Noveling Weasels

I'm in bogglement over my NaNoWriMo novel.  It's actually working.  If I didn't have my plot roadmap, I would be horribly lost, but the roadmap's not so rigid I can't change things around.  The robot attack chicken with laser eyes was not in the roadmap, it just turned up after Hubby did a presentation in work.   It sat in my imagination and I couldn't not use it.  It was making pathetic abandoned chicken noises at me.

The next big milestone is 25,000 words, halfway through the novel.  I should hit that Friday or Saturday.  My daily writing goal is two thousand words.  In high school I thought a five hundred word essay was impossible and one thousand was a unheard of.  In sixth form, English Literature essays were three to five thousand words as standard.  If you're trying to figure out your word count, go here, paste the words in and hit the magic button.  Thank you White Pebble for the script.

This quote is from the NaNoWriMo pep talk email for week two:

If there were a zodiac sign for each cycle of the noveling escapade, Week One would undoubtedly be a magnificent galleon at full sail. Week Three would be a road-tested marathon runner, smiling as she catches her second wind. And Week Four would be a lone figure silhouetted against the setting sun, arms raised in triumph.

Unfortunately, Week Two would be represented by a pack of rabid weasels hurling themselves from the treetops onto a group of screaming campers below.

Week Two is where it's all supposed to go horribly wrong.  I have my laptop, my progress graph, my finder of plot flaws and provider of ways around those flaws, I have hot chocolate in the kitchen, I haven't knit anything since I finished the Coronet hat, which is now winging its way to a new home (not even the hemp socks, which is a problem because knitting morning is at my house on Saturday and it behooves the host to have some actual knitting in progress, maybe on Thursday).  Bring on the rabid weasels.