![]() There were civilizations borne of fuzzy green stuff in my refrigerator that came of age, warred with the contents of the produce drawer, developed their own Renaissance periods, and died during the process. I lived in pajamas, forgot to get my hair cut, and generally resembled a crazed Wookie. I saw the local pizza delivery guy more than I saw my mother. ![]() But he made sure to express his displeasure by barfing on my side of the bed. ![]() My laundry pile got so huge that it devoured one of my cats. In the meantime, my real life slipped a bit. And I learned more in that crazy month than I did in years of plinking around with the same book. How could anyone possibly do fifty thousand words in A MONTH? In a month, with a full-time job and other commitments? After all, it took me YEARS to finish a book. "No kidding?" That sounded like a complete impossibility. ![]() "It's an online challenge to write fifty thousand words in a month." I wrinkled my forehead and asked her: "What's that?" I had no deadline, nothing external to make me finish.Ī friend in my writer's group mentioned National Novel Writing Month. I'd wander into internet research, never to return. I'd lose my place, go back, get sucked into editing. I fight against all that white space, trying to fill it, wondering how a ream of blank paper becomes a book. It says nothing, and it's likely to say nothing. ![]() The blank page is the most intimidating force in the universe to me. ![]()
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