I have the opening and ending to my NaNoWriMo novel, Coffee and Thunderbolts, loosely plotted in my mind, but a curious phenomenon has occurred since I signed up for the November quest. Unexpected firings of my brain, like the lighting that zips between the generators of the Krell in the movie Forbidden Planet, have led me to jot an absurd number of random thoughts on bits of sticky paper. I know the resulting mess can somehow be put together to make up the middle of my story, but it is a puzzle quagmire, a literary La Brea tar pit. Can I avoid becoming fossil fuel?
MGP
