There’s a point in NaNoWriMo where you’re trucking along writing your story, and one of the characters does something unexpected. You don’t know where the words came from but you just typed them and they weren’t in the plot, or even in your own head five minutes ago, and they’re just so interesting you have to follow them to see what’s going to happen.
This is the point where non-writers look at you sideways and edge away.
There’s another point in NaNoWriMo where you donate to the costs of keeping the program going and the servers online and Chris Baty not being kicked out of his apartment for the month. At that point, choirs of angels sing out and grant you a halo for deeds of novelling goodness and your story automatically gets another thousand words out of nowhere, and they’re all good ones. Halos look good on everyone.
Since I won’t be taking pictures for a while, this is an old one from England:
We’d pulled off the road into a lay-by near the New Forest, the ponies were a couple of miles back north and this stile led into an area full of bracken and heather. It was late December but not horribly cold and I loved the sky against the heather.