I’m on the road in a rainstorm. The winds gust with all the volitility of a cat given too much attention. My driver is suspect in his abilities at best. It doesn’t help we’re in a cargo van filled to the top quite literally, making the rear view mirror a false comfort. In vest and tie, I sit here, on a full stomach and a little hard cider, with the understanding I must write. When I finish this, hopefully within the hour and a half it will take me to get home, I have NaNo writing to do.

I also need to do my dishes. Clothes should get put away. There is an amazing TV show on Netflix I really want to watch. Destiny won’t play itself. My back aches, my legs feel like metal rods were put in them (standing on concrete for hours on end gives a level of pain that’s difficult to simulate), and I have two presentations to ready for a major meeting on Wednesday. Then off to San Antonio Thursday through Sunday for a men’s church leader retreat. In 27 days I will still have 50,000 words. This is not arrogance, dreaming, or foolhardy passion, though I’ve plenty of all three. This is dedication to what I want to be, what I want to achieve, and where my goals are leading me.

These habits do not die with the end of November. I will write when I don’t want to. I will sacrifice video games. Sometimes I’ll sacrifice sleep or eating. Fortunately currently I’m never hungry from stress, so it’s not like I miss it. Some days the writing will be crap filling up plot holes, and I will hope when I go over it again, something nice grew. I will edit when I don’t feel like it and my inner voice is throwing a temper tantrum.

You have those days, too. Sometimes you give in. The house is miraculously clean. The children somehow were fed. An entire season of Supernatural was knocked off on Netflix. And sometimes you say, “Bad inner voice. Sit down, shut up, and let daddy get to work.” Or mommy, or your real name, perhaps creator of worlds is the preferred moniker. I’m not here to judge if you’re not.

What I’m trying to say is this cannot end on December first. There are disciplines being formed right now, and while you don’t have to write at the pace you currently are, you should be writing daily. You should be writing something, no matter what it is. Maybe tomorrow all that happens is you write in your journal. Perhaps Thursday you get out your blog. Friday you spit out 200 words for your novel, curl up with your stuffed animal named Blackie, and wonder why anyone would read what you just wrote. Blackie is a 25 year old Pound Puppy. Remember, this is a no judging zone.

The point is, every day you work on your resolve, no matter how little, is another day it’ll be easier tomorrow. Tomorrow you will hammer out 2,000 words and you won’t feel like vomiting. You will flesh out a character, step back, and lose your breath because it’s almost like you created someone real. Your mind will buzz from a plot which is becoming epic and giving you chills.

Don’t give up. If you’re serious about writing, and I do acknowledge and respect the hobbyist in it for the 30 day thrill, do not lose these persistent habits when December hits, even if you cut back a little. Write like a demon. Edit like a grammar teacher. Be passionate as a high schooler on prom night.