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.
4 comments:
If it's any consolation, I don't even attempt Nano with my kids. So the fact that you've been doing it for 8 years...wow.
I say you combine all the work you did on Babes with the Nano and then I'm sure you'd hit the 2000 extra words and you could give a mighty cheer! Unless it had to be posted to the website or something, in which case just thumb your nose at them:)
Rick says the "secret" of getting things "done" with kids is lowered expectations. You make a to do list and then celebrate if you get anywhere near half of it done.
I sort of agree. For me it's that I don't make plans to get big things done. A bit of tatting. A page of writing/ research/editing. One load of laundry a day. one room straitened a day...ish.
When something doesn't get done in a "timely" manor I don't stress/care.
And in the end...Add days to the month. I know a couple of years when an author friend let it be know (to editor and world at large) that there were 45 days in April...when her manuscript was due by.
So does that mean I get to wear your black belt?
Notice how I say that online where I'm weeeellll outta reach? ;)
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