The long Thanksgiving weekend is ended, and it’s time to get back to work. My own National Novel Writing Month efforts failed spectacularly. I had killed off a villain too soon, and I figured it out too late. That’s all right. I’m sill over halfway through the second book in my new series, and have a lot of good material, not to mention some very useful research on whales.
My husband came back from an early morning activity of his yesterday and saw I was still sitting at my desk. I usually would have left for the gym at that point.
The Husband: Why are you still here?
Me: Intertia. Difficulty rising. Social media. Sending redlines back to the critique group.
The Husband (mishearing): Inertia Rising? That would be a great name for a book.
Me: Sure.
The Husband: It could start with an incredible action sequence and then trail off into something banal. At the end, nothing happens at all.
Me: I’d have to send that off to a traditional publisher.
The Husband (warming to his theme): This would be literature. You could win awards.
Is he right? I don’t know, and I don’t plan to test it. I assured him that we genre writers knew better than to inflict such a thing on our readers. But it would make a great title.
In the meantime, it’s time to live as if this week’s title were Inertia Evaporating.
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