I'm not certain what's wanted, in this "home" piece.

Whatever you want to write, really. I wrote about non-geographic home. Just a few snippets, totally rough:

Home is my Mom's somewhat bony hugs, and my grandma's squishy ones. It's my Dad's shout of "Hey!" in greeting as I let myself into his apartment for a visit.

Home is my brother. Anywhere, any time, Vermont, Oxford, Cincinnati. My brother might just be the truest home I know. The way we think alike, the way we understand each others' half-formed phrases, the way we can finish each others' jokes (which no one else ever finds funny except us, who are weak from laughter at our wit). Christmas Eve, driving around to look at the tackiest decorated houses we can find. The only other person who knows what forces shaped me into me. The only other person in the world who really knows why it was such a bad idea to take Mom to my psychiatrist appointments.

Home is Katie, even when she was living in Colorado. When she sang at her grandmother's funeral, I was almost overwhelmed with love, thinking, "This is one of my favorite voices in the world." Katie has always been home to me, through college, when she was in St. Louis and I was in Oxford and she felt like the only real human connection I had, and after college, when we were back in the same city.

Justin used to be home to me. Or, I wanted him to be. By now, it's hard to say which is true. I think he was. I think he really really was.

Xenos [note: this is the Freak-Ass Church] was home to me. The apartment with Jamie. Luke. Luke was home to me -- as familiar to me as my own thoughts. It wasn't false -- I made them my home. I made them my home as completely as any I've ever had. It just wasn't the right home.

I do think that if one is scattered and random by nature, not a reliable self-starter and natural procrastinator, getting one's backside into the desk chair for a certain period of time each day is a good way to be handy should the muse wander by.

Huge motherfucking wrod.

t scratches self I am such a lazy writer that only the weekly impetus of writing assigments for class gets me into the state of mind where I'm productive. If I were disciplined enough to schedule my work, instead of letting it slide, I'd have written the short story that's been nibbling at me for months. I'd have put together my poetry ms. It's really lucky for me that I have this organic talent, because I don't practice *anywhere* near enough.

Oh, God. The Word Autosummarize feature is hilarious. (Tools | Autosummarize, tell it to put the summary in a separate document, then pick the ten-sentence summary.)

Protagonist: Rosamund Nemanjic

Rosamund nodded. Rosamund nodded. Rosamund turned to Katrin. Rosamund considered. “Nicholas! Nicholas shrugged. Rosamund tensed. "..., Highness?" Rosamund exhaled.

I guess you can see why she's the protagonist, huh.

(blinking)

Must go see what it does to mine...

edit: "this feature is currently not installed."

Maybe just as well...

The Word Autosummarize feature is hilarious.

Oh, I love that thing! I have gotten way too much enjoyment from plugging text into it and snickering.

The Word Autosummarize feature is hilarious.

tries

giggles

My entire NaNo so far (which it counts as 2542 sentances) reads:

"Connek?"

"Connek?" Connek cried.

Connek guessed. "Connek?" "Lesky!" "Bob! "Bob!" Modryp.

"Lesky!"

Or my current mess in progress (Ray is the narrator):

"Fraser?" "Fraser!" "Fraser, Fraser, Fraser." Fraser blinked. "Constable Fraser," Fraser says. Fraser nods. Fraser whispered. "Hey, Fraser!" Fraser sighed. Fraser nodded.

Huh, mine was something like, Jane, Jane, Jane, Sara, fuck, fuck, Fuck. There's a lot of frustrated swearing in mine.

OK, this feature sounds like way too much fun...

What is this NAno thing y'all are talking about? I prolly don't have time, but it sounds interesting.