So, this year's attempt at a NaNoWriMo was a complete and abysmal failure. This may sound harsh, but it's the truth. I was unable to write anything during most of November. Zero words. Zip. Nada.
"But Belinda!" you may cry in my imagination. "You still have four days! Just write about 13,000 words a day!" No dice, champ. I simply cannot do it. I do not have the stamina or mental confidence to do so. Not this time.
I'm not saying I don't have ideas. Oh, no, I have plenty of those. All floating in my brain, taking up cargo space, chatting wildly among themselves and making a ruckus. I have ideas. I simply do not have the energy to put them on paper. They're simply blobs of scenes and premises and characters with no real structure to draw from. They just can't make a novel/
So, that's that. I could've spent time working on Storytellers. Instead, I floundered aimlessly trying to write a novel that just wasn't in me.
Now, I have won NaNoWriMo before. Twice, in fact. One of those novels was never technically completed, though it did hit the 50,000 word limit. My first successful NaNoWriMo resulted in a novel that I'm still very proud of and have edited since. I know that I have it in me to continuing working on larger and more complex writing projects. It's just that this month has been a whole ball of crazy anxiety, with many moments in which I have considered running away.
Well, I'm not running away. And I will still tell stories.
Take care, everyone.