Wrong Role Models
NaNoWriMo is not looking so good. I have been consumed by sudden, inconvenient unemployment and the requisite spasms of breathless anxiety, drunkenness, and frantic OCD housecleaning with a toothbrush that all go along with joblessness for me.
My carefully laid plans are in shambles. My notebooks are mocking me.
If he was still with us, Henry Miller would just laugh at me. I shudder to imagine what Harlan Ellison would say to me right now.
I feel a big, slimy, wet mass of words swirling around in my head, trying to coalesce into something meaningful, but I’m afraid it has nothing to do with that story I want to write. Or maybe it does. I’m not sure.
FORMER goth princess, my ass.