I’ve finally given in and decided to challenge myself, along with hundreds of thousands of other people, to write a novel-length story in the month of November, which is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).
What am I writing about?
A very vague idea.
Why am doing it?
Because I have a hard time finishing a work of any valuable length to actually go after the fact and edit it.
And yet I am already behind. We are supposed to be at about 10,200 words today, and I am at a sad 5427. Now, if only I had double that word count, I’d be a happy camper. That being said, I feel like although I’m still unsure where the story is going, it’s a quality story. My story so far is super memoir-like, as I hear people’s first novels are, and I might never show it to anyone, but it has some happily surprising bits of joy in it that I never expected.
The main point of this post, though is to pre-emptively postpone plans with everyone I love until the end of November.
See you in December, when I will have an imaginary badge of honour for hours of frustrating mental block and 50,000 awfully positioned words.