Guys, I’m nothing if not consistent.
This is what, week two of NaNo and I’m sitting around, doing just about everything except actually working on Random Contemporary/aka With Me Now.  Here’s a sampling of things I did instead:

• Clipped my toenails
• Fell asleep next to my laptop
• Fell asleep with my laptop on my lap
• Watched Top Gear.  Twice.
• Pinned hilarious Pinterest pictures related to The Walking Dead, such as but not limited to, “Stay in the fucking house, Carl” (not nearly as amusing if you’re not a fan of TWD)
• Sang The Thong Song (what’s up, 1999??)
• Explained to my three-year old what nipples are (sample conversation: “Does Daddy have them?”  “Yes.”  “What do they do?”  “Nothing.)
• Wrote a short story.

Yes, I wrote a short story.
Now….now look, I’m what, almost 32 years old?  I’ve been consistently writing since 4th grade.  But, I’ve never written a short story.  Ever.  I’ve written poetry.  I’ve written hilarious songs about working in retail.  I’ve written a novel or two.  But, I’ve never written a short story.
I’ve always turned my snobby little nose up at short stories.  Short stories are connotative to my high school English classes.  Unfortunately, the only short story title I can think of at this moment is “An Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge.”  I don’t think I read that in high school.  Oh, and Poe.  I read a lot of Poe in high school.
When it comes to writing, though, I can’t definitively say that I’ve ever tried my hand at writing a short story.  My story ideas are typically delusions of grandeur.  They demand casts of thousands.  They require abuse of section breaks and semi-colons.  But a short story…a short story requires….succinctness?
I’m not succinct.  I’m easily distracted.  Case in point:  I put this blog post down so I could go and grab and handful of cheese puffs.
But…here’s the weird thing.  And not weird as in, “But, I bought that yogurt on Saturday!  How did it expire on November 1st?”  I wrote that little short story–thirteen pages from start to finish–in one day.  Not like, twenty-four hours one day, but I wrote the majority of it over my lunch break at work and then finished it up when I got home.
That never happens.
It is, as you may have guessed by the blog title, historical fiction.  Remember, I’ve put historical fiction on hold for the time being while I finish With Me Now.  Apparently, what I meant when I said that was I was putting historical fiction on hold until I picked it up again later on that day.  It’s like me and my diet.  “No, no, I don’t need that slice of pumpkin cake.  I’m dieting.  Oh, okay, well maybe just a small piece.”
So, now that it’s finished, why not celebrate by submitting it to a short story contest?!  Yup.  That’s what I’m doing.  What a rebel.  More on that as it develops.
Thirteen pages cranked out in a couple of hours.  Why can’t I get this kind of work done on my contemporary?  I mean, I was getting work like that done on it.  Until November hit and I got all cocky with, “Well, my goal is to finish the whole manuscript by the end of November.  Beause that’s totally doable.”  Ha.  So far, I’ve finished a chapter.
And a short story.  That’s a victory.  I’ll take ’em as I can get ’em.