Twenty thousand badly-chosen words later

Is it bad luck to speak too soon?  Does pride come before a fall?  Is it inadvisable to count your chickens before said chickens are hatched?  Because so far I am blowing NaNoWriMo out of the water!  It is less than the dust beneath my chariot wheels!  Never mind the quality feel the width (as the bishop said to the actress or, in East Anglia, as the art teacher said to the gardener).  Let's celebrate, not at all prematurely, with Alan Partridge:

Eat my goal!  (New Partridge here.)

I've sort of got over the way that reading it back makes me wince, and how totally it sounds like it was translated from Latin by someone who doesn't quite understand Latin.  I don't care that roughly half of the characters have a claim to be renamed Basil Exposition.  Or that everyone has very similar names (which is after all the Anglo-Saxons' fault with their stupid names).  And yesterday, when I needed some evidence for my detective to absorb, I just wrote "PUT EVIDENCE HERE" and moved on.  I feel a bit like a primary school kid who has decided to invent an amazing new colour by mixing lots of other colours and hasn't yet realised that when you mix loads of colours you get brown.  Or who doesn't care because brown is a colour too!  Hurray for not worrying and just enjoying yourself!  This must be what it's like to be Wagner.