There are only a few hours left before NaNoWriMo begins and the author can finally put fingers to keyboard. There are not too many things worse than a writer who cannot write … okay, except maybe Susan singing Kumbaya. I still have nightmares about that. But anyway, Hallow’s Eve becomes NaNo Eve, and we’re not sure whether to be excited, supportive, or run for the frickin’ hills.
Right before dropping to her knees to pathetically beg, she gave us the mother of all lectures on how this wasn’t simply her attempting a literary stunt. She, in fact, believes … or wants to believe … or desperately needs to believe that there are 11 of us about to bungie jump off a wordy cliff. She has asked us to step up and let our weekend play out in a linear and coherent manner. We have been warned about tangents. (Tangents? Us?) We have been instructed to stay with this book and not jump into any others. She says we can be our obnoxious selves as long as it pertains to Lore Mongers. Then, she bribes us with cookies and ice cream. That worked rather well, but then I think she wondered how we’d be after the sugar buzz wore off, and, yes, that was when she dropped to knees.
So, it would seem that at this moment in time, we hold enormous sway. That elicits temptations galore, but we’ll let that sway swell for a bit and prepare to jump with her. (I hate heights, did you know that?)
Cross your fingers—for her and us. Wish her a good night’s sleep, and, Jesus, somebody hide the candy. When she awakens tomorrow morning, we shall once again be the center of attention. Let the LAC weekend begin.
Oh, and keep an eye on that NaNo counter over there. It had damn well better move each night, or we will be running for the hills. Oh, and the cool mil… If she keeps up with the daily minimum of 1,667 words, she should be reaching that big milestone on Sunday or Monday.