It feels so strange not to be writing this year. Something feels missing not having every evening, every thought, and every moment of the month of November consumed by writing. Not devoting all my time to creative writing just feels weird.
I’m, of course, better for not doing it. I’m not the nicest person when I’m consumed by 30 days of writing.
So to feel some sort of accomplishment, and to satiate the desire to write, I’ll link to the first drafts of the previous two novels of years past.
Rusted Halo (a revenge story)
Bag of Snow (a love story)