Poor Planning; The Son of NaNo

There’s nothing like deciding you need to have an actual plan for an upcoming novel the night before you commence writing said novel. You know, something more than a few bullet points and something that at least whiffs of a plot outline.

Have I mentioned that I am no good at being a planner? That, at the very best, I am a planster (half-assed plot, write by the seat of your pants)? I think I mentioned I was more a gardener than an architect. So it goes.

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NaNoWriMo countdown

By the time this post goes live, there will be less than twelve hours by my time zone before NaNoWriMo begins.

I’ll be honest. I’ll either blow 50k words out of the water and peg something significantly higher as I try to avoid news of all the frustrating things going on in my own neck of the woods between coronavirus denialism, shenanigans by politicians and their lawyers in an attempt to pervert the outcome of an election and disenfranchise millions, the election itself, the rise of the white supremists from their foul moldering places, trying to keep my family safe from sickness when the numbers are skyrocketing for coronavirus cases, etc.

Or, all of these distractions will prove to be too much and I’ll barely eek out 20k words.

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Personal Monsters

With two days until the madness begins, I’m trying to get motivated for NaNoWriMo, but I feel more like a limp, deflated, burst balloon rag than I feel like a writer today. Now if there were only a Useful Pot to put me into…

I sometimes wish I knew why I was so compelled to write all the time (although that compulsion sometimes leaves me when I need it most, ugh). It’s not as if I crave fame or fortune, or that I feel that I’m a particularly good writer, although there have been enough other writers out there to boost my ego a bit as I read what they write… I don’t want to even go into some of the stuff I’ve read and been asked to give advice on or write a positive review for on Amazon. I get PTSD just thinking about some of it. But I’ve never considered myself a noteworthy writer, although that doesn’t stop me from iterating and refining and trying to be better. Nor, apparently, does it keep me from oversharing the results of my perversions.

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