The further away I get from Texas (time-wise), the less sure I am about looking for work there, the more I realize that I’ve never been sure about it to begin with. While I was there, a friend of a friend asked if I was planning on moving there. “All of Sharon and Jon’s friends move to Austin,” she told me. I told her, more or less honestly, that I probably wasn’t. Just visiting. Getting back here to the cold of Pennsylvania, I wasn’t so sure about that. Now I’m not so sure about not being so sure. But I need to move. And if it’s not Austin (about which I doubt I’ll ever be sure), and it’s not New York (where the jobs I want are in a place I don’t want to work), then where?

This shouldn’t be mistaken for crippling indecision. I’m still job-hunting. I’m still submitting my resume. And I still very much want to leave Pennsylvania. I’m just starting to wonder if I’ll ever figure out where it is I want to go.

Tonight, I wrote a little under 700 words, which for me is very good. Trouble is, it’s an entirely different story, one that most definitely isn’t a novel and definitely not part of the one I had in mind for Nanowrimo.

I think it’s very unlikely that I’m going to have anything approaching a 50,000-word story when the month is through. But I am writing, which I think is the most important thing. And I’m very eager to get back to it. If all I have to show for it when I’m done is a short story in need of editing…well, there are worse ways to spend November. There are worse things than failing to write a novel.

In my search referrerals, someone asks:

Feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.

After two days, I have about 1000 words. I’m going to have to do much better than that.