….and then came NaNoWriMo.
I was excited, yes, but moreso I was ready. More ready than I’d ever been for anything in my life.
I’d wished my friends goodbye for the month, booked time off work, even had my cable and internet cut for the duration that I might do my work free from any distractions.
My fridge was stocked with thirty-one days worth of food, so I’d have no good reason to ever leave the house, and the numbers of two pizza places and my favorite Chinese delivery restaurant were programmed into my phone, for the days when I couldn’t tear myself away from the page even long enough to cook. Within my self-imposed literary exile, I reigned supreme…
…and, most importantly, I’d procured one hundred twenty four tabs of LSD.
Two for every morning.
Two for every night.
I had a book to write. A simple story of a man eating LSD in isolation, trying to write a novel and going slowly mad.
And nothing would stop me.