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15. A photo of you and someone you love. 12/2009 Tony and I hug.

That right there? That’s love, and there ain’t no denying it.

Not much writing yesterday (580 words) due to circumstances beyond my control (i.e. madness at Morseland->3 hours of sleep->bartending->just wanting to sit on the couch and let the world entertain me [instead of constantly entertaining it.]) So. This is why the big buffer of words built up at the beginning (all Bs included at no extra charge) is so important. Was feeling very discouraged until 2 things happened.

The first was that I read a pep talk email from the NaNo folks. I didn’t even really read it. I don’t know who wrote it. I think it was just the idea that someone else who was writing was saying, “Hey! Keep going!” It was the spirit of the letter, much more so than the content.

The second was that I now have a reason to finish. Incentive. Motivation. Drive. People often ask if there’s a prize at the end of NaNoWriMo; if you “get anything” if you finish. Well, yeah, you do: you get a rough draft of a novel. Congratulations! But now, there is something else. Now, there is hockey.

The other reason for not having written much yesterday was lack of inspiration. Kinda hit the wall with ideas of what to make these ridiculous people do. This morning I had some ideas while driving to work… So, we’ll see.

Current word count: 28311

This excerpt is about a headache I…I mean…the narrator had…last night.

The headache was alive, was wet and liquid and slimy, oozing around on top of my skull, between skin and bone, over one eye, then the other, tears flowing freely from the right one, salt sting causing me to squint. The pain throbbed in my ear, silent, but speaking to me in ways I couldn’t have ever hoped to understand. Telling me things I shouldn’t know about myself like, “You are weak,” and “It would not take much effort at all for me to kill you.” I was at its mercy, and the headache, it knew it, could taste my submission, I gave up everything I had, everything I was for it, and still it pressed on, bending my neck, forcing my head into my hands, my fingers massaging my temples, tracing patterns that in other situations could summon Gods or cast spells.