After so much procrastination, I'm finally doing it. I'm becoming a novelist.

At least for the month.

I'm pretty excited about it, actually. I intend to take my laptop to obscure coffee shops around the area, dressed in a tweed sport coat and silk head scarf, observing the locals and using them as fodder for my clever plot twists. I'm looking forward to spending the month of November blowing off chores in favor of hunching over the keyboard. I'll screen my calls so as not to disturb my muse. When friends ask what I've been up to, I'll casually respond, "oh, not much, I've been really busy writing my novel."

and I have already bought the first item of our novelist wardrobe. Now I have just under two weeks to find some giant Jackie Onassis sunglasses, cover the sweater in cat hair and stink the house up in patchouli incense.