Failure. Fabulous, fabulous failure

Hello, Internet, today is Friday, November 30th, and I have completely and utterly failed to write a novel this month.

See?

And while just-over-13,000 words isn’t nothing, it certainly does not compare with the 50,000 that was the goal.

Wanna know why I failed?

I made friends.

At the beginning of November, I had a job, and a flat, and my own imagination and my sense of adventure and my love of hiking up big hills. And that was my life in Wellington. I was content. I figured, I would work, and cook, and in all the time that I spent neither working nor cooking, I would write. I did really well for the first week.

Then I made a bunch of friends, and now there is no end of cool things to do. Parties to go to. Performances to watch. Dances to dance at. People to have coffee with.

I am lucky enough to have met interesting people who do things. People who want to include me in those things. And the novel took a back seat to those people, which is a choice I can’t regret, even for a second.