Every time I start a new NaNoWriMo, I threaten to kick
myself. I have three such novels of 50,0000 words and more that I need to
finish. Why start a new one?
Why indeed! Here I am typing my little fingers to the bone
with a new novel (and way ahead of my word count, I might add) Seriously? I
love my other novels. I want to finish them. I can’t believe I’m doing this again.
Never, ever, in my wildest imagination did I think that
writing could be so time consuming. I thought it was like the movies----a
remote cottage, gentle breezing blowing through a window, soft music playing,
some devoted someone bringing in coffee or iced drinks and delicious
sandwiches. Even in the movie Misery, the main character , an author, played by James Caan, who was in excruciating pain inflicted by the demented Kathy Bates, who also tormented him mentally, managed to crank out an entire novel. In the midst of all that, he made the novel writing look so easy.
But alas, I suppose ‘No pain, No gain’ as the saying goes. So I lie in bed each night with my novel unfolding like scenes from a movie (that’s what pantsters do—no plotting for me) until I want to scream, “Leave me alone so I can sleep!”
NaNoWriMo, how I loathe thee.…I mean, oh, how I love thee.
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