I promised myself I would not give in to temptation (again). Sadly, I overestimated my ability to resist the urge to embark on what would be my sixth consecutive November of novel-writing insanity.
Ain’t NO BODY got time for this.
And so, here I sit, 3,402 words into National Novel Writing Month 2013 wondering what I ever did to acquire this hunger for creating. Maybe it’s my parents’ fault. They had to go be all encouraging and raise me to believe I could be anything I wanted to be, even an aspiring novelist dragging her feet through her senior year of college ON TOP OF writing 50,000 words in 30 days. Seriously? You could have been like, “Dearest daughter, you can be anything you want to be – except a NaNoWriMo participant in the fall of 2013.” That would have been nice, guys. Thanks for the love.
Really, I love my parents. But I don’t understand where this need to write all these stories came from. Can’t my brain just wait until December 14th to splatter literary ideas all over the place? Come on. I think I’m seriously going to regret this.
Maybe I won’t though – because it’s only Day 2 and I am absolutely in love with my characters. Callie is my favorite so far, the 20-something college professor addicted to caffeine (not based off of me, thank you very much. And if that’s what you were thinking, really? Shame on you.)
Ashley is the other MC, but I’m struggling with her a little bit. She’s gone a little off the deep end. It’s kind of a long story (hence why I’m writing 50,000 words, so I can tell it). She doesn’t talk. To anyone. And her thoughts are constantly moving back-and-forth between the past and present. This is what I get for reading The Sound and the Fury. Darn you, Faulkner. Darn you.
Why am I telling you this? You’re never going to read it. Why? Because the last four NaNo novels I started are still sitting unfinished on my laptop somewhere. That’s not even counting the ones from July (yes, I’m loopy enough to do this twice a year. You didn’t figure that out already?).
In July, I have so much time to write it’s not even funny.
In November, I don’t get to sleep. Ever.
We’ll see how long this lasts.
I’m picturing myself falling asleep during lunch. Face-planting into a BLT salad. Death by choking on bacon bits. A tragedy in the making.