Another hump day here at Persephone. How’s the middle of the week treating you?
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