Well, I did better than I usually do during NaNoWriMo – and there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind it’s due to your good wishes and encouragement – but I blew it again.
Didn’t get 50,000 words. Didn’t even come close. Completely whizzed it.
Actually I’m starting to get kind of fascinated as how difficult this is for me. I remember when I was a teenager that writing fiction was effortless. (I’m not saying that I didn’t write miles of shit, but it was effortlessly-produced shit.) Now it’s this squinchy-eyed, brain-squeezing, painful exercise. It feels like I’m trying to do algebra in a second language I’m not good at. I plink, I plod, I set down a line of dialogue and feel like I’ve run a marathon.
I’ve written non-fiction books. I have regular conversations with my brain that get written down (mostly on my Facebook page – I need to update ME TRIES TO WORK.) I have very, very strange dreams that prove at least bits of me are creative. Remind me to tell you about That’s Our Sylvia.
And yet writing fiction – just writing a story – is elusive, painful, frustrating, headache-inducing.
I’m going to maintain a sense of humor about the whole thing and keep chipping away at it. If it’s this hard to do, I’m sure there’s something to gain in learning (or possibly re-learning) to do it.
Meanwhile last week at work was crazy so I have lots of ResearchBuzz to share with you. Prepare for the deluge.
Have I told you lately that I love you? I love you. Thank you for your support and your encouraging words and the boost you gave me, even if I flunked it. I’ll keep trying.