The Challenge

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Hello my sweets!

It’s been a rough few months here at the Fizzy homestead. My heart crapped out on me. My mommy pirouetted off a porch and is still recovering. My laptop died a horrible death, taking with it most of my writerly possessions. I dropped my phone in a toilet at my first Midwest Writer’s faculty planning meeting. There was that creepy mofo in a gas station. I’m behind on literally everything. All the things.

So, I need a win. I think I’m due.

What I want is to write. And write a lot. Lots of pretty new words. It’s been a hot minute since I had the time to just sit down and let a story flow out in that magical way. Frankly, it’s been an age.

And that’s what I mean to do. Write some shiny ass words. Lots of them.

Last year, by freak accident, I woke up one morning with an urge to write a new story, and three and a half days later, I’d spewed out an entire manuscript. It was magical. It was bizarre.

My hands were messed up, guys. Like, actual stiff finger claws. Totally worth it.

By the grace of all the gods, this weekend, I appear to have no pressing matters to deal with. Nowhere to go. Nothing of import to manage. (Aside from the eleventy-billion things I’m behind on. Ignore those things for a mo’…)

So I’m gonna write. I’m gonna write A LOT.

Here’s my plan: After I fetch my sweet mini-lad from preschool Friday, I’m going to return home, hand mini-lad over to husband-man, and proceed to lock myself in the bedroom until Sunday night, at which point, I hope to have a completed manuscript.

Last year it was a book in three and a half days. This time, I’m shooting for slightly less than three days.

A whole manuscript. Start to finish.


But I really need it. I need the purge. I need the sparkling words as a reward for surviving what I can only describe as a free for all of craptastic things that have flown at me the last few months.


And because I truly hate to fail, but hate even more to fail publicly, I’m putting this challenge of mine right here on the interwebz for your eyes. Motivation, baby.

I don’t know if I can pull it off. I’m still recovering from a heart attack. I’m still wearing a ridiculous heart monitor. I haven’t had a solid wordy surge in some time.

But I’m going to try.

Feel free to wave a pom-pom or two for me. If you see me on Twitter, give me the Rocky treatment. Squeeze my shoulders, smack my ass, let me spit in a bucket.

That’s how Rocky does it, right?

Also, I’m going to need a hashtag to track this madness on Twitter, so I am accepting all suggestions. I’ll pick one and roll with it for the weekend. You can put them in the comments below or on Twitter!

Honestly, I’m not sure how this will go. It’s entirely possible my health will carry on being prick-ish as is its wont, and I’ll have to bail. Seeing as this is my second day this week stuck in bed thanks to Crappy McTickerson not beating properly, the odds aren’t sitting ever in my favor.


With doctor approval, an understanding husband, and kids who are wicked jazzed at getting to order pizza instead of my forcing vegetables into their meal time equations, I AM READY.

Well, maybe not my body, but the rest of me sure is.

And away we go.

I hope you all are having the most splendorous of weeks!

Until next time,

Peace, Love, and WORDS.


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