Day Eight of NaNoWriMo

I’m rapidly approaching the 20,000 word mark. I feel smug…

I feel safe…

I feel inspired…

I feel there needs to be a cinematic shot of me in black and white looking chic and elegant, with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other in front of a typwriter and a balcony looking over somewhere romantic.

I feel that people need to be asking for my autograph in the street and publishers should be throwing money at me for my novel, because I’m JUST THAT GOOD.

I’m…

Roadblock.

I knew it was too good to be true.

I hate you NaNoWriMo. I’m off to read about Locka Lamora and dream of the day I will beat the writer’s block by simply glaring at the screen for half an hour and drinking cups of tea.

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