fine whine

In five days I will embark on a perilous journey, the likes of which I have seen only once before.

I'm going to write 50,000 words (some might consider that a novel) in thirty days or less. This year I intend moreover to write fifty thousand words of fiction, not three thousand words of fiction, forty thousand complaining about being stuck at three thousand, and seven-odd thousand of fictionalized weirdness just to pad things out to the target.

This time around I have a better idea, a longer story and, if I do it, an outline to follow. I've got five days to make that outline.

Tonight was the first of probably two or three local meetings of the other foolish writers in town. It was everything I expected it to be other than half an hour short, which wasn't that much of a problem for me. I threw in my requisite two or three jokes and tried to be sociable and whatnot with the others, most of whom I will not see until the end celebration.

I think I'm okay with that. Now, to that outline ...