I ended up with half a novel, slightly over 25,000 words. Considering that I started writing in earnest only a week ago, I am somewhat pleased, although I really wanted to make 50,000 my first year.
My daughter, who was a little more dedicated but doesn't type as fast as I do, ended up somewhere above 26,000 words. That means that the two of us together wrote more than 50,000 words for the event.
I have no idea if the half of a novel I've written has any value. Parts of it made my daughter laugh, and some make me cry to read it because it's so bad.
I could see a movie snippet from my two climax pieces. It would be a very bad movie. Although people would cheer.
I also wrote three newspaper columns this month, and participated in an election, and also have about 12,000 lights up so far for Christmas. So it's not like I could dedicate my life to writing a two-bit novel.
I'll need a few days for my fingers to recover, and then I should be back blogging.
Apparently, while I was gone we essentially won the war in Iraq. Our deaths are down dramatically, as are the Iraqis. Millions are pouring back into their country. People are out in the street, safer than several of our own major cities at night.
And apparently hell has frozen over, because today John Murtha, he of the "our marines are cold-blooded killers, and I don't care if there's no evidence", has just returned from Iraq with the sad knews (for democrats) the the surge is WORKING.
I wish all Americans could rejoice with me. But half of them are still trying to stop paying the troops that are winning the war, and they don't appear to be in a celebratory mood.