In which Tracy makes a sad confession.

Turns out I am pretty much terrible at this whole write-a-novel-in-a-month thing.

One week in and I'm already pooped.
Only three weeks left to whine and procrastinate!

Look, I will try to blame it on the fact that I've had the cold from hell and I've been exhausted every second of every day, but don't believe me.  Last night I cleaned up my whole area and did laundry.  Tonight I didn't blow my nose once, and I made lemon pull-apart cake, although I did have to stop halfway through because I forgot to make sure we had lemons and the stores were all closed.  Yet despite all this productivity, I still only have 1,773 words written.  That is approximately 177.3 words a day.  And by approximately I mean exactly.  Because I do often leave words one-third wr

Still, I'm confident in my tried-and-true method of leaving everything until the last minute, then working nonstop for hours on end until my fingers, jittering on the keyboard in a caffeinated frenzy, manage to tip-tap-type that sucker into submission.  This is clearly the solution.  Just ask college kids: 3 out of every three students polled can't be wrong--procrastination works!

Images via this Irish Medical Sales site.

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