That's how many words I've written since November 1st for NaNoWrimo. I'm half-way through. Up until a couple of days ago, I'd maintained a self-congratulatory two day cushion, but it's gone now.
Here's something interesting about taking a lot of time from your regularly scheduled life to do something you love, something that moves you, even if it's very silly and shouldn't be taken very seriously: It makes you a lighter, happier person because EVEN THE SILLY THINGS MATTER.
Because if we can make room for the silly endeavors, the more serious ones naturally follow. They wear away a groove in our lives, to make room for what we tell ourselves we don't have room for. The big "No" we tell ourselves when we have a dream and want to follow it becomes quieter until we can hear what our souls are begging us to do.
It doesn't matter that I don't know what I will write about when I sit down to in front of my computer tonight after my children are in bed. What matters is that I'm sitting down at all.
No one can write a great novel in one month. But I can write a mediocre one that gives me something I can't quite name in return.
And that has to be worth more than all the unfolded laundry and a growing tower of dirty dishes in the sink.