Nanowrimo, Week Three: Horror and Moral Terror
Daniel Swensen
Humility, thy name is word debt. From the naive, comfortable beginnings of Nanowrimo, the procrastinating writer (you know, the real kind, not some mythical, deadline-meeting fairy) rests on the cushy laurels of previous successes, firm in the belief that yes, if he wanted, he could write this book “in his sleep” — he just doesn’t want to right now. The glorious denial of falling behind on word count is like drifting, feather-light and free, on a fragrant zephyr, until reality comes crashing in like one of those huge fans — you know, like in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory — no, on second thought make that Alien 3. And the next thing you know, a bald guy with a barcode on the back of his head is cleaning up your remains with a bucket. That’s Nanowrimo, Week Three. At least, for those of us who operated under the Pollyanna-like illusion that we knew what the hell we were doing this time around.
In the spirit of that soul-blasting moment of clarity, please enjoy the comic.
Here’s to the glorious three-day word sprint!