The Doctor sits hunched over a laptop computer, his eyes glued to the screen. His fingers type furiously, at an ubelievable rate. Clara looks over his shoulder.
"Um, Doctor?"
He doesn't reply. He is typing so quickly that the computer can't even process it until several seconds later. By then, he's a thousand words ahead of it and it has to try again.
Clara watches in silent amusement. He has been typing for ten minutes before he turns around with a sigh, stretching his fingers.
"What did you do?" she asks.
"Oh, I just heard about this thing called NaNoWriMo. You try to write a novel in a month. A novel is about 50,000 words, so I thought I'd try my hand at it."
"So how many words did you write?" she asks.
"100,000."
Her eyes widen. They shouldn't, but they do. She feels like she is going to have a heartattack. "ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND!"
"Oh, I'm not finished yet," he says. "I just need some coffee real quick." He goes off to order some from the shop across the street.
Clara looks at the date and time on the laptop. November 1st, 2014. 9:30 a.m.
As she starts reading the novel, she realizes that the Doctor is most likely never going to be a best selling author.
"Daleks in Manhattan?" she says as he jogs towards her, a cup of coffee in one hand and two jammy dodgers in the other. "Seriously, Doctor, come up with a better story will you? This one's rubbish."