As of approximately 11:30 this evening, I have unequivocally crossed the 50,000-word mark on the novel I have been writing this month for NaNoWriMo and so it is my pleasure to announce that, according to their rules, I have successfully completed the challenge: a 50,000-word novel written between midnight on November 1 and midnight on December 1 in the year 2001. I technically have a chapter left to write, and I am certain that what I have already written will undergo substantial rewrites, as my brilliant erotic farce about the decadent lives of bored white suburban upper-middle class married people and their mentally ill children with serious skin conditions has, within the last ten thousand words I have written, devolved into sentimental pap. (As such, the new working title for the book is Sentimental Pap.) However, the NaNoWriMo challenge allows for rewrites and chapter additions later on. I am now free to finish this genius work at my leisure, have it printed up at some vanity press or other, and have it distributed to libraries and adult book stores everywhere.
Meanwhile, rest well in the knowledge that I Have Written a Novel and You (Possibly) Have Not.

Lucas H is a man with soft insides and hard, rubbery dreams. While others sleep, he hums. Lucas is a seeker of truth, a bringer of understanding. When he is not smearing creativity across the screen with a digital spatula he is explaining and solving and aligning and simplifying. Of the previous, there is not much to be found here, outside of the smearing. Here, Lucas is in it mostly for the portmanteaux.
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