So around two o’clock this morning, I not only hit, but passed (by a little tiny bit) 30,000 words. This is why I slept very late, and after I was awake, continued to pretend I was still asleep. That damn chunk of words is starting to come together after all.
And there you have it: the dissolute life of a beginning novelist. I hope that Shirl is keeping up on her writing. She and I can be dissolute together.
At least I’m in New York City for the turkey days. Now I get to figure out how to be dissolute without alcohol. This will give my imagination yet another workout.
white pebble 