It’s me with the word count for the first day of October: 2,302.

It was the first day of the month and I wanted to be productive with it, to start off on a good foot. I think I did, aside from being drunk right now (although technically it’s October 2nd now as I type this, so maybe I was sober for all of 10/1? Midnight rolled in with my second glass of wine).

The story is getting interesting right now. Crazy things are happening. And weird developments are in the notes that I did not foresee. But I think weird can be okay. Weird can even be interesting, sometimes.

I love October. It’s all burnt orange and reds and the smell of raindrops hitting dry asphalt, and it’s the promise of things you don’t have but maybe you could, or the remembrance of childhood, or really it’s just that wine makes me incredibly lame and wordy. But October is here, and I wrote 2,302 words today. Maybe tomorrow I’ll buy a pumpkin. But for now I’ll just finish this glass of red wine and go to bed.


If you don’t think there is magic in writing, you probably won’t write anything magical.

– Terry Brooks

As the air gets cooler and the leaves begin to change outside my window, it’s easier to believe in something magic.

It’s easier to feel that my story could take on a life of its own, that could dive into it and get lost, that I might be able to wrap the words around me like a blanket as I sit hunched over my laptop, typing away.

To suspend the voice inside my head that worries and frets and corrects as I write, and simply let the words take over – you can feel magic in that place, all mist and colors and stories swirling.