Beach House in the Burbs

As I'm feeling fuzzy-headed with my second bout with the crud this month, I'm thinking about friends who are dealing with much worse: two with cancer, several with no work, one who's slooooowwwwwly recovering from a stroke. And I feel wimpy about my cough (which is on the mend) and sad. Is the answer fewer friends? Of course not. Despite my worries, I find myself smiling when I think about friends. The ones I laugh with--even the ones suffering through cancer and its treatment make me laugh--eat lunch with, make music with, celebrate with, talk books with, travel with, work with and couldn't live without. So in this season of thankfulness (only a little late, I blame the cough), I am thankful for friends old and new, healthy and sick, near and far who make my days--even those fuzzy with crud and congestion--richer, funnier, more exciting and filled with adventure.

No, I didn't finish 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). I got to 20,000 and realized a couple of things: 1. The book was going nowhere, at least nowhere I could figure. The GPS had completely quit after leading me down increasingly narrow roads with no view. 2. If I'm going to participate in the challenge again, and I might, I have to go in more prepared. I decided on a whim, on the last day to sign up, to participate this year, thinking maybe it would spur some sort of fantastical writing. But, alas, it didn't. I need to go in with more than a tiny spark of an idea that sounded great in my head at two o'clock in the morning, but somehow didn't translate to more than 20,000 words--and it required stops at numerous metaphorical gas stations to ask directions to get that far. Because I'd essentially abandoned the idea before Thanksgiving (I traveled with my laptop, just in case. Mostly it sat in my room calling my name occasionally but wit...