Hello world,
How's things?
I am sighing with despair at the realisation that another glum November has turned up. And as any aspiring writer will know, that means several awful things; less sleep, a steep decline in social appearances, and a reluctant sign on the dotted line. Fifty Thousand words. One Month. Oh Nanowrimo, how subtely you appear, as perhaps the only proof that I am not that 9 to 5, gym going, washing up nightmare that I swore to never become. So begrudingly I stare at the white page, dredge up forgotten ideas in old notebooks and prepare to look awful. The things I do for my art. Last year I made it to 48,000 and decided to have a rather long sleep that saw me snoozing over the deadline. So here's to victory, and nonsensical rants, and the rapid return of insomnia. Be patient with me.
http://www.nanowrimo.org/
Oh yes... I know that feeling very well, the 'Nanowrimo makes me feel like a writer and excuses me from my incredibly monochrome existence' feeling.
ReplyDeleteYou're right - this is absolutely the road to insanity... and bad hair, and eating crap instead of actual food, and dreging up those ideas that you were once oh so familiar with, but now they're barely memorable at all.
Sigh. Cheers to that m'dear - pleased to meet you!