I have an excuse. I have many excuses. Some may say I am full of nothing but excuses.
As some of you know, many of you may not, November is NaNoWriMo. Or National Novel Writing Month. For those of us crazy enough to give up sleep and a social life for 30 days, this is a chance to buckle down and prove to everyone that will listen that you a writer can indeed spit out 50,000 words in a short amount of time.
Anyone that has talked to me at length this month has been told about this book I am writing. This child I am birthing. This thing that I am banging against the walls in the hopes that PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GET YOURSELF ONTO THE DAMN PAGE.
For ages I’ve been a hardcore panster. That is, to say, I don’t plan what I write. I just write. The muse and I sit down over some coffee and we talk. It weaves a story, I dictate it as fast as my fingers will carry.
The issue with this being that sometimes I’ve given the muse too much coffee and it’s walked off to ramble by itself in the corner and I’m left staring at a blank page.
All of this to say that I haven’t been reading this month because I’ve been writing instead.
I am sleep deprived. I am slightly incoherent at this point.
But, on the plus side, I’ve written 24,000 words which is more than I’ve ever written on one project. Ever.
I mean, it’s not 50,000. But it’s a damn fine start.
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