Anyone else starting to feel that little gnawing panic in the back of their mind yet? It's like a rat nesting back there, its tiny claws scratching messages into my brain: This is insane, you can't write a novel in thirty days, this is a horrible plot, the characters are bland, you don't even know what Kevin is like! Why are you doing this? This is crazy . . .

I hate that little monster. This year I've vowed not to listen, but that doesn't mean I don't hear him scritch, scritch, scratching.

Thank you,

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"I try to create sympathy for my characters, then turn the monsters loose."
-Stephen King