Me neither.
I'm getting excited to leap into the writing abyss and see what NaNoWriMo produces this year. Or maybe I should say what I produce for NaNoWriMo. 1667 words a day for 30 days will be fun and challenging and a real pain all at the same time. It's crazy, but crazy can be a good thing. Wish us luck!
October 29--"I'm at a loss.."--Deo stood in the middle of the room, a room so small she could stretch out her arms and touch the walls. The pale sunlight glittered on the floor of old green and used-to-be white asbestos tiles in a crazy pattern or non-pattern. She thought, I'll need curtains, but then the enormity of what she had done rocked her so hard she staggered to the rocking chair set cockeyed by the cold fieldstone fireplace and she fell into it, not even considering that it might not hold her, but it did, and it rocked with a comforting creak as she looked wildly around at what would be her home for the next three months. Deo never expected to be selected for the writing fellowship on Aintree Island off the Wisconsin shore of Lake Michigan. Oh, she had entered, everyone in her writing group had entered. It seemed like a lark, a dare. She had put together a few stories and wrote a cover letter at the last minute, just dashed it off so she wouldn't have to be embarrassed at the next meeting having to say she had been too lazy to do it, and she won. She won. Today she had left her car in a parking lot in the woods and ridden the ferry across the six miles of Death's Door channel to the island where a ranger in a golf cart had welcomed her, driven her and her cases (one of clothes, one of books and writing things) to this tiny cabin on the north shore and left her here with two boxes of provisions, an old fat tire bicycle, and the feeling that rather than a prize, so far this felt like a punishment.
Hmm, this has possibilities too. What to choose? What to choose? See you tonight with a lesson and a fun exercise.
--Barbara
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