It had to happen. Like all good plans I tend to have, I rush in all eager and full of grandiose dreams of how I’m going to smash it.
I do the same with new diets. Yeah, THIS TIME, I’m gonna commit and stick to the plan, man.
It lasts about two weeks. And then I’m all, yeah whatever, I’ll just take one day off. I DESERVE IT FOR ALL THE GOOD WORK I’M DOING. It won’t mess anything up. And before you know it I’m gorging myself on a whole box of chocolate eclairs (what? – don’t you judge me!).
So my NaNo willpower muscle has about the same juice as my dieting one. Full steam ahead and then CRASH.
Before you ask, no I’m not giving up. (I’m not giving up, I’m not giving up.) I’m just a little behind the word count I would have liked by now. I’m easily distracted. I’m at the end of watching Breaking Bad Season Two (no spoilers please!!!) and must see what Walt does next, and strangely I have got a sudden enthusiasm with cleaning my house more. That’s normal right?
Anything except sit down and pound the keyboard with more words.
It’s not like I don’t know what I’m writing, or even think the story’s bad, it’s just I’m in that middle writing slump, which normally doesn’t bother me, but this time I have a DEADLINE. Yeah, me and pressure – not so good.
I’ll finish – I have to – for my peace of mind and sanity. It just may mean a few late nights. (I think I can, I think I can, just do it, rah rah and all that jazz.)
Or I won’t. (No don’t say that, don’t give up now, Zan [probably his name] is dying from a bullet wound and needs your help, and what will Ruby do now that the Farmer has seen the creature? And is her father going to get out of jail in time? And just where does her mother think she is anyway?)
So yeah, I have to finish.
Within two weeks.
And I’ll start back up as soon as I hang these clothes on the line, and read this article in this magazine, and show my daughter how to dance Gangham style and … oh crap.