Day 9 of my thirty day novel-writing challenge and progress is slow. I’m falling asleep as I write this, which is less than ideal, and I experienced a similar affliction when I attempted to work on my ‘masterpiece’ earlier.
I did, nonetheless, manage to write some words today. 265 of them to be precise. This brings me up to a total word count of 7,527. Which is below what I would have liked to have achieved by this stage, but probably better than I expected.
I remain quietly confident that I’m going to up my game at some point and write the requisite number of words to achieve immortality (or a badly written novel, whichever comes first). Whether those words will be coherent remains a mystery, but my guess is that not all of them will be.
I can’t help but feel that if I had adopted that other November tradition of growing a moustache then I’d be faring a little better. And I’d quite possibly be raising awareness of something too, although I’m not entirely sure what.