My eyes are dry and bloodshot. Getting up at 3am every morning for a month is taking its toll. My wordcount is 26,059, which is about where I should be with half of the month gone and half remaining. But it’s taking longer than before. Instead of finishing my words by breakfast time, they hang over me all day. Writing white on white has gone out of the window, and the inner editor is back with a vengeance, mocking every sentence in its sardonic drawl. Whose idea was NaNoWriMo anyway?