As I reflect on another NaNo gone by, it’s hard to reconcile my joy of writing over twenty-two thousand words, and my regret at losing yet another NaNo—six now. I’ve lost six NaNos.
I’ve never even come close.
Most of the time, I don’t mind. I know I’m not a fast writer. I know that I’m more of a tortoise than a hare. I know that my careful attention to word choice and phrasing make for an easier time during the editing process. I know that I’ve completed two novels of way more than fifty thousand words (and one of those is almost finished being edited!), and that my writing life is more than November. But I feel like a loser tonight.
I don’t know why this year is different. I’ve always been super excited at whatever word count I could manage each of the five previous attempts. My first NaNo, I reached eighteen or nineteen thousand words and I felt like a whole new world had been opened to me. Each year I’ve managed to write a little more than the last. Except this one. I beat my average, but only just.
Perhaps this is the first year I actually thought that maybe I could do it, maybe I could actually write that fifty thousand. I’ve never believed that before. And I was on-pace (over-pace) that first week. It was an amazing feeling! Then the election happened, and I had difficulty summoning any extra energy to write. My creative brain was exhausted and listless. I wrote a few thousand words over the next week or two. Then when I finally felt a little better, we had company come in for Thanksgiving (wonderful people who I don’t see nearly enough!) and life was focused elsewhere. By the time they left, I had two days to make up the thirty two thousand word deficit.
I know there are people who can write that in a couple days; I am not one of them. I sat down and cried at what could have been. Then I went to a write-in and pounded out a couple thousand words. The next day I managed a couple thousand more. The end. NaNo is over. I want so badly to post that stupid winners badge. I want so badly to cheer, but all I can think is, “I should’ve done better. I could’ve done better.” But I couldn’t’ve. I did the best I could.
And that is good enough.
I’m super proud of the scenes I wrote and really excited about the stories and where they’re going. (I was a rebel this year and wrote scenes in three different stories this year…well, four, but I don’t know where that one came from—well, I guess I do, but I don’t know if it’s going to go anywhere.) Today I came home from work, took care of the kids, made dinner, then got out my ipad and wrote more words. It’s not November anymore, but the writing doesn’t stop.
The stories don’t stop.
At some point my feeling will catch up to my knowing. Until then, I’ll keep writing.
And afterward also.
(And I’m sure I’ll sign up for NaNo again next year…)