Well, I don’t. So far I’ve scrubbed the house top to bottom, gone grocery shopping, prepped a breakfast meal, prepped dinner, done laundry, gone shopping for thread and an embroidery hoop, and done a 3″ embroidered image of a fishing vessel.
I frankly had little to go off even for today’s post, so I’m going to include a snippet of the pep talk delivered to my NaNo inbox today. For the background info, he is comparing novel writing to being a Tribute in the Hunger Games. If you don’t catch the reference, that’s what Wikipedia is for. (Pep Talk from Lev Grossman)
So, you are a Tribute for the Hunger Games but you don’t feel confident. You feel like crap. Like you have no idea what you’re doing. Sometimes you pick up your bow and arrow or your throwing knives and you’re like, I don’t even remember how these damn things work. Why? Why are you different? What is wrong with you?
So this is point number two: nothing is wrong with you. You’re not different. Everybody feels as bad as you do: this is just what writing a novel feels like. To write a novel is to come in contact with raw, primal feelings, hopes and longings and psychic wounds, and try to make a big public word-sculpture out of them, and that is a crazy hard thing to do. When you look at other people’s published novels, they seem gleaming and perfect, like the authors knew what they wanted to do from the start and just did it. But trust me: they didn’t know.
What you’re feeling is not only normal: it’s a good sign. A writer—someone once said—is a person for whom writing is difficult. That resistance you’re feeling is proof that you’re digging deep. To write a novel is to lose your way and find it over, and over, and over again.
A lousy draft proves nothing. Rough drafts are rough—everybody’s are. Being a writer isn’t like being a musician. You don’t have to get it right every day. The wonderful thing about being a writer is, you only have to get it right once. That’s all anyone will ever see. The only bad draft is the one that doesn’t get finished.
So get back at it. Let the others lose heart and give up. You stay out there in the woods. The weapons of a writer, James Joyce once wrote, are silence, exile, and cunning, and probably he wasn’t thinking of the Hunger Games when he wrote that—probably—but it fits the metaphor. While Tributes are falling left and right, you will fashion man-traps from ninja stars, steal weapons from the fallen, and bide your time, and when you’re ready you will come out of those woods like an avenging angel of death.
Forget that stuff about the odds being ever in your favor. What does that even mean? Screw the odds. There are no odds. You’re a writer, and writers make their own odds.
-Lev Grossman (http://nanowrimo.org/pep-talks/lev-grossman)
Ok, a ‘snippet’ turned into ‘like almost half’, but this was the half that really spoke to me today. It may seem like I’m almost at the finish line, but the truth is, I’m not. If I quit at 50k then I wouldn’t be challenging myself. I’m going to keep on writing, as much as I can, for the whole freaking month. I have a goal in mind. Currently I am at about 60% of that goal. It isn’t about the words, it’s about finishing this stupid draft. And I want the draft done this month. You know?
That’s how things sit today.
PS- yes, my drawings. I thought I’d start sharing my daily doodles.