Surrender

I've done it. I've given up. The Gods are cruel. The month is lost. Whatever.
I learned something about myself. I wrote forty-five plus pages, more than I've ever wrote on one piece before, and frankly, I've got a pretty good outline for a novel, at least at this intermediate stage.
I learned that the capacity to write is in me, and that being a working writer means writing, however mediocre a first draft, but simply vomiting it onto paper. The great writers are truly re-writers, but no writer became great without belching awful prose.
What can I say but I had several forces conspiring against me and I let them get the best of me. That is what separates the men from the boys. The writers from those who want to be. They write, no matter what the circumstances, with an unrelenting passion. I'm still locating my unrelenting passion. NaNoWriMo is an excellent opportunity to find passion through frenzied consistency.

On December 1st I start a contact job doing data entry. I'm not sure what that entails, and I'm a little worried because the woman who recruited me sounded excited that I could manage 8,000 ten-key presses an hour. I wondered why they calculated it by the hour. How could one possibly do that for an hour?