of a journaling or healing process than a book project.  I may revisit it someday, but for now I feel very satisfied with my 30,000 word document.

And here is one of the essays, in case you're wondering about style or content or whatever.  :)

Getting Work Done

Late afternoons in the psychology department are dull.  My colleagues are trickling out to take a child to violin lessons, to coach the college’s golf team, or to run errands.  They each shout their “medal” color on the way out, the coach usually “getting the gold” by being the first out the door; the others get silver, then bronze.  I don’t usually place (as a dean, I feel some obligation to be present during business hours), but that’s why I supposedly earn the big bucks.

Too sleepy to grade or start anything new, I decide to wander through the other departments.  Managing by walking around: it works well for some faculty, who like to touch base often and build relationships, but others feel like I’m spying or lording my title over them.  A few people are still here and we enjoy catching up on their kids or grandkids, sharing a story about a particularly good class they had that week, updating me on their research or other projects.  As I finally wander back toward my office, I decide to use the bathroom then sit down to review for the classes and meetings I’ll have the next day.  I double-check that the cleaning crew isn’t around; the folks from the local adult group home, who have intellectual disabilities, often come to clean the bathrooms this time of day.   No signs or buckets, so the coast is clear.

After selecting my favorite end stall (do other people do this?  I don’t know) and going about my business, I hear someone come in.  Quiet shoes, which is odd, as most of my female colleagues wear “clicky shoes” that make us feel more professional.  The steps directly approach my stall, and I see the toes of rather large, somewhat dirty tennis shoes peeking under my door. The door rattles and I raise my eyes to meet the eyes peering through the crack.  Before I can say or do anything, I hear, "Uuuhh, SHIT!" The eyes and tennis shoes disappear and I hear the man's steps running away. 

The bathroom doesn't get cleaned that day, but I'm energized enough now to get back to work.