Never thought it'd be me, sitting down in mid-October to declare my intentions for the month of November, but the baby is approaching seven months, my body is returning to a state approximating normal, and my creative mind is slowly but certainly coming back in, with the persistent, if subtle, strength of the tide.
Time is coinage these days; hard to come by, impossible to mint. It must be saved and guarded, each fraction of an hour. I imagine a weak little dragon, curled on a crumbling pile of clocks, hoarding.
"Word-hord" was always one of my favorite phrases in Anglo-Saxon.
I may be signing myself up for yet another small child who cries for my presence in the night, just when the baby has started to give me breaks from time to time, and when the adolescent dog finally sleeps in, if you make him. But I never was one for halfway measures.
So. 50,000 words. Somehow, in some moments. The story is shaped, the characters named and numbered, and the research, or at least enough of it for now, done. We'll see where I find myself on December 1st.