No time for this mothabitches, I’m an AUTHOR. Not.

If anybody’s missing me, I’m NaNoWriMo-ing. 50,000 word novel in 30 days. I don’t even know how to write a novel. I suck at fiction – I literally have not written a story since primary school. I’ve written 10,000 words so far, and all I have is a thinly-veiled autobiography. I don’t know how to develop a character or give them motivations or create conflict….I mean it’s easy in real life; just hand the main protagonist a few shots of Tequila and hilarity will ensue. In a novel? Not so much.

Urgh, I’m procrastinating. I promise as soon as November is over I’ll write a saucy blog post about black men in Vegas, and one about my various dating disasters over the last couple months, and one about GOF’s trip to Melbourne to visit his favouritest daughter (spoiler alert: he flooded my bathroom, tore off doorknobs and fed the rabbit contraband).