Wow, I really screwed the pooch on that one.

This may or may not come as a shock to you, but I failed to write a novel in a month.    In fact I still have 10 days and I already have thrown in the towel.  I am ashamed to say that I did everything I could think of to avoid writing, including, but not limited to, reading every word of the Entertainment Weekly, sorting socks, searching for miniatures at Value Village, reading a very dry biography about Rasputin (how can you make Rasputin dry??? Dude succeeded.), searching for the perfect online simulation game (why aren't there any that allow you to decorate a historically accurate Victorian parlor?), watching endless episodes of BBC reality shows- How Clean Is Your House, Kitchen Nightmares, Mary Queen of Shops, sleeping when not tired, etc etc.  In the end I spit out about 6000 words of my multigenerational, part sci fi, part historical novel.  It is funny how it turns out I write just like I live- in vignettes.  And- action! Ava, wearing her floor length white nightgown, 11 years old, sits on the rug snuggling her bunny.  And- cut! Scene!  The bunny died this week, by the way, because life isn't really a series of charming vignettes.  Or maybe it is....