I am a rock. I am an island.
Honestly, I think my friends think I’ve moved to a shack in Idaho and am banging away at an old typewriter. Truth is, to make the NaNoWriMo thing work, and hold down a job, and spend some time with the kids, I have to cut corners. That means my social life has dwindled to a pilot light.
I don’t even want to talk (or tweet) about my writing. I feel like that’s wasted time. I just want to write, and then sleep. Even this blog post feels like cheating. I could rack up a few more words. (I’m about 400 shy of my goal today.)
However, my guilt over not posting finally drove me back here. If nothing else, perhaps there are a few other writers out there toiling through the same issues as I am. We can commiserate in unison as we head back to our manuscripts and commence yet another round of typing.