It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. The highs were hyperbolic, the lows were plumb deep. But I survived. Here are the lessons I lived to tell:
Tryptophan is the writer’s silent assassin. I still haven’t recovered. (Who’s idea was it to make November the national writing month anyway?)
I made two really good friends, my characters. I hope to spend more time with them, though I’m not sure this project is the right one. And that’s okay. (really, it is)
The daily posts were fun, but I did feel compelled to polish those bits, which goes against the NaNoWriMo fast and furious philosophy. I learned that as a writer, I prefer long baths to quick showers. And I think I missed behind my ears.
Next time I think I’ll do a little more preparation in the form of plotting, because the wandering plot was my demise on this one.
I fell shy of the 50,000 word goal, but I did get to 30,000 and that’s 30,000 more than 0.
I did not ignore my family nearly as much as I anticipated, though I did drink copious amounts of coffee to battle the post turkey haze. Many brain cells were lost.
Will I do it again next year? Of course I will. I’m doing it again next month! Because that’s what writers do. We write! Ah, the insanity of it all.
Goodbye November. Hello December. I need a nap.
Image from www.pandart.org