Wherein the Writer Runs Headlong Into the Burning Building

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I am easily sucked into writing challenges. I’m not quite sure why, but I do very poorly at walking away from these sorts of things. Today it has been Gabe Chouinard’s Novel(la) in a Weekend challenge. Over on the Urban drift forum, he’s rallying the troops to do 60K between Friday afternoon and Monday morning. This week.

Like I don’t have enough to do already. But, as February’s content for tOMoHP is done and marked up, as March’s entry is written and as April’s is scoped, I do sort of have some free time on my hands (that, and I’ve finally turned in my long overdue review of Stross’ The Jennifer Morgue to Strange Horizons). I did the math on the way home and, realistically, I’ve only got about 23 hours of writing time during the weekend. Even at my best speed, that’s barely 35K. So it’s kind of a hopeless exercise, one I can’t possibly complete.

Yet, I’m outlining something anyway. Part of me is thrilled by the idea of writing a linear narrative, something that goes straight through to the end. No twists, no turns, no loop around to tag itself on the butt. Just fucking straight on through.

I need a break from Harry and his dream journal, I think. So, we’ll see.

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