|The Song of the Phoenix by Cpt <HUN>, Flickr|
Meanwhile, my novel reads like a dictionary.
I keep looking at the pages of logorrhea, desperately wanting to:
- Arrange them in coherent subject/predicate sentences. “Jumped the brown over fox lazy the quick dog” simply isn’t cutting it.
- Throw them together in cohesive groupings — called paragraphs — and form those into orderly chapters. How is he alive? Didn’t his flaming noggin just skyrocket to the playground on the previous page?
- Set aside a few chapters to create a beginning…add a middle…a couple of love handles…then end it. And they lived happily ever after.
But that’s a NaNo-NoNo. Edit later.
This is literally putting my inner critic through hell — wait, that’s incorrect — he’s figuratively going through hell. See? I’ve never written anything without over-thinking it, not even the initials of my name (should it be “M.L.,” “M. L.,” “ML,” “ml,” or “Emel?”).
Inner Critic said M.L., and he’s always right.
Where…is…my…COFFEE? Ahh…there it is. Come to Papa.
Did you know drinking five or more cups of coffee a day can cause hallucinations?… No!… Yes, it’s true, I read it in the Times… I think I’ll have another, anyway — join me?… Thanks, but I’ve already got a cup… Should we ask him if he wants a cup?… No, I don’t like having coffee with him, he’s crazy.
On that note, I’ll leave you zany Wrimos and Naners, as well as the other writers who chose to stay sane this November, with the following quote by British statesman, orator, prime minister, and author (yes, author and recipient of the 1953 Nobel Prize for Literature), Winston Churchill:
“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
See you in the trenches.