308

The number of words I wrote today. Which is better than no words, but it's a little depressing. However, to maintain my membership in the Pollyanna Novelists Club, I want to point out to myself (and anyone who is reading) that 308 is probably more words than I wrote in all of a certain bad writing year I've experienced (you know who you are!), and so 308 is good.
I had a writer friend who wanted to write a novel, but was always having trouble finding time to do it--she was a librarian and a mother and a number of other things. Her solution: she decided to write 15 minutes a day, and never to waver in her commitment to the 15 minutes. She did the 15 minutes a day, and she wrote the novel. (Interestingly, the novel was about a woman who secretly rents a room where she goes to spend time away from her husband and children--every mother's dream?)
So 308: yay. 308 is great. Don't be late with 308. But wait, I'm not a poet, which is too bad, because poems are so darned short. (I'm expecting to hear from my poet sister about this.)