The gut gurgles. The mind cramps. The butt hurts. Add a headache, eye strain and missed meals. I'm thinking that's how National Novel Writing Month is going to unfold for me. I'm approaching it as an oncoming illness. I'm supposed to regurgitate, right? Learn to write unhindered, do it semi-unconsciously, a blur of fingers and mind flashes. Splatter words on a page. Not look back. Not clean up. Hunker down on the screen.
In my case, it will involve an ink pen on paper. Gasp, an old-school illness. I'm having my doubts. I'm no good with a backache. It'll be like the flu, red-eyed, feverish and a nice finish of body aches. And in the end, total exhaustion. And, possibly, a novel. That's the medicine.
This is where I'll chronicle it. So, I'm double damning myself. Write 50,000 words and journal about it at the same time. I need a Tylenol.