That time of year

But at my back I always hear

Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;

And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.

Andrew Marvell "To His Coy Mistress"

NaNoWriMo is coming, the St Louis regional forums are stirring awake.  Plots are considered and outlined, write-ins are planned and friends are getting recruited.  I love this time of year when it's all potential and you've forgotten the soul-sucking hell of Week Two from last time and your plot idea is all sparkly.

This will be my sixth year doing NaNoWriMo.  Novel one was sort of OK, novel two stank, novel three I got back into my groove, novel four was better, and novel five was actually decent.  I have a really cool idea for novel six.

("To His Coy Mistress" is another poem in the same vein as "The Flea" by John Donne, poets trying to get their mistresses into bed.  We don't know how succesful either man was.)

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