Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Last year, I decided, with an accompanying little foot-stomping snit, that NaNoWriMo meant Nah, No Write More… and it was basically pretty true although I did write a few little dribbling chapters, and tried to feel good about that.
This year I can already see that my rules need revising what with the granddaughter’s out of town birthday that will take up my weekend, and Thanksgiving week, and, well… I probably won’t write 50,000 words. And it won’t be in a new novel, but will hopefully be good progress on my existing WIP. And “Self” will be relegated to a timeout chair in the corner. Behind a curtain. Where I can’t see her judge-y, rule-fixated little scrunched up face, but will only occasionally acknowledge a huffy little humph or frustrated sigh.
And I will feel good about writing more than I did last month. And writing it well. And throwing in a few good blog posts along the way, because, as Thomas Mann says, “A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.” That is certainly true for me!
I think I hear “Self” over their muttering to herself in the corner that maybe I really am a writer after all.