Three days left for NaNoWriMo and I'm desperately scrambling to write the last 10,500 words of my novel. I'm no mathematician, but that's a fifth of the book in a tenth of the allotted time. I've figured that's 3,500 words a day, which is approximately 14 pages a day. It's called procrastination, my friends. It's called Thanksgiving weekend wasn't as relaxing as I had hoped. It's called staying up until midnight if I have to.

But I still believe I can do it. In fairness, I still believe my ashes will be scattered in space when die, so take that with a grain of salt. But I still believe I can do justice to McFee and my protagonist I've named Bertha just because I don't know what her name is going to be yet.

Tangent: Bertha's easy to do a find and replace on. Maybe I'll call her Hashtag instead. Yesterday I read that someone named their baby girl Hashtag: Hey, at least you're not named Katniss, sweetie. But four of your kindergarten friends will be. I say when you have a baby, you should have to spin a wheel at the hospital to randomly pick a name for your child. Why should we get to choose our children's junior high school mockery? We already gave them their DNA makeup, which is a crapshoot, since attractive parents can make hideous children and hideous parents can make attractive children. But name your kid Hashtag and I'm not sure it matters how cute they are--their name is Hashtag. Right?

Maybe I'll keep Bertha as my protagonist's name. Maybe I'll change my name to Bertha. It's kind of grown on me.