Well… I have news.
Not big news, mind you… I haven’t adopted a tiny kitten or a pygmy marmoset… I haven’t discovered a new doomsday meteor, and I had no part in discovering Superhenge (and fighting off the multi-limbed, tri-throated subterranean creatures bent on destroying us all [the Doctor and I agreed that we should keep our names out of the history books for that one])… but I do have a bit of news.
I’ve signed up for NaNoWriMo.
*commence immediate panicked floundering, but in a low-key, sloth-trapped-in-peanut-butter kind of way*
The part of me with chronic writer’s disease thinks, “50,000 words, eh? Just lock me away for a few weekends and let me have at it.” The part of me with a job and a strangely active social life thinks, “Dear GOD, why did I commit myself?! I will write RUBBISH, and then all of the perfectly brilliant people who participate in NaNoWriMo will say, ‘There she goes… that horrible woman who writes rubbish. How very dare of she to attempt to join our ranks!!!!’”
Sure, that may sound overly dramatic, but imagine Minerva McGonagal saying it.**
Tell me that you didn’t break out into a cold sweat.
I’ve decided that the best way to make sure that I don’t get halfway through the month, realize that I only have 2000 words and all of them are in mangled French, slowly close my laptop with a strangled sob and gigantic, teary, slow loris eyes, and proceed to ruthlessly berate myself for the remainder of the year for being a horrible, rubbishy quitter is to tell you lot. After all, I started this blog for writing accountability, and dagnabbit, YOU WILL HOLD ME ACCOUNTABLE.
At present, I’m working on the concept for my
nov… boo… erm… thing, but I’ll be throwing out all the updates once I’ve cranked through the sundry story bits in my brain.
Question: can one write a short story anthology for this, or is that cheating?
Does anyone know?
**I just want her to love me. THAT’S ALL I WANT. *SOB*