La Folle d’une Nanoteuse

November is a special month. In a related story, I may have lost my mind.

In case you didn’t know, November is (inter)National Novel Writing Month, aka the month where you try to write 50,000 words of fiction while not killing someone out of stress and creative frustration. It’s a lot of fun. This is my fourth*.

I know, I know, it’s like “Blair, you are not even in America. You are taking a courseload that is reducing you to tears. You’re going to be on vacation in the British Isles for a week smack in the middle of the month. And you don’t even have a good idea for a book.” To which I say: “…you are right, imaginary interlocutor! I should just quit and never try anything ever again.”

Just kidding, of course. Instead, I dragged myself to the north of Paris at 11:00 on a Sunday night to mingle with some Nanoteurs(uses), eat some of their delicious savory egg cakes, and write together. Despite my utter inability to express myself in their language, I managed to Meet Real French People. And they were incredibly nice. Now I’m 1692 words in, and I’m going to persevere. Mainly because how badass is it to say, with an elitist sniff, “my third novel? Oh yes, I wrote it under extreme duress in Paris when I was but 20 years of age.”

Also, these people love their cake. I can’t stay away.

*Okay, I have only finished twice. BUT WHO IS COUNTING