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My Mama Says I’m a Winner

… and it turns out I am.

That’s right, bitches!  I’m totally a novelist!  Not a published novelist, maybe, or a very good one (hey, it’s in the first draft, let’s not get too hasty).  But it does mean that I can finally, finally display one of these suckers.  Hells yeah!  So I’m celebrating by getting a bit drunk tonight, toasting my own brilliance.  Or something.

Basically what that all means for you cublings, is that now I’m more full than ever of my own self-importance, which should make blogging at least 253% more awesome.  I did say at the start of November that I was going away for the month, and although that didn’t really happen, it was a slight hiatus.  So now I’m back, and badderer than ever.  Literally.  Because you have no comprehesion how bad my spelling has got after having to punch out just under two thousand words per day, going hell-for-leather all the way.

Anyway, hope y’all have had a fun November, lucky for me it’s been galeforce winds and stuff like that where I live lately, so not really ‘going outside’ kind of weather.  Just the kind of weather you want for novelling.  Now summer can commence!

Campfire Chat #4: Status Report

Only ten thousand words to go in the NaNoWriMo novel!  Woot!

That is all.

Campfire Chat #3: Madness

I’m going on a bit of a hiatus for November – like a damn fool-slash-epic genius, I’ve signed up for National Novel Writing Month.  The plan is to finally write this  novel that I’ve had stewing around in the old brain pan for about a year.  It could have been a sign of uncanny foolishness, but I think that a bit of applied pressure is just what I need to at least have a good go at it.

So, have a lovely November without me.  I’ll be slaving away over a hot goulash of raw idea while the Southern Hemisphere begins it’s shimmy into summertime, and any Northerners out there begin having dreams of snowshoes and mittens.  But I’ll be back in December, with more random choices from the bookshelf and other junk as I see fit.  I’ve just started reading Carlito’s Way by Edwin Torres in preparation for December, which is a teeny tiny little book, but should make for interesting reading, since I know that movie like the back of my hand.

Wish me luck then.  I’m off.  But I’ll see you again in December, slightly more deranged than usual.  Hopefully it will be deranged with success rather than utter disillusionment, but you know, better to have tried and failed… blah blah blah.  Ahh.  Novel writing.  Somehow I think I’ll fit right in.

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Ceux qui ne peuvent pas, enseignent

The Professor

Charlotte Bronte

ISBN:978 1 85326 208 1

Whoa, but there is a lot of French in this book.  Thank goodness for me this edition has translations in the back, because otherwise I’d run the risk of going my whole life thinking that the main character in this book was stirring his morning coffee with a small gun, rather than a bread roll. Pistolet was the word that tripped me up… I mean, I knew it was unlikely, given the setting, but he had just discovered that his lady-love was dating his boss.  It really could have changed the whole flow of the story. Oh, and in case you didn’t realise from that little rant, I don’t speak French past the completely stupid phrase “Ou est la piscine?”, which is going to serve me exactly no good at all if I ever go to France, since I don’t swim.  God only knows why I remember it at all.

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