So you wrote a novella you want to make into a novel.
60,000 more words and you have it made! Yeah, right. Sounds like a few thousand bags of chips and blocking out reruns on the television for the next two months.
But you wanted to be a writer... didn't you?
Shoulda, woulda, coulda. My other job qualification these days is disabled, allergic to the world person. So writer should do. That title sounds better than I just spent the last four to five days in bed with a recurrent migraine and several ice packs.
I wonder if I gave my ice packs names, if I could count them as dates? Anyone?
Joking aside, I feel the need for a legal pad and a number two pencil. I wish I could do the whole highlighter and print out thing but I'm pretty much allergic to the printer, its ink, and some types of new paper. Hell, all my books are ebooks now.
So much for the smelly part of learning through musty, dirty books.
Let the horrification begin!
So that was my day after looking up word counts.
Hope yours was better!