Diary of a Crazy Writer
an excerpt

November 1, a few minutes past midnight

Nanowrimo has begun again. For me anyway. And for my 14 year old daughter who’s sitting at the desk beside my typing her own story. We’re going to be in this together this year. Her and me. That should be fun.
I asked my best friend to join too, but I’m not sure if she did. She might have forgotten as she’s going through quite a hard time in her life right now. It’s not easy having your children taken away from you and having to fight the authorities to get them back.
Nanowrimo – I joined last year too, for the first time in my life, and managed to write a novel of no less than 2431 words. Quite a novel, huh? But I’ve got a good excuse: I started late. Very late, so I was never going to make it anyway.
Stupid me to start this early this year. Now I won’t have that very handy excuse if I don’t make it, so I’ll have to come up with another one. Well, never mind. I’ll think of something. I’m sure I can.

Anyway, I’m going to have to write about 1700 words a day now every day, during this whole crazy month of November and I’ll be fine. But if I slack and take a couple of days off, I’ll have to work harder to catch up, so I’d better not slack.

I guess writing a diary is easier than writing a real novel though, and I might be able to actually make it this year. I’ve already got 264 words right now. Make that 274.
Not a bad start. Just another 1500 before I can go to bed. Should be a piece of cake.

Don’t even know what I should write about, mind you. I mean, Diary of a Crazy Writer? What kind of crap are you supposed to write in a novel with that title anyway?
Should it be about writing? About smoking, drinking? But I don’t smoke, and I never got drunk in all my life either. What kind of a writer are you, if you don’t even do that, huh? Honestly? Shouldn’t I be doing drugs? And how about sex?
Gah, I’m so boring. You won’t believe how boring I am. No smoking, no getting drunk, no drugs, no extramarital affairs…
And there my daughter starts asking me already: “Mum, how many words have you got?” And I check my wordcount, and it says 393.
“Darn, I’ve only got 319,” she says. Poor girl. She’s no match for her Mum of course. I’m the best, aren’t I? And boring. Like I said.