Participating in NaNoWriMo month-long endeavor, I’ve become like a mother nursing her sick child back to health, while forsaking her other children in the process. Ever since November 1, I have put all of my other works on hold, focusing all of my attention and energy on this one piece. These 50,000 words that have drawn me into its evil clutches, not allowing me a day’s rest. Which, for this contest, is a good thing.
But along with this comes the fretting: will this novel ever take off? Will other people want to read it? Will it be good enough? Clever enough? Emotional enough? So my other ‘children’ cry out to me from my inbox. Pay attention to us! We’re so lonely! Don’t you care about us anymore? But I do. Very much. The separation is almost painful. I try to dwell on the thoughts and images of my unfinished works. I know that I need to return to them, to nurture them, to love them back into existence.
This narrow focus on one novel takes a lot of energy out of me. Though I have discovered how much I enjoy writing this way. It forces me to write. To produce. To share. To release my imagination out into the world, come what may.
I am happy to announce that I have stuck with it. We have just entered the second week and I am nearing 22,000 words. I believe that this is the most I’ve ever written. So along with the vast amounts of energy it takes to write this novel, I also am left with a sense of pride. Knowing that I am well on the way to completing something I set out to do. Something I normally struggle with. Commitment. Oh, I hear one of my unfinished babies calling out to me. I need to go and see to what they need. Until next time, my friends, keep those fingers flying!