Only nine more days of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), and all I have is 25,000 words. The goal is 50,000 by the end of the November and it isn't likely I will make the count this year, unless I really push now. Still, 25,000 words are words I hadn't written at the beginning of the month.
I am working less on a novel than a book of short stories about depressing Christmases. I love Christmas, every part of it, but I know so many people who hate it. This book is a collection of stories for them. It began when I woke one Christmas Day, went out to get the newspaper and looked up and down the block and began to wonder how my neighbors were celebrating. I went back inside and wrote the first story, about a woman who had to do her son's newspaper route on Christmas Day. There are now stories about an old soldier, a minister suffering from depression, a boy exploring his sexuality, a little girl whose father tells her about the Rapture, ...well, you get the idea.
Today, I meet with my critique group for a writing session. I hope to have at least 2,000 words by the end of the two hours.
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