Too Many Books

November is almost over.
I love November.
It welcomes, after months of warmth, rainy and crispy days over California.
My birthday is in November and this year I spent it in Moss Landing, one of the prettiest little towns in California.
It is also Thanksgiving month and who doesn’t love pie and sweet potatoes?
The Beaujolais Nouveau arrives in France and I look for the colorful bottles at Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods.
And it is Nanowrimo month, a challenge I took twice.
But this year I’m not very proud of myself. I didn’t reach the finish line.
This isn’t entirely my fault. I had too many books on my nightstand.
A friend of mine told me to read The Help. I trust her judgment and opened the book just to see. Big mistake. I couldn’t put it down. And when I was finished, I couldn’t write anything. That’s how good this book is.
Then I read Palo Alto from James Franco. I’ve lived in Palo Alto for a few years so my husband thought it would interest me and bought it for me. My sixteen year old daughter stole the book to admire the black and white picture of the most handsome American young actors. She gave it back to me because she was studying for her finals. I don’t have her strength of character and finished the collection of short stories. Because of Palo Alto and the memories it brought back each time I read the name of a familiar street or park, I enjoyed reading the book.
My book club is meeting next week and I had to read Post Captain from Patrick O’Brian. I had a hard time to dive into the story because I received the latest Ayelet Waldman for my birthday. Who has been able to put Red Hook Road away?
So tonight I failed Nanowrimo. I should have stopped reading. I would have the draft of a new story by now instead of the embryo of a plot. But aren’t writers readers too?
Besides tomorrow is December 1st. I can always have my own Nanowrimo, right?
If I cancel my trip to the library tomorrow morning.

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