(Shakespeare reference has absolutely nothing to do with the fact my copy of So Silver Bright is presently sitting on my coffee table, waiting to be read.)
This is really just a short post to ramble. How are those two concepts — “short” and “ramble” — capable of co-existing? No idea. We’ll see.
So, NaNoWriMo is fast approaching. I first participated in 2009, and won. I far exceeded my own expectations of how much I could write, finishing my second manuscript, Triptych, with 75,000 words.
Attempts at NaNoWriMo have not gone so well since then, and now I’ve developed a sort of fear — perhaps even a phobia. What if I participate in NaNoWriMo and another Stressful Real Life Things pops up? What if something awful happens in real life, such as happened in NaNo ’10 when a close friend (and significant other at the time) had a cancer scare? What if I’m broken forever as a writer, and can never finish another novel for my entire lifetime? What if I should take up welding or carpentry instead of writing?
What if I’m just being neurotic?