My stepson came home today and plowed through a large bowl of blueberry Mini-Wheats (yes, I think they smell like medicine too. They aren’t MY intestines, don’t hassle me). Thinking his next item on the afterschool todo list was his customary nap, I was a little bemused when he carried his bass upstairs. Within moments, there were 4 more teenagers barging through the door – it was band practice.
Just when I’d planned on blasting through 10k of words, of which I was 3k done at that point. Perfect timing!
I joked with Quinn’s friends, and somehow because I’m a blabbermouth and can’t talk about much else this month, I let slip my writing quota for the day. They (maybe 2 or 3 of them) perked up; “You’re a writer? That’s so cool!” I told them the story of NaNoWriMo, and encouraged them to do it next year if they’d ever thought about writing a book.
Then they went downstairs and made beautiful, beautiful music (Red Hot Chilli Pepper covers) while I turned up RainyMood to potentially Sandy-esque levels in my headphones and ground out another 4k.
Not bad, little Wrimo. Not bad.