At promptly 4:07 PM this afternoon, I did it. Crossed the finish line in my month-long project titled “No Plot, No Problem.” Immediately rang up my younger son to gloat, since I believe I was the first of the three of us to cross the finish line.
He acknowledged the same, having 200 words to go. Then we decided to lie low until we heard from Kevin, the other conspirator in this literary collusion. After all, Kevin dealt with the death of his beloved cat, Harold, in the middle of the writing exercise, as well as a couple trips that were planned prior to the “No Plot, No Problem” commitment.
But I’m sure he’ll be with us on Sunday when we have that conference call, each of us holding our alcohol of choice in our hands and saluting our communal efforts.
It is a euphoric feeling to know that tomorrow I don’t have to grind out 1667 words or that, failing to do so, I have to grind out twice as many the next day. It is equally euphoric to know that I did it for a month and have a first draft to show for the effort.
If I can do this, given my work load and my other commitments and the bewilderment of my significant other, then I can do anything.
Maybe that’s what it’s really all about.
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