November was a blur involving too many activities, not enough time, ample boxes of tissues, and vats of Tylenol. Even I got some version of the man-flu, allowing me to become one with the couch while pondering my mortality. In a Thera-flu haze, I started calculating how many books I can reasonably expect to finish before I die, and it was a number I wasn’t happy with, so I’ve decided to just read more. You know, in all that spare time I hear people sometimes have. Then I cried some more. Like a boss.
I’m an absolute delight when I’m not feeling well.
The plague first hit the house in the week before Thanksgiving, and stayed far too long, bringing tidings of sleepless nights, one case of strep, and hidden in there somewhere I had a birthday and an unearthly amount of Nutter Butters.
I wish I had pithy maxims about the month to share, but when I wasn’t dealing with the above, I was knee-deep in a rewrite (which I did as part of NaNoWriMo), and am now in the final stages of identifying plot holes and things still to be researched for the book (SPOILER: there’s a lot.) January 1 through the last day of school (somewhere mid-June) is the big ol’ rewrite (and after that, if need be, a final once-over before begging people to be my beta readers).
That’s all there is to say about that. The next novel I will approach much differently, so if nothing else, this has been an exploration of both my best practices and my navel.
Fortunately, the world gifted us a lot of great art and articles this past month, and I share it with you in the spirit of some holiday or other:
So I have a long list of books to get to and only, if I’m lucky, about 40 years to read them. Here’s to wrapping up in a cozy blanket and jumping into a great book. Happy December!