That's the beauty of NaNoWriMo: your job is to write.
Maybe we don't need a feel-good movie about the first person walking on the moon. But I'm not sure we needed such a melancholy one.
I feel this vague unease while contemplating the day before me: I don't know what I'm going to do with myself.
Elena's really a lousy soldier. I love her with all my heart, but she should've been a freighter jock instead.
All memories are my own, and like all memories may be imprecise here and there. I've fact-checked where I could. But this story is personal.
Look, I love me some Beethoven, but most of that stuff leaves me cold.
It makes me wonder what folks from Nova Scotia think when they come this direction. I expect we seem kind of snappy and insular.