And it so happened that, after barging ahead without ever looking back for any reason whatsoever, the Great Work surpassed the 50,000 word goal. And it did so by the November 30 deadline.
Go me.
Now that I have looked back, I realize that the framework of stories is a skeleton for some mangled ball of genetic mishaps, but at least it's there and ready for the plastic surgery of revision. Otherwise, it'd be another potential storm of neural activity with almost as much potential to ean something in the world around me as a bean swallowed before a meditation.
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