If you’re one of my NaNoWriMo(ers?), you’re probably sweating out the Friday night 50,000 word deadline. We didn’t have a check in last week because of the holiday, so feel free to howl out your frustration (or calls of early triumph) in the thread.
Here’s a lovely little ditty about the writing process to play while you question your decision to knock out a 50,000 word novel in a month.
John Willmot penned his poetry
riddled with the pox
Nabakov wrote on index cards,
at a lectem, in his socks
St. John of the Cross did his best stuff
imprisoned in a box
And JohnnyThunders was half alive
when he wrote Chinese Rocks