That’s me hit thirty-thousand words (okay, thirty-one thousand, but who’s splitting hairs?)
And, as is usual when I’m this deep in a novel, I’m worrying whether I’ll rin out of plot before I hit fifty thousand and the wee bell rings.
I’ve been at work since monday, so everything I’ve written this week has been on my PDA. Hopefully get home tomorrow and write in front of my netbook, which’ll be great.
Of course, writing even twenty-four hundred words on the day our beloved former prime monster went in the ground was quite a feat. For those of you who don’t follow me on facebook or twitter (@white_cell), I informed the workd of socialk media that I’d taken a tablet of LSD around 09:00 (I was still at work until 09:30!)
So, for the rest of the morning, I posted intermittant updates (with strategic spelling mistakes) describing how horny I was AND culminating in a lovingly detailed picture of me having a massive dump as the old bag was lowered into the forgiving earth.
now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)
Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.