The Muddles

It’s the muddles of December.

December has been gentler to me this year, than in years past. Usually, I spend most of December a puddle of goo which has been drained of both vocabulary and tears by a ruthless November.

This year, I finished NaNo two days early. That hasn’t happened for me in years. Normally, I’m writing a dismal number of words on the 30th, after having taken the day off out of desperation. I’m normally hunkered down in Starbucks or Panera for 12 or 14 hours, typing until my fingers bleed. Why? Because I love it, ok?

I do though. I love the camaraderie of our region, and in social media. Writing is generally a  solitary occupation, and while I do love me some solitude, I also love another twisted soul to commiserate with. And that commiseration is what gets me through the month. When the month is over, so is the camaraderie. And my brain cells.

This year, the words came more easily. At our Wednesday night in person write ins, I wrote between 4200 and 4600 each time. Those four nights along accounted for nearly 1/3 of my total word count.

And this December, I’m still being productive. I’m writing, I’m editing, I’m blogging. I haven’t devolved into a mess of Pinterest and Twitter on Wednesday nights.  So what was the difference this November?

I don’t know yet, but I’ll let you know when I figure it out.


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