Which is normally a comforting phrase, but is now one of the most terrifying ideas I have ever known.
Okay, I’m exaggerating, but still.
I’m like the runner stepping off of third who finds out just as he leaves the plate that they decided to move home base to another stadium.
(And is that not a fantastic movie idea? Think of the home team spread out across the city trying to tag out the Runner, played by Ryan Gosling, and the Pitcher is like this evil guy with an eye patch who’s introduced doing steroids in a grungy bathroom stall. Oh, and the other team’s coach is played by Gary Oldman. It’s like The Warriors, plus The Book of Eli and add baseball. Whoa, whoa, Hollywood, please, one at a time.)
My original NaNo challenge began sometime in the morning of the 16th, so I have, basically, the duration of a standard work day to win this motherfucker.
That’s eight hours to write 13,000 words.
That’s eight hours to run the triathlon of my mind.
Eight hours to astronomically trump any single day’s word count that I have ever done.
And I will tell you that I am not feeling up for this. I’m looking out at the miles and miles that is this “home stretch” and I already know that I’m going to make it three blocks and get knifed by an evil clown.
But maybe that won’t stop me. Maybe I’ll be just freaked out enough by the fact that I was just stabbed by Chopface the Clown that I’ll keep running.
In any case, I have everything I need to make this happen.
-A pot of coffee
-A box of Goldfish
-A lack of social contact
-A six pack of Killian’s (for later, to shut my inner-editor up)
-A quiet house
No, really, I think that these are the perfect ingredients for a perfect night of writing. Now I’m posting this blog and abandoning all inhibition.