Some pain today. Tendons at the base of my thumb were acting up. Wrote far too much. I think all told, between free lance work and the novel, I wrote some… Jesus. 11,000 words.

The novel writing went well though. I truly didn’t want to write anything, sat here in my armchair with my laptop open and stared with dead and dull eyes as the blank white screen. Felt heavy, as if a cape of lead had been draped over my shoulders, my hands distant from my body as if they lay on a table, swollen and inert, some ten yards from my body.

But I got into it. The benefit of having written for 45 days straight now is that it doesn’t take much for me to get into the flow. The strange thing is that I’m some 44,000 words into this novel, and it still feels like I’m in the first third. Perhaps it’s because there’s so much going on this month that this novel feels like an afterthought. Something I dash off everyday before returning to other, more pressing activities.

Blood From the Mountain. I don’t even know which parts to capitalize. It’s alright, I suppose. Some good bits. Been pretty much fun to write thus far, but if it were to ever undergo a draft whole sections would probably be cut like entire seams of fat from a slab of beef.

On a different note, for the first time in all the years that I’ve kept this blog I’ve begun to interact with other bloggers. Through Betsy Lerner’s blog I’ve ‘met’ other writers such as Jody Carr, Averil Dean, and Robyn Bradely. There are many more I’m slowly coming to know, but it’s strange, this nascent sense of community, of connecting with others who enjoy the written word in all its strange permutations and proclivities.

So. The moral of this blog post: the writing life can be tough, but it doesn’t have to be undertaken alone.

What about your, dear reader: you have a community out the wilds of the internet that you connect with?