(Inter)National Novel Writing Month started yesterday. (Nanowrimo for short.) During the month of November, from midnight on the first to 11:59:59 on the thirtieth, thousands and thousands of people all across the world live off coffee and craziness in order to jam out a 50,000 word novella. This'll be the first year in four that I won't be participating, and yes, it makes me sad. Last year I wrote a story about a girl who dropped out of university and moved up to Morrow Bay. She met a pair of siblings that turned out to be immortal twins who'd originally been born in the ancient Roman Republic. The brother was a surfer and the sister was just... cool.
I want to participate this year, but I just won't have time. Sunshinebucket is visiting until tomorrow evening, and then on Friday morning I'm flying out to spend the weekend in Paris with an old friend. The weekend after that I'm meeting a different friend in Berlin, and in the midst of all that I still have to figure out how to keep up with classes.
(Classes are exhausting. I'm signing up for reading and creative writing classes next semester, and bully for anyone who can enjoy classes that aren't a part of their major. I miss my school-sanctioned writing time.)
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