Good golly. After my book, Drinking from the Trough: A Veterinarian’s Memoir, was published two months ago, I sank into like a postpartum writer’s depression. Nothing came into my mind to write about. Jeez, doing this all again? What an idiot!
I have a lot of ideas, but I think it’s more of the quality of “It was a dark and stormy night.”
Then Judy, my coach, told me that November is a month to write as much of a novel as you can, minimum 50,000 words (a lot). I’m not a novelist, but my low expectations ought to make this fun.
May even spice up my mood to do something absolutely ridiculous for me. Don’t get me wrong, this is a serious competition, but one so awfully wrong for me, I’m going to have fun!
P.S. Read my book yet?