Here I am, at work, doing a write-in. So I have permission to do nothing but write for the next few hours. I always think this is my fantasy, to have all this free writing time. But really, now that I have it? All I want to do is do stupid stuff like re-read old emails and finish the romance I'm reading. It makes me edgy, the sitting down to write and knowing I have time and no excuses. The only other two people in the room must be experiencing the same thing because they are having a conversation rather than writing. (I think there may be a romance brewing there, actually, and I'm totally rooting for him, but he needs to learn that complaining about MLA formatting is not the way to anybody's heart.)
At any rate, here I am. I am writing a blog post. Good for me.
I'm doing NaBloPoMo in November while everyone else does NaNoWriMo. My goal is to write 50,000 words this month. I'm going to post something every day, but not everything that I write. So I'll have some stuff to post left over when I'm done. But more importantly, I'll get over the hurdle of thinking that blogging is some big deal. Hopefully, I'll get the habit locked in. I'd like to. I'd like to write every day.
(Oh, no. Now he's apologizing for not speaking Romanian. All you guys who need a writing prompt? I just gave you one. Go.)