and friends (Look at you—when did you last wash your hair?), I now share the same energy level as a zombie. My depleted mind can’t come up with any more words. In fact, writing thAnother November gone. For those of you who, like me, participated and WON in the National Novel Writing Month, I bet you’re all going through the Post NaNoWriMo Blues.

Yes, the heroic deed is done… 50,000 words in 30 days. From about 60,000 participants, 9,765 won. When I reached the finish line, I opened a bottle of champagne and started bothering people on the phone. After all the bragging I had done for months, this was a necessary act.

The thing is, after all those overly caffeinated, crazy days of extreme imaginative performance, surrounded by mountains of laundry (Mom, I don’t have clean socks left!), frozen dinners (Oh, no, not Chinese pizza again!), and bewildered expressions from family and friends (Look at you—when did you last wash your hair?), I now share the same energy level as a zombie. My depleted mind can’t come up with any more words. In fact, writing thi

the heroic deed is done… 50,000 words in 30 days. From about 60,000 participants, 9,765 won. When I reached the finish line, I opened a bottle of champagne and started bothering people on the phone. After all the bragging I had done for months, this was a necessary act.

The thing is, after all those overly caffeinated, crazy days of extreme imaginative performance, surrounded by mountains of laundry (Mom, I don’t have clean socks left!), frozen dinners (Oh, no, not Chinese pizza again!), and bewildered expressions from family and friends (Look at you—when did you last wash your hair?), I now share the same energy level as a zombie. My depleted mind can’t come up with any more words. In fact, writing th

eople on the phone. After all the bragging I had done for months, this was a necessary act.

The thing is, after all those overly caffeinated, crazy days of extreme imaginative performance, surrounded by mountains of laundry (Mom, I don’t have clean socks left!), frozen dinners (Oh, no, not Chinese pizza again!), and bewildered expressions from family and friends (Look at you—when did you last wash your hair?), I now share the same energy level as a zombie. My depleted mind can’t come up with any more words. In fact, writing th

ve performance, surrounded by mountains of laundry (Mom, I don’t have clean socks left!), frozen dinners (Oh, no, not Chinese pizza again!), and bewildered expressions from family and friends (Look at you—when did you last wash your hair?), I now share the same energy level as a zombie. My depleted mind can’t come up with any more words. In fact, writing thand friends (Look at you—when did you last wash your hair?), I now share the same energy level as a zombie. My depleted mind can’t come up with any more words. In fact, writing this column is like excavating a Sumerian artefact in tough terrain somewhere in the Middle East.

Now I’m faced with the tough job of editing my masterpiece, but that will have to wait till after Christmas. I’d much rather spend money and shop for the holidays than dive into my novel’s dangerous murky waters, which even have an army of violin-headed creatures… (yes, the soldiers have violins instead of heads—and no, I wasn’t exposed to too many Dali paintings during my childhood). Will I be able to sell my novel? Only time will tell. It’s interesting to mention that of all the thousands of winners which NaNoWriMo has had so far, less than ten have sold their books to big traditional publishers.

Of co