For the month of November, this journal will be my life. I will write about everything that I see, everything that I know, and everything that I remember. Classmates and friends and strangers will inevitably work their way into this desperate tapestry, this not-so-eloquent story embroidered with memories, this autobiographical narrative patched with fiction and frayed along the seams. I will taste the bittersweet wine of the painfully written word, and know the frantic, driving hunger that consumes every writer as they drown themselves in prose.
I am drunk on life and high on typewriter ribbons. And I will reach 50,000 words.
Come with me.
Projects In Progress (quasi-completed)
Beautiful Strangers (Nanowrimo 2005)
Woefully Untitled (Nanowrimo 2004)
She Thought She Was a Dust Storm, She Thought She Was a Drop of Rain (Nanowrimo 2002 & 2003)
Nanowrimo 2001 was scrapped for extreme crappiness and very little salvageable content that did not cause one's eyes to bleed.