NaNoWriMo. Nah. No. Every-Month-Is-Writing-Month.

Call me a killjoy, but I just can’t get behind NaNoWriMo this year.  In fact, I’m having trouble stomaching all the online rev-ups for every damned thing.  If people spent a mere fraction of their time trying to rally everyone to their causes, actually on their causes, they’d get a whole lot more done.

So, Fuck NaNoWriMo.

finger

Now some might say I’ve just come down with a bad case of Monday-itis, (actually, I prefer to call it Acute Fedupwithit Disorder), or that I woke up on the wrong side of the cage.  Or that I’m just a foul-mouthed asshole.  Any probably fit.  So, fuck it.  I’ll just keep plodding along and writing my stuff as fast as I can get the words out, and when I’m not writing, I’ll be proofing and polishing.  Fifty thousand words in one month?  That’s a fucking breeze.  Writing fifty thousand good words, fifty thousand seamless, well-edited, readable words… that’s something different.  If you think you can do it, more power to you.  I can’t, so I won’t.  So there.

And now, I think I’ll just try to spend the rest of the month with my fingers in my ears in an effort to block out all the fucking Christmas music (gag) being beamed into our brains in an effort to make us buy crap we don’t need instead of that single roll of cling-film we forgot to get when we went shopping on Saturday, but now need in a big hurry or that meat marinating in the fridge for tonight’s stir-fry will make everything else in the fridge smell like ginger and garlic.

Sam