...but I won't finish.
Silver lining: that's 17 more days than last year and at least as many words as I wrote for my real novel in three years (if I had been writing at the same pace for three years, I would have churned out close to 500 000 words, which is 10 novels - let's factor in redrafting and editing time, at the same rate, and that's five novels, which is four more than I currently have (counting together the two halves of two different novels). This maths looks wrong.
Wait! I was missing a 0. 50 novels! Shoowee.
Anyway, it looks like I'm going to break this brick wall before I break my head - not logically possible, granted, but metaphorically: suspension of disbelief. And physical logic. Maybe I'm Gulliver and the brick wall is really small. But why would I use my head rather than my foot? Or a tractor. Or a bulldozer. Maybe it's a brick wall in my novel, in which case I can just write it broken.
Just go with it.
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