(This post was originally written on 750words.com. It has been edited.)

Blah, blah, blah. Sometimes I’m tempted to just fill this page with nonsense. When I get home from work, I’m so wiped, I don’t want to do anything but sit in front of my computer. It’s funny because it’s not even that I really want to read. I’m mostly happy to just coast and lurk and consume. I just like knowing that there’s some well-written fiction to be found if I want it. Right now, I’m not craving it like I have. I don’t really know what I want right now.

I want to write my novel. I like saying that, writing that. I have a novel that I can work on. It’s always been missing in my writing career, actually. For the longest time, I only wrote short stories. I never believed I could write a novel. I still don’t know if I can, but I do know that it’s the easiest way to get published. Luckily, there actually is some YA that I like. I had kind of forgotten that. I had forgotten how much I love Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist. So that’s what I’m modelling my career on. I want to write books as fun and irreverent as David Levithan. And then I want to get covers like his. My dream, though, would be to get a cover designed by Chip Kidd. That has to be when you know you’ve made it in publishing, right?

But first I have to write the thing. I’m aiming for 50 thousand words in November for NaNoWriMo. It’ll be my first official time. I wrote 20 thousand when NaNo rolled around in 2008. In 2010, I’m writing a novel. Then December is for revising. Then I’ll have met my goal of writing a novel before the end of the year. The goal after that, I suppose, will be to find an agent and get the thing published. Then write the next one. The next one will be easy, right? Once you’ve made it over that hump. Once I’ve written something 50 thousand consecutive words long, the next 50 thousand words should be easier. Then 100 thousand. Then more.

But not too much more. I’m not a writer of epics, that much is for sure. I don’t even know, honestly, if I have series in me. It would be nice, but not necessary. It just seems like every book has to be a series these days. Like every movie has to have a sequel, and no politician can get elected without name recognition. To convince an agent and a publisher to take on a few local kids with no names would be hard. Getting an agent to take on my book feels like it’ll be even harder.

My eyes are falling closed. I’m more tired than I suspect. I’m typing this with my eyes closed, but then I open them, and there are more beautiful things to explore. People, places, words. Now I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish today. It’ll be just another night of the single slash in the square. I’m 150 words away, which I think, under normal circumstances, I could probably write. But I’m tired beyond belief, and, anyways, the server’s been acting weird. There have been nights where I’ve made word count, but the thing doesn’t want to give me credit.

Words, words, they’re all we have to go on. That’s my motto in life. The world is made up of words. I’m almost there; I’ve almost made it. If I don’t, I will try again tomorrow. And maybe the night after that because I need to start writing more than one thousand words a day in the cold storage. Everything can be reduced to words, or lifted up like an angle reaching for the sky. Somehow, my brain went into the Ladder To Heaven place. That’s what happens when things get muddled.