To sum up today in two words I would use the following: unbelievably manic. Lunchtime came and went without a break, and by five o’clock it had become apparent I would struggle to achieve my daily word count for NaNo unless I not only gave up any intention of fulfilling the obligatory exercise quota for day two (two!! Talk about failing at the first – well, second, hurdle) of my marathon training plan, but also stayed in the office to write aforementioned NaNo story rather than going home before tonight’s fireworks display in Brockwell Park. I shall, therefore, remain at work for another hour with the sole intention of bashing out as many words as I can so that I might just have a guilt-free (lack of exercise aside) night out.

This, friends, is a typical day in the life of a NaNo-er; clawing back minutes here and there to pad out an ill-thought out story that even by day five (of thirty!) seems to be falling apart. Not that I will let this stop me, for I have been in this position before. Thus far I’ve been half-hearted in my attempt at fitting writing into my life, but from this point forward the metaphorical gloves are off. It’s not good enough to write in dribs and drabs, writing sessions must be sustained and productive. I KNOW this, but now I need to make the effort to ENFORCE it.

Despite our love-hate relationship, writing is my baby. And nobody puts baby in a corner.