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Now, I'll have a beginning and an end. Or just an end. Or just a beginning. I'll write scenes that go nowhere, create characters with no home, draft dialogue that drifts off like clouds across an achingly blue sky.
Why does this keep happening? Is it that the ideas/stories aren't grabbing me? Am I too easily distracted by life? Are the writing "rules" I've learned over the years paralyzing my creativity? I still don't know.
But here's the thing: This. Ends. Now. By the end of National Novel Writing Month, I will have an entire draft of a novel. It might out-stink the tortoise poop, but it will be done.
Wish me luck! I'm going to need it.