NaNoWriMo

I am now nanowrimoing - or going to be in November. That is: National Novel Writing Month. Which begins on Wednesday. It's scary. It's 50,000 words in 30 days. I can do it, I can, I can.

I've been planning. I have characters. I have possible-structures and maybe-plots. I have ways to break my 50K down into managable chunks, lumps I can chew off, bit by bit. I have potential tangents for if I run out of things to write. I have Roy Orbison wrapped in cling film.

I also have a "To Do Before November" list which is only getting longer and I still haven't crossed anything off it. It includes: Haircut, Clean desks (2), Buy Roo for Toby, Watch Velvet Goldmine (essential, obviously), Pay Bills. I just added: Buy chocolate and writing snacks. So I may come out of November 50K and 20kgs heavier!

And if I am an anti-social beast in November, please forgive me. *mutter, mutter, suffering-artist, etc, mutter...* But I will accept deliveries of food, alcohol and anything caffeine related. I am right now lurking in a Nanowrimo forum entitled: The "All My Filler Will Probably Be Porn" Thread.

So if anyone wants to join me in this madness-? Apart from the 50,000 or so already signed up on the website. Ah, it's nice to think of so many people going mad at the same time. Here's to collective insanity.

How I love you in ways I cannot express. Or: Please excuse my tardiness, I was washing my hair.

Dear Friends, Enemies and Passing Ladybug Fanciers,

I haven't posted recently because my kitchen cupboard was on fire.

I am also engineering the downfall of the government and didn't want to alert suspicion. You see, I just can't help but talk/write about it, it's so damn exciting. Dang!

I burnt all my fingerprints off in a freak wetsuit-removing accident and now have to type with a toothpick held between my teeth. It is difficult and/or painful.

Slasher McTook gnawed the ends of all the leads and cords and wires and dooverwackies needed for the computer-internet thing to work and thus I was left only with my carrier pigeon, Freckles, as a means of communication. Freckles is an octogenarian in pigeon years, is colour blind and has very poor directional skills for a carrier pigeon.

During this time, my sweet Toby also became Radioactive Cat, via a small mishap with a pair of radioactive tweezers and thus I have had to spend many days sewing little lycra suits, but no capes. I am also attempting to compose a jingle and opening catch-cry. But nothing beats: "When Eric eats a banana..." I am at am impasse. Please send suggestions if not already copyrighted.

Please pass my regards onto your mother and tell her I think the apron looks lovely regardless of what Flora says. I can arrange a "little accident" if need be, tell her that.

As to your own question, I did not know you then and certainly had nothing to do with putting that hair in your mouth while you slept. Have you tried electrolysis?

Yours,

Bianca Jagger