Well, I’m failing (failed?) at NaNoWriMo this year. I’m usually a somewhat reliable machine, you know, the kind that ends up at the shop every so often but holds on until you’re off the highway to conk out. Not this year, though.
This year, I seem to have given up, without even noticing or trying.
I usually love the challenge of NaNo, love the discipline of sitting down and getting in my words. I can generally quiet that voice in my head telling me that what I’m writing makes no sense, that it’s pointless, that it’s not going to work. This year it feels as though that voice has won.
And I don’t like it.
I’ve tried all of my usual anti-procrastination techniques, with cleaning, exercising, doing other things. I’m the prop person for the show we’re writing for my sketch comedy writing class, and this morning I took one look at my computer and then tried my hand at a “practice” prop made out of paper mache. It’s actually turning out pretty well, though, so procrastination has its perks.
But the one thing I can’t seem to do is go back to this new book. It’s feeling stiff, alien. Unwieldy.
So that is where I am with the writing right now. I think it may have a bit to do with the writing class, producing scenes week after week, but I thought I’d settle back into this format much like cozying into a familiar blanket.
I don’t know if anyone has ever said this before, but writing is a challenge. Deep, right?
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A Bit to Read 
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