Behind I am

Oookay.

I am now officially behind on my words for National Novel Writing Month. My muse has cleaned out my bank account and high-tailed to Vegas where the uncouth broad is whopping it up with high-rollers from Philly.

Meanwhile my characters are stuck in an impossible plot in terrible clothes -- Leah, for example, is wearing, I kid you not -- a leather halter top with knee high boots -- and they having to say things like, "The world rests on my shoulders; can I not rest my head on your bosom?" and "I have loved you since before I was born or perhaps before the universe gave birth to darkness" or "We have no names nor need of them, but now we can see that names mean more than names should mean." Sigh. When did Ghosts become a parody?

Anyway, I've got to rescue my characters. I like Simon, Leah, Davey, Bettie, and Nate. I even could like Mattie and Jacob. Mason and the rest can stay in the story, but the others deserve better. Somehow I've got to lure my muse back from Vegas, focus her bleary and blood-shot eyes on the page, and twist her hairy arm until she helps me get them out of their current story and into something better. Maybe something with ice cream.

And a pony.

A pony with fangs that feeds on human blood! BWWWAAAHHHHAAAA!

Or not.

Good night!

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