It’s not like these little arms were built for the backstroke.
Speaking of swimming in it, my brain is a loose tapioca right now, as I make my not-so-much-yearly attempt at NaNoWriMo this month. Basically, it’s a self-inflicted form of torture where you attempt to write a 50k word novel in 30 days. As if that isn’t painful enough, I’m also completely wrecking what sad semblance of a sleep schedule I normally have to do it.
I tell you this for two reasons;
1) Any well-wishes of support are appreciated.
2) My posts here may wind up even shorter and less coherent than they normally are. Not that I need any excuses, mind you.
I have loaded up on snacks (although I’ve learned, very quickly and painfully, chocolate-covered almonds are coming off that list immediately) and my office is as prepped as it can be. I’ve got Scrivener loaded up on my desktop and Macbook. I’m saving in Dropbox to keep things safe. All I need is some clarity or motivation… or a lobotomy.
And a nap would be nice.
