So, right.  NaNoWriMo.  Day Three.

I'm a little over a day behind already, and not really having had a brilliant idea to start with this year's novel is becoming an ill-constructed exploration of my own damn psyche, rather than a story I particularly want to tell.  

However.

Past experience leads me to trust in Week Three, when pixie dust is abundant and seemingly useless bits of navel fuzz turn out to be compelling plot devices.  

Or it could just be total crap.  The whole point of NaNoWriMo is to not care.

(I care.)