I did something different for Halloween last night. First, I went to a pagan celebration for Samhain, the Celtic ceremony we call Halloween. We made prosperity bundles with what we wanted to manifest in the year ahead, smudged ourselves with sage and bay leaf. The moon came up full and eerie as I walked out of the crystal store where the celebration was held. I had a party I could go to, a sexy costume I could don (my “Freudian slip” outfit, tried and true many years running)….but instead I followed a whim (because what are whims other than guidance from the secret place of our true desires?), and went to the IHOP on Sunset, where dozens of weird/wonderful writers were gathered to launch into November 1 National Novel Writing Month. Yep, I’m doing Nanowrimo again, to do rewrites on my novel, to get out of my creative funk and back in the productive saddle.
So while ghouls and superheroes ate pancakes around me, I typed madly into my laptop, remembering the insanity of the 50,000 words in a month challenge. The Nanos don’t talk to each other, just write side-by-side. I considered that not writing would be more terrifying than any Halloween ghost. And I considered this quote from Anais Nin:
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”