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They say you’re supposed to make sure your family is aware that you’re participating in National Novel Writing Month. We believed this was so husbands, wives, children, parents, siblings, grandparents, etc. could offer unconditional support, mostly by preparing delicious meals and martinis. Clearly, our husband did not get the memo (or if he did receive it, there’s an excellent chance he presumed it was junk mail and didn’t read it). He wants to know why we haven’t gone all out and decorated our blog in NaNo stuff. Uh, if we haven’t had time to get our hair cut (and we are so overdue), there’s a good chance we don’t have an extra moment to contemplate the whys and hows and wheres of adding a status tracker when we’ve gone to sufficient trouble to create an overly complex spreadsheet.

He’s also spent the week helpfully sending us links to things we’re not going to acknowledge with a post. Abe Lincoln’s private life should remain just that.

We were surprised this weekend. After carefully lowering expectations for our production, our brain went into overdrive. The fingers hadn’t moved so quickly in months; several have gone in for MRIs and x-rays. It is entirely possible we have a pulled pinky. After a long, dry spell where writing required a level of energy we simply couldn’t muster (not blocked — we don’t believe in blocked — but life has a way of getting in the way of, well, life), it was a pleasure to just sit and enjoy the writing. We also got to witness what has to be the first step in the Spider Revolution. The cute little guy who built an enormous web in the backyard has grown rather alarmingly and has stretched his territory into the neighbor’s backyard. We believe he’s either going for a duplex or a squirrel. Either prospect alarms us, and we do admit to spending more time than is healthy trying to discern his plans. This may have cost us a page or two in our final week’s total, but we believe it will be the right decision.

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