I’m behind. I’m a lot behind. November has taken over, as it always does, and knocked me off my feet. I got blood drawn. I got sick. I got the results of my best blood work in four years, and all of my cholesterol levels are FINALLY in the normal range. I/We did a lot of celebrating. In a completely random and awesome act of perfect timing, I got to see The Foo Fighters with Phillip and Tammy. This is the first concert I’ve been to since before I even met Derrick. Dave Grohl (or as I typo-texted mid-show to Derrick, Dave Growl) rocked it. I’ve gotten student research paper topics approved and rough drafts graded and returned. Those comparison/contrast essays were put on the backburner, but I hope to catch up on those later this week. We had a fantastic visit from MOH Katie and her boyfriend (an artist! Woo!) this past weekend. I need to start packing for our move. I need to work on all this grading. I need to focus on finding jobs, on resubmitting rejected poems, on making Christmas presents, and most importantly writing this novel!

It’s not impossible. I think that with the right motivation (i.e. no more papers to grade!) I might be able to knock out a lot of this thing in binges and spurts. I don’t want to reveal my word count at this point. But I have a LOT outlined. I have a whole structure in place. I have chunks written at the beginning, middle, and end. I need to build characters and establish relationships. I need to figure out how to set up memories and dream sequences. But the plot is there. With this in mind, I feel already like NaNoWriMo has been a success for me. This will get written sometime. But the more I get done this month the better. I still want to reach my original 50,000 word goal. Send me positive thoughts. I don’t seem to have any NaNoWriMo buddies out there…

Here, Bullet

by Brian Turner

If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta’s opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you’ve started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel’s cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue’s explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.

The Munsters

By David Trinidad

Among cobwebs amd
dust, Lily sits in
the parlor reading
this month’s issue
of Tomb and Garden.
In the lab, Grandpa
hangs upside down,
dreaming of a fara-
way Transylvania.
Up in his bedroom,
Eddie sleeps off
the effects of last
night’s full moon.
When the doorbell
rings (to the tune
of a funeral march),
Spot roars flames.
Herman stomps to
the front door and
opens it. Hair on
end, Marilyn’s date
runs screaming down
Mockingbird Lane.