Here's what I believed: that being assigned a bit of writing every day would improve the quality of my writing and get me into a regular writing rhythm.
Here's what I learned: I don't want to write every day, and I don't need to write every day in order to sustain my writing mojo.
Now and then I have an urgent need to write something down. You might find me getting out of bed in the middle of the night in search of a scrap of paper and a pencil so I can write down the idea that randomly popped into my dreaming brain. You might also see me the following morning scratching my head as I struggle to decipher my 4am handwriting.
But more often than not I do not have anything to share, and I don't like feeling forced to come up with something that I would not otherwise think worthy of a post. It reminds me of the old saying about traveling across Europe just to check off various destinations: If it's Tuesday we're in Paris, if it's Wednesday we're in Rome... I personally cannot write because it happens to be Monday, November 10th. I respect those who can, but it's not for me.
The post I wrote just before this, about something that happened to me when I was fourteen years old, took time and some degree of psychological mastery over the negative emotions it called up in me. I don't feel like writing anything else until that memory and the writing of it settle a little.
Of course you can well argue that I've just written a post, and that's true, but today's post serves only to explain why my thirty-day experiment became a ten-day experiment.
To NaBloPoMo, I wave farewell and hereby recast you as NoMoNaBloPoMo.
Sorry for making a promise I could not keep. I hope those of you who still check in here will understand.