No, I'm not quite being Ron Swanson (although that might be awesome).
It is time for that horrendous, embarrassing and guilt-inducing beast that is the National Novel Writing Month.
The last time I decided to partake in this endeavor, I did so without guilt. And with much enthusiasm. With friends.
But now, even thinking about writing a novel is fraught with large, almost unending amounts of anxiety.
So much has changed.
For instance, I just - no, seriously - only just found out that I absolutely *hate* Cheeni Kum.
And I can, more or less, tell you what a vaccination schedule looks like.
I like baking. I now know of the existence of Sigur Ros. I *love* Doctor Who.
Much more importantly, perhaps, I have since that time met folks whose everyday lives are committed to writing. After seeing these wonderful people pore over their work, sweat over each word in their prose, cry through workshops; after seeing these people pour themselves into writing, the very idea of approaching a novel with the reckless abandon that NaNoWriMo advocates makes me flinch, just a little bit. It seems so vulgar.
And then, amidst all the other goings on in the world* writing 50,000 words in a month - especially, when I'm not convinced that the words will bleed my deepest, most profound truth - seems so...frivolous, so myopic, so self-involved.
But then, at the same time, in these two semesters that I'm taking off school, I'm not convinced that I will put the metaphorical pen to paper without some kind of a deadline. And I did have so much fun just writing the last time around. Plus, I met some awesome people via the writing.
Yeah, okay - this is not a world-changing decision. Hell, it's not even the most important decision in my life right now. But it has been on my mind all the same. And since I've not written a damn word for NaNoWriMo, I figured I might as well write about the things on my mind.
*Seriously, if you need me to spell these out for you, you're most certainly doing something wrong.
It is time for that horrendous, embarrassing and guilt-inducing beast that is the National Novel Writing Month.
The last time I decided to partake in this endeavor, I did so without guilt. And with much enthusiasm. With friends.
But now, even thinking about writing a novel is fraught with large, almost unending amounts of anxiety.
So much has changed.
For instance, I just - no, seriously - only just found out that I absolutely *hate* Cheeni Kum.
And I can, more or less, tell you what a vaccination schedule looks like.
I like baking. I now know of the existence of Sigur Ros. I *love* Doctor Who.
Much more importantly, perhaps, I have since that time met folks whose everyday lives are committed to writing. After seeing these wonderful people pore over their work, sweat over each word in their prose, cry through workshops; after seeing these people pour themselves into writing, the very idea of approaching a novel with the reckless abandon that NaNoWriMo advocates makes me flinch, just a little bit. It seems so vulgar.
And then, amidst all the other goings on in the world* writing 50,000 words in a month - especially, when I'm not convinced that the words will bleed my deepest, most profound truth - seems so...frivolous, so myopic, so self-involved.
But then, at the same time, in these two semesters that I'm taking off school, I'm not convinced that I will put the metaphorical pen to paper without some kind of a deadline. And I did have so much fun just writing the last time around. Plus, I met some awesome people via the writing.
Yeah, okay - this is not a world-changing decision. Hell, it's not even the most important decision in my life right now. But it has been on my mind all the same. And since I've not written a damn word for NaNoWriMo, I figured I might as well write about the things on my mind.
*Seriously, if you need me to spell these out for you, you're most certainly doing something wrong.
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