(Actual representation of me last week.)
I’ve reached the stage of NaNo where I hate words. I’m convinced I could happily burn my WIP. And I’m definitely questioning my sanity.
In 2017, I wrote approximately 140k across several short stories and three novels.
This year, I’ve written a 90k novella trilogy, a 52k novel, and I’m on track to wrapping up another 65k – 70k novel. Plus a handful of flash fictions. So if all goes well, I’ll end 2018 having written over 200k words in total.
For me? That’s a lot.
In all honesty, this year, it was too much. I didn’t allow myself enough time to rest. I didn’t set enough boundaries around my time.
Being a pantser (and not much of a plotter), my brain works best with breaks. I don’t really know where my ideas come from. I tend to just…sit and write, whatever comes out–comes out. Burning myself can be worse than writer’s block. More like writer’s too fucking tired to remember what words are.
I’ve promised myself to do better next year by taking breaks between my projects next year.
In part, my drive to do more and more comes from being autistic. I’ve an inner need to do and be more because of a less than healthy desire to make up for other areas where I can’t quite do what others do. (It’s hard to explain if you don’t experience it.)
On my list for December?
Relax, read through my massive TBR list, watch my favourite holidays movies, and wrap up this fun Urban Fantasy.
I’m not kicking myself if I don’t quite hit the NaNo deadline.
Writing should be fun, and if I add too much stress, I’m not doing myself any favours.