So Nanowrimo officially starts in 4 hours and 26 minutes.
shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shitshit shit shit shit shit shitshit shit shit shit shit shit.
See, much of my day job these past few weeks has involved getting a literary programme up and running to coincide with Nanowrimo. And I've done, if I may say so myself, a pretty damn good job: Juliet Marillier is coming down to give two Master Classes; Anna Jacobs and Bevan McGuiness will be presiding over a writing marathon with over 20 sponsors providing prizes and promotional material to give away; I've got regular write-ins happening; and if all goes to plan I'll be announcing a new poetry competition, judged by Maureen Sexton, to tie in with one of our major sculpture exhibitions. All in all, it's looking like liter-a-frikkin-palooza.
Only problem is, I've done sod-all preparation of my own.
I've never headed into a Nano with anything less than a firm idea of where I'll be in 50K time: whether it be a project I was already 10 000 words into (Corpse-Rat King), or one involving characters I'd worked with 4 times before and a couple of thousand words of notes I'd accumulated over six years of thinking about the plot (Father Muerte & The Divine), I've always known exactly what was likely to happen, where I was going, and where I expected to be at the end of the month.
This time, I have a title and the opening of the first scene.
Wish me luck.
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