November looms, and with it comes National Novel Writing Month. At this time last year I had heard only the most distant rumblings of NaNoWriMo, and had elected not to participate. At that time I was just beginning to gain some traction in my draft, and the thought of setting it aside to begin something new was inconceivable.
A vacant room. Nondescript, yet intuitively familiar. The ambient light has an operating-room quality. Antiseptic. But oh the sepsis that has festered in untold rooms like this one. Fostered and fed. Raging.