G brought me into Nanowrimo two years ago. I don’t know whether to thank her or to blame her.
Ever since then, we get restless when November comes.
For 30 straight days we’ll be writing like mad men. The house will be in a mess: beds unmade, dishes in the sink, and junk food on the table.
No one checks on us but our phantom selves. No one to complain to, when we struggle, but the phantom me and my phantom kids, with pockets under our eyes.
It ain’t easy to climb that hill in the graph. Last year, I failed (but my kids made it!)
This year, it is a hill of 130,000 words that the three of us will attempt to climb, starting today.