I just finished my stinky, mediocre novel that I wrote in 29 days flat. 50,179 words. 29 days. NaNoWriMo, I can't quit you. (Though I did three previous years.) This is my first completed year. The novel(ette) involves the unholy combination of the Khmer Rouge, alien abduction, peyote, ex-husbands, punk rock girls, the desert, coffeehouses, and ancient greek mythology.
This is the thing, I also painted a book through Leah's Art EveryDay Challenge, too, so I really created TWO books in one month. WHAT?!?! Are you kidding me? You called me an underachiever, Mr. Diehl, in senior Econ. Suck it, dude.
My mother sat here watching television while I called off the word countdown. 2000 words to go. 1500. 1000...and then, I was done. and I kept writing. I kept finishing my thought. That is what victory feels like. Sure, I crossed the finish line, but I am going to jog to my car too. I did lots of sprints this month with Amy, Ines and Kristin, and my friend Fisher, who appears in the novel as himself.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go on an overnight drunk, and in 10 days I'm going to set out to find the shark that ate my friend and destroy it. Anyone who wants to tag along is more than welcome. And by finding the shark that ate my friend, of course I mean, I am going to edit the shit out of this fucker, and try to make heads or tails out of it. Or I may never write again. Thank you all for the love.