Eight

When I can’t carry my notebook, I carry an index card and a pen. On my walk, I jot down scene ideas.

I’m still behind, but getting ready to hit the final stretch and rack up some words. Last night, I met Breakout Novel Intensive grads in a chat room. Not much chat. We check in. Someone says, Go! We write for half-an-hour until someone says, Stop! We call off our luck numbers, stretch, get a drink, and do it all over again. For some strange reason, it works. I’m headed over there now.

 

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