First, a note: I need to start collecting photos of old typewriters. It’s getting more and more difficult to find proper images to fit this blog. And, while I adore the aesthetic of my grandfather’s typewriter, variety is demanded.
This April’s Camp NaNoWriMo was instructive. Not only did I meet my goal, which was admittedly low, but more importantly I proved to myself I can write about a thousand words an hour, if properly motivated. I’m wondering if the drag created by the long process of working on Ivre lead to a very low word count. Metaphysical Graffiti moves.
Every night, after dinner and a little time with my lady, I sit in the kitchen. Internet radio tuned to WWOZ, I’d write out a thousand words of Baton Rouge weirdness. Maybe my intense dedication to one project, with no other outlets, hampered me rather than helped.
Quite a bit to think about as the month starts to close.
Biomechanoid Blues 