November is National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo.
It is an exciting time for writers. Adrenaline is pumping. Words are flowing. Everyone is writing with reckless abandon to meet the 50,000-word deadline before the month’s end.
Last year I enthusiastically participated. (That novel, which has real potential, still waits to be finished, as I haven’t touched it since last December. But that’s another story.) We had travel plans for the end of the month, but I finished nonetheless and blogged three times a week to boot. That was last year.
I’m ready to go with a new novel and had planned to use NaNoWriMo as a boost to get a good start on writing it. The research is done. It’s outlined—well, mostly. But with my mother-in-law in Hospice and our many trips to her farm (an hour each way), I can’t bring myself to sign up.
It’s silly. The whole thing is self-governed and no one cares whether or not I finish…except me. If I sign up, I know I’ll feel pressure to meet a daily word count and my intellectual self is telling me that’s not a wise move at the moment. I feel guilty enough about slacking on my blogging schedule. The wet noodle would be working overtime if I signed up and got behind. Nothing says I can’t still use November to delve into writing the book.
So, there. The decision is made. I’ll work on my new book, Murder at The Hermitage, but NaNo NOT.
Good luck to all of my friends who are participating. I’ll be cheering you on!