Criminy. Yes, that's a word I remember from women who have preceeded me in my clan. Somehow, it fits.
Today is the first day of the National Novel Writing Month and I'm posting a pathetic 434 words. Well, it could be 433 for some odd reason because when I encode the crazy thing, something gets lost in the translation. That's 25% of what I needed for the day to stay on pace.
Or, it could actually be nothing, a big fat zero, because I can't figure out how to upload the bugger. (Another ancient familial nounish thing.) I've encrypted it so I don't release the next great Nobel Prize to the world before its time, but can't figure out how to upload it to Nano. Sheeshkabobalino.
Today was spent (after my morning walk and quick sit-down with writing) running errands and getting dinner ready for guests who were due to arrive at 5. The dinner and evening with our friends was lovely, but I lost on the other end. Know what I mean?
I'm not a night owl. My mind has slowed to the pace of a slug on sleeping pills and I just can't go there.
Tomorrow will prove to be almost as interesting. We are leaving by noonish to be hot diggedy-dogs in a box suite for the Bronco game. I admit to loving the attention and catered aspects of a private box (along with the almost private potties), but will likely lament the additional loss of writing time.
Just so you know, I took 50,000 and divided it by 30 and came up with the dastardly number of 1667 words. Per day. Every day. Which means that tomorrow I need to find time to write about 1900 words.
What have I gotten myself into?
Is a competitive nature enough?
Still reading Steve's On Writing. At least he made me turn off the TV.
Working on: Not completely doing the freak-azoid and urping all over my desk every time I think of Nanowrimo.