It’s only day two of Nanowrimo, and I’ve already been derailed. I started well enough in the wee dawn hours of 1 November, but ended up distracted by work and chores. My plan to continue it that night also came to naught, this time due to sibling time doing crossword puzzles. Yes. Crossword puzzles. Apparently none of us can solve Tuesday puzzles on our own, thus the collaborative effort. We’ve never attempted Sunday.
Today I came down with a really bad sore throat that’s becoming a terrible, hollow sounding cough, and a low-grade fever. I spent most of the day sleeping or sipping tea. I feel a bit better now, though my brain refuses to function well enough to actually write complete sentences. (I’ve been spacing out more than writing this blog post, despite having stared at this screen for some time.)
I hope I can manage those 1,696 words today before the carriage turns into a pumpkin, but even if I don’t, there’s still another 28 days to go. Right?
All the Nanowrimo prep posts are making me nervous. Mostly because there’s been no prepping in this corner, and 1 November is in less than four hours here.
. . . I’m still not sure what I’m writing. I’m not sure why I’m still thinking of participating. This is either going to crash and burn spectacularly or there’s going to be word vomit in the most epic way. I won’t bet on the latter, though.
(Oh, there is an outline, kinda sorta, but it builds on other stuff that I haven’t really worked on, and the characters don’t even have names and I’m not even sure if this is going to be in third person limited.)
Will I be posting updates here? Maybe, for accountability reasons and so forth, because, hey, I suck at keeping promises to myself. I don’t think I’ll be posting excerpts, though, since I’m the kind of person who edits the heck out of her posts before hitting that ‘publish’ button and there probably won’t be enough time for edits.
So, are you attempting Nanowrimo this year? I’m still on the fence.
I’ve just checked in at the website and it says that I’ve been a member ‘for about 13 years’. Holy word count, Batman. (It could be more than 13, but they only started properly tracking in 2002, and I honestly can’t remember when I first got dragged into that insanity.) I didn’t participate in all those 13 years; I skipped more than I participated. And I’ve never won.
Yep, I’ve never hit that 50,000 word mark in the last 13 years, be it in 30 days or not.
I suppose it just shows how deeply I’m enmeshed in fandom that when I see the word ‘original‘, I think about ‘original fiction’. I don’t think it’s a term widely used outside of fic-writing fandom circles. Some of you might even be wondering, original fiction as opposed to what? Unoriginal fiction?
Fanfiction. Works written by fans for other fans, based on works of others.
I can sense some of you rolling your eyes at this.
I won’t bother writing anything in defence of fanfic; so many other fans have done this. It’s probably one of those things you either get or don’t. It doesn’t really matter.
So. It’s been a month since I started posting in this blog. To my surprise, I managed to post almost daily. I missed four days, but there were two days where I posted twice, so I guess that evens it out a little.
I didn’t actually plan to post daily. I started one day, then I continued on the next, and when I hit five days in a row I considered giving this posting daily thing a chance.
Has it helped in my quest to write more? Well, I am writing more, but I don’t think I’ve written much that is substantial. There’s been snippets of fiction, general observations, attempts at prompts, terrible attempts at poetry, a photo or two. I still haven’t found a subject I want to focus on, or a story that I can imagine myself working on daily.
Editing seems to get a bad reputation in the circle of writers near me, especially those just starting or those trying to get back to their feet. You know how the advice goes: Turn your inner editor off and get on writing!
I’m getting that advice a lot.
Which is good advice, really. I wouldn’t be writing anything at all otherwise, because my inner editor is very loud and terribly distracting.
That being said, let me also tell you this: Your editors aren’t out to get you. Not the real ones, and possibly not even the one in your head.
If there was one thing that I was sure that I had always wanted since I was young, it was to write.
When I was younger (oh, a long time ago now, it feels like the distant past) I could write on and on and on, my handwriting a messy scrawl across pages and pages and pages. I was self-conscious about it — I almost never showed any of it to anyone. Handing in writing assignments was almost physically painful since it felt like I was giving a piece of myself away, but still I wrote.
Somewhere along the way, I grew up. I couldn’t write for myself any more, not even in hidden paper journals I’d never show anyone, or locked blogs only accessible to me, or password protected documents in password protected computers. The spark was gone, and I couldn’t find it no matter how hard I looked.