Wayside and Waylaid (Or, What Fell Apart While I Did Nanowrimo)

So, I finished Nanowrimo! Not the novel — I’m at 53,000 words or so, but I’ve got a whole second-half-of-second-act left. But it’s cool. It’s nice to be done with the Nano part of things, and then eat a lot of turkey for a holiday and then just sleep like crazy over a long weekend. Recovery! When I tell people in my real life that I’m doing Nanowrimo (like at Thanksgiving dinner), they always look at me like I’m nuts and ask, “Is it fun?” (Well, after they ask what the heck Nanowrimo is.) And I laugh, because in some

Breathing room & new endeavors

I am, I realized, insane. But I had to admit, the siren call of Nanowrimo was too irresistible. I had told myself last month that if I wrapped up the last revision of my novel, I’d give myself November off from it and start on my next book, using Nanowrimo as a semi-sanctioned cultural excuse to write a large amount of (mostly crappy) words in a short period of time. Of course, I didn’t think this would happen, because I thought I wouldn’t be done. I had been struggling for some time, you see, chipping away at this current revision,