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With a day and change to spare, with words to spare, and with a half page of additions to incorporate into my novel.

Now I’m ready for Nation Novel Rewriting Month…

“I’m already a mutant, I mean, what other shenanigans could I possibly get into?”

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Caleb and I watched a little bit of X3 yesterday. Did not remember that Ellen “Juno” Page was Kitty Pryde.

The Guardian gives the shortlist of this years Short List for Worst Sex Scene in a Novel award.

The award was established by The Literary Review to: “gently dissuade” authors from including “unconvincing, perfunctory, embarrassing or redundant passages of a sexual nature in otherwise sound literary novels”.

And the Winner is…

I’m at 45,007 words today. Close enough to finish tomorrow.

The title to my novel is : Wounded Cast Down

Here’s a couple of poems by Wallace Stevens used as inspiration:

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

The Wind Shifts

This is how the wind shifts:
Like the thoughts of an old human,
Who still thinks eagerly
And despairingly.
The wind shifts like this:
Like a human without illusions,
Who still feels irrational things within her.
The wind shifts like this:
Like humans approaching proudly,
Like humans approaching angrily.
This is how the wind shifts:
Like a human, heavy and heavy,
Who does not care.

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“Never again!” vowed the recidivist backslider falling off the anniversary wagon of second-hand chainsmoking reactionaries.

from Swift Tom, Sleeping with the Dictionary

It’s not our fault you were born wearing a gang color.

from We Are Not Responsible, Sleeping with the Dictionary

You’ll look like a hero
in your zombie sombrero

from Zombie Hat, Sleeping with the Dictionary

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and I’m teaching my boys to pronounce it “Oom-brell-lah”

felt our own pulse
advancing with the same wild purpose
as the heron crossing the river.
-A Hike to Little Falls
D. Nurkse, Burnt Island

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