Well, I didn’t manage it. For the first fourteen days of April (and a day or two before that, even), I wrote at least a poem a day, and not all of them made me want to vomit. Then real life intervened, and I spent a lot of time in the car and hanging out with my extended family during the days surrounding Mom’s death, and I missed a couple of days. And then my work schedule ramped up so that I was (and am) spending the couple of hours of more or less free time I had been using to write in the evenings to work instead. Excuses, excuses. Rather than feeling too bad about it, I’m cutting my losses, acknowledging that I think I may have a few solid first drafts out of the experiment, and suggesting that I participated not in NaPoWriMo, but NaPoWriFo (fortnight). Wheeeee!

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