I already had two reasons to be cheerful:
|Not that Manchester United made my day|
yesterday but that was November ;)
1 December has started! In our preparations for Christmas, we’re all chocolate Advent calendars and cheer, already.
2 National Novel Writing Month is a thing of the past. ;)
Congratulations, if you won: if you wrote 50,000 words or more within 30 days.
I’d started my wip in October, so, although I’ve been writing I didn’t take part in NaNoWriMo for 2011.
If you finished your novel remember now is the time to put the thing to bed – not to query - the poor book is exhausted after that huge growth spurt.
It’s a bit of a teen at the minute. If you leave it alone and let it rest for a while it’ll be so much easier to get it to do anything quality later.
After all, ‘tis the season of reflection and rest (and, maybe, a little revision)
Then, Bloghopping around today, I found a third reason to have a bright and shiny day:
Vicki Rocco is holding her Well, I never Blogfest
Well, I never:
Sorry to be predictable but I never thought I'd write a book.
When I was growing up, I ate, slept and read books (all at the same time) :
I read on the bus.
I read when I was walking.
I read at the dinner table (or thought about the book when it was taken away and shelved)
And I didn’t sleep that much at all. When I went to bed, I sat on the window ledge and read by street light.
How I would’ve loved to have been living where I do today. In our house's multi-cornered position – I counted – there are seven different streetlights all illuminating my bedroom; it is bliss! However, all that beaming electricity is wasted on me now no one tells me off for having the light on two hours after I’ve gone to bed. (I have to add, when it comes to illumination irritation, my husband could sleep on the surface of the sun – give or take the other problem with the sun’s surface.)
Still, I never thought I’d write a book.
I have one of those spelling things that only spell checker and access to the internet’s instant reassurance could cure.
Did you know some dyslexics can read? Somehow though, the same spellings we can recognise when we're reading are tricksy little bleeders to pin down one letter at a time.
My teacher used to say deciphering my stories was like mining for gold, like knowing there was treasure and she just had to work a little harder to reveal it.
She said I made sure it was worth the effort.
(If you are interested, I learned lots of words and carry a card with any words I know I’d mis-spell if I panic.)
Well, I never: one day, I sat down and started writing a book.
I have finished four.
Now, all I need to do is find an agent who loves my stories as much as I do.
Short of re-enacting scenes from Misery, I work at improving my skills and polishing my manuscripts.
Was there something you didn't believe you would ever be able to do?