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 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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