White socks mate.
This is the conclusion I’ve come to after looking at my sock drawer, which is entirely inhabited by white socks. I am convinced that I did not buy all those socks. I believe that they mate and reproduce when I go to sleep at night.
Alas, black socks do not mate in captivity, although it is perhaps possible that my black socks are past the mating age: they are old and have many holes. There have been reports of some people being able to get white socks and black socks to mate together to get brown socks, but I don’t believe ‘em.
Finished my Nano novel today. I was hovering around 45k words, and just decided, “Hell, I’m so close, may as well finish it off,” so I spent last night and this morning writing like mad.
So, I hit 50k. But the story isn’t done, not by a long shot, so I’ll still work on it until at least the end of the month, and then we’ll see. Some really funny sections in it, but for the most part you can tell that it was written in a month.
… although, to put perspective on it, I read an interesting quote on a blog last night that basically said something to the effect of: Two hours a day to write a novel in a month. Basically, if the average person just gives up TV, they could write twelve novels a year. Which is true, and just makes me think that the difference between genius and mediocrity may be as banal as good time management.
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