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.
Not happening.
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…)
