55555

My official final wordcount for nanowrimo. The one that will be sealed with the site when it closes at midnight wherever in the world.

And my final excerpt for posterity, so far, is this one:

She thought about Marq. No, she couldn't love him. She could find nothing in him to love. He was good looking, sure, but he had nothing to offer her. Nothing in his soul that excited her. He was simply ...an arrangement. An arranged marriage. And a loveless one at that. Just like before. And he was cruel.
These thoughts startled her. Why did she think he was cruel? She shook herself back to reality, and concentrated on love.
The more she thought about it, the emptier her heart seemed. There was nobody. Nobody she did love, nobody she could love, and the lovelessness stretched into eternity. Did she even love herself?
She looked into her own blackness and decided she didn't. Not much to love there. It left a bad taste in her mouth, a taste of betrayal, and hatred, and revenge. Ugh.
She had to sit down. The shock of that blackness was too much for her. Whatever locked and blocked that heart of hers had long since smothered love and all its vestiges.

Also, on this last day, I'm a wrimo of the day. Along with someone else in the Netherlands, someone in Toronto with whom the Netherlands has wordcount and postcount wars, and we do a lot of crossposting, and someone in the Geezer thread where I've also been posting.

Hmmm. Looks like the coincidences and psychic phenomena in my novel are spreading into real life. And here I was thinking it wasn't autobiographical.