That would be a month

Does anyone else find that, despite the fact you set up the blog to write and makes some sort of shape from the whoosh of all the stuff that is your life, when the whoosh is at it's most whooshy you can't write because you want your words to be pristine and perfect and so you try and process the whoosh in your head first but at the same time you're dealing with new whoosh and then, hello, four weeks has gone by and you've written sweet F.A.

Which is entirely as it should be because you also, hilarious little thing that you are, signed up to do nanowrimo which is, to sensible folk who know not of which I speak, this thing where you decide to write a novel in a month. In fact you endeavour to write about 1600 words per day on said novel. In November, because, it's so slow, November; so much the month where absolutely nothing happens. Unless you are nearly three-and-a-half in which case the month of November doesn't exist and actually won't until you are about 20. 

So, not so much of the nanowrimo I am afraid. 

Or blogging. A bit of tweeting. Some actual This Is Your Job writing. 

I have been away on holiday, I have attended a school reunion, I have written a new play. Things have happened to my friends. In regards to the thing that happened to this friend, I met his mother, for the first time, a couple of weeks ago.

That was hard.

And that's a whole lot of whoosh.