Now that NaNoWriMo is over, I can read again. I don’t say “can” because I wasn’t allowed to before; “can” is definitely “can” because that time previously spent writing is now suddenly free. The time on my commute to my internship that was normally spent reading or writing non-noveling things was spent outlining what to write that day. This morning, despite the downpour outside my house, I grabbed Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman’s Good Omens, in part because the latter is coming to my alma mater later this month and then searched for a bookmark so the pages wouldn’t turn to dog-eared messes. As Murphy would have it, no bookmarks were to be found, but I did find a scrap of paper from my region’s NaNoWriMo kickoff party, which contains 98 words about a peach that I handwrote in three minutes. If you think that sounds impressive, four people wrote over a hundred words, including one person with 117 words. I blame my two cross-outs for not putting me over a hundred.
Here are those 98 words in unedited rambling glory. Actually, wordcounter.net says 99 words, so it’s very possible that I just can’t count. This is what happens with a math degree.
“It hung from the tree, just hanging there, clinging for dear life. Any passerby would have dismissed it as an ordinary peach, one that would eventually be less than lovingly plucked from the ordinary brown branch of the tree, washed (or maybe not washed), loaded with no regard whatsoever to its personal, emotional, physical, and mental states, and driven in a cold, lonely, and sinister van with thousands of very ripe and orange peaches just like it for thousands of miles, then unloaded from the van by some stupid human who only does it to pay the bills for”
And then time was called. I have no idea what I was going to write next about the human.