Somehow, and it always seems to happen, November does not behave as it should, and I can't find the time to write. I have found a way to win two of the last four years, although last year it took 13,000 words in the last weekend to finish, an accomplish I still draw strength from. It's usually a week or two before I start to think I can't do it, but that moment always comes. The first win I owe to my sister, another NaNoWriMo-er that year. She was a huge inspiration--largely in trying to keep up with (beat) her word count. The second win was fueled by the memory of and determination for the sweet taste of victory again.
After writing zero words on Days 1 or 2 this year, I was still hopeful and optimistic about my chances of success...or near success...or participation even. This November is a different beast altogether. I have the exact moment this year when my prospects dimmed: Wednesday, November 3rd at 1:09pm. My world has been spinning since then (up is down, left is right, etc.) I still have a small shred of ambition and a dim glimmer of hope, but I can't start writing until I can see straight, and the outlook for that is not promising. I know: poor me. But it really is a hard, cruel world.
Sounds like fuel for a novel...
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