Finished!: November 30, 2004
In which I finish my NaNovel.
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Well, I did it. 50,000 words in 28 days; a glorious clutter of beautiful words strung together in a terrible, embarrasing row. It’s bad, my novel; it’ll take a hell of a lot of revision before even I can re-read it without wincing. But at least I did it, and I proved to myself that I’m capable of actually telling a story, bad as it may be.
NaNoWriMo has its after-effects, of course. I’ve slept more in the past three days than I’ve slept in the whole month together. The final leg of the project was difficult and depressing, and the strain led to an evil mood that’s lasted for a few days now. (Family and friends: I apologize for my craptastic attitude. Just remember, I’m a writer now.) There are two particularly crippling after-effects, though. One, I can’t write well anymore. Just look at this entry — it’s terrible, hideous! I don’t think I’ve ever written such a bad entry in my life!
The thing about writing — and here’s my deep, dark secret — is that it’s not fun, not fun at all. In fact, it’s the complete opposite of fun. It’s hours and hours spent in front of a computer or sitting at a desk, staring at blank whiteness of paper or monitor. Sometimes I can’t write a word, and the blankness stays that way. Other times I write, but it’s terrible writing, really bad, so bad that I sometimes cry while I’m writing. I don’t really know which is worse. Probably the not-writing…
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