So it turns out writing a novel in November is pretty much the stupidest idea anyone has ever had.
Probably the person who thought it up was some kind of novel-writing savant. Good for you, smart ass!
I wrote a portion of a novel this month, which was fun. It actually really was fun. Whereas the first novel I wrote was like ... oh, I don't know. Stabbing myself repeatedly? While sobbing? It was so difficult, probably because it was too close to home. Which is cliche, I know. Stupid novice novelists writing fictional books that are really about themselves. Go dig a ditch, ya dumb writers.
It really is stupid. But I had to get it out of the way so I could write about other stuff. Like the future and clones and weird technology and outer space. Because I am a science fiction writer now? Sure.
I don't know anything anymore.
In any case, I wrote a lot of words, but I think probably I only wrote about a sixth of what I ought to write in order for it to be considered a novel. I'm going to keep slogging away at it. Maybe it will just be a novella and I'll throw it up on the interwebs for people to download for like 43 cents. That's pretty affordable, right? I think I would need to sell just over 116,000 copies in order to make 50K. No problem. People really enjoy un-edited stories about the future that were written frantically by a person who has never written science fiction in her life. They really love that shit.