So here’s the thing: if your plot abandons you, it’s really hard to do NaNoWriMo. Oh sure, I could write 30 different short stories of 1,667 words each, but it’s hard. Really hard. Even lengthy and detailed characterizations — like the one about the woman who scoops the foam out of her cappuccino and feeds it to her dog (based on a real woman at Peet’s) — doesn’t really help you get anywhere with word count. And so, after a blistering start, my efforts at fiction are stalling. My “novel” is languishing. And for the first time ever, I have serious doubts about being able to hit that 50,000 word mark.
Falling short of the goal wouldn’t be unreasonable considering that my father was visiting for a week, I’ve had the cold/sinus infection/antibiotic side effects from hell for three weeks, and I’ve been juggling deadlines. But here’s the problem: I’ve done it multiple times in various states of personal and professional disarray, and nothing short of a newborn ever stopped me before. I can’t let the goal slip away without it gnawing at me for the next 11.5 months.
On Monday night, I’m going to have to sit down and crank out about 8,000 words, just to preserve my long-term sanity. And perhaps I’ll give some thought to taking a break from novel-writing when next November rolls around.