The three of you who read this blog may have noticed a distinct lack of me lately. Uh, yeah, you would be right about that. I have reasons (er, excuses), and I'm going to share, but allow me to say up front that trying to do everything quite often leads to a whole lot of nothing getting finished.
I could attribute my lack of presence to Nanowrimo. Writing 50,000 words on a story in a month is kind of an insane idea. And yes, the few times I thought, “Hey, I should blog,” I shook my head and typed a few thousands words towards Nanowimo instead.
Okay, that's fair, right? Busy writing the next, awesome, sarcastic seasons of Babes in Spyland. It has to get put into the computer at some point anyway, so why not now?
Well, I did indeed write a whole lot of Babes in Spyland rough draft in November. But (and this is where it's confession time), I didn't actually get finished.
That feels very nasty to type—makes me want to fling it off of my fingers like the slimy goo from the mystery container in the fridge. This is the first time in probably eight years that I haven't finished Nanowrimo. And the really pathetic thing is...I missed it by 2,000 words. 2,000 stupid, stinking I-can-type-that-in-an-hour words. In my own eyes, this makes me pathetic. If I had typed for an hour just one more day in the month of November, then I would have made it. But NOOoooo, I didn't. Instead I pushed through about 4,000 words the day before the end and another 3,000 words on the last day, but by the time I got back from whatever I was doing that night it was already 11:45pm, and I didn't have time to finish.
My OCD twitches every time I think about it. I like to finish what I start. Heck, half of the time if I don't think I can finish, I don't start. (But that's just a personality flaw, I think. Either that or some scar from childhood that I still haven't worked out.) So I've been stewing about this all week. And, I admit, pouting.
Now for the excuses. First off, November is just busy in general. I worked more extra hours than I care to admit last month, which put a big dent on my writing time. Second, I'm overly stressed and have a hard time writing funny stuff when I'm cranky. Babes in Spyland is supposed to be funny, and when I noticed I wasn't laughing as I was writing I would stop. It must be funny. Third, and this is the biggest offender, my personal life is a bit out of control. I already work a high demand job. Three or four days a week I have a self defense class—one night I help teach. Family obligations seem to spike every time I have to buckle down and get some writing done. And I'm dating. Not to go into it, but hello, time suckage at its finest. Worth it, but insane.
My question is, how do people with kids and families get anything done??? They have super powers. That is the only thing I can think of. They can live without sleep or something. Go parents, you guys rock the world. I am a pansy and bow to your superior everything.
I'm trying to look at the bright side and tell myself that I now have 48,000 more words than I did a month ago, but my competitive spirit (which only really fights against itself) is still upset.
When I get over it I will let you know.
Kudos to whoever participated, and bigger kudos to those who made it! I will be more diligent with blogging. I will find my funny. I will finish what I started.
But first, I need some Tim Tams.