November came and went, as Novembers are wont to do.
Five times I've "done" National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The first three times I "won"—in that I crossed the finish line represented by November 30th with more than fifty thousand words under my pen. The fourth time I came close, a sprint at the end pushing me to over forty-nine thousand words.
This time I'm almost fourteen thousand words short of the goal. I wrote for twenty-nine of the thirty days. A good run, spoiled only by the day after Thanksgiving when I went to the well, and it was dry.
Still, it would have been nice to get the fifty thousand words out. Didn't happen. I'm not going to weep into my single malt scotch over it. Rather I'll continue writing in December.
There are the remaining Goldberg Variations to get down on 'paper'. There are thirty thousand words of a story I've been writing for years now to get off actual paper and into electrons. I like the story, and the heroine, too much to leave them languish unread. Plus I found the story when I unpacked a box last week!
To all who essayed NaNoWriMo this year—Huzzah!
On to December.