So I didn’t win, by which I mean, I didn’t finish 50,000 words by the end of November. In fact, I became paralyzed halfway through when I hit a rough spot at work and let it get to me. I think I’d do better with some group support, and maybe next year I’ll find some local write-ins before they happen, rather than after.
That said, I do have a solid outline for a book, and a plan to continue working on it at my own pace. That’s more than I’ve ever had before at the end of a NaNoWriMo, so I’ll take it.
I’m not going to lie, it tastes like bitter failure in an old record kind of way, but I’m working through that. Every reason just feels like an excuse, which as it turns out, isn’t really a great way to move myself forward, but rather a great way to be glued in place. Having awareness helps though, and so far that’s been the key to moving forward, however long it takes.
This process of writing is much like witchcamp always was for me. Really fucking hard to get through with moments of beauty and epiphany, followed by weeks of crying and laughing and processing, followed by a permanent, though sometimes subtle, shift. So it goes.