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There are sagas, and then there are the sagas about sagas. There are even sagas about saga sagas, but Derrida's dead -- let him rest in peace, for God's sake.

We have the saga of Brenda, NaNoWriMo novelist three times over and four times hopeful. She's been pounding the keys for almost three weeks now and she's nearly admitted defeat - at least on the 50,000 words in 30 days front. It's a war against oneself, writing is, and one has to choose one's battles. While Brenda may be bogged down on the Russian front, she's yet to meet her Waterloo, and soldiers on admirably. So she may have to finish the thing in December -- no matter. How many of us have completed a single novel, much less written four in the space of four months scattered over four years? We have it on good authority that Bulgakov took 12 years to write Master and Margarita, and was still making edits on his death bed.

Along with us, let's give a big cheer in the comments for Brenda and hope that some good feeling carries her through a 10,000 word Thanksgiving binge. She'll be writing while we watch Joey Harrington toil for the hapless Lions on Thursday, drowsy from tryptophan. At least her cause is not nearly as lost as his. Heart-wrenching update after the jump.

Ed. Note: While poor SFist Jon is probably dealing with a wave of anti-American sentiment on his vacation to beautiful Chile, we've taken responsibility for his NaNoWriMo charge Brenda.