NaNOWhytheEFF

Let me preface this by saying, do whatever works for you, OK? No hate and no disrespect here.

But I do not and will not understand this NaNoWriMo BS that is basically inescapable for an entire month.

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My #NaNoWriMo face.

I don’t force myself to write. I just don’t. Which is probably why I haven’t written anything new in almost two months. Not the point.

I just don’t get this. At all. Why would you stress yourself out to write x number of words in a given span of time that you ALREADY KNOW aren’t going to be any good? Is that too pessimistic? To me, if I’m “on the clock” I’m likely to churn out a bunch of shit just to reach a certain word count. A word count that I’ve preset for some effing reason. And if I’m the one to set the word count…can’t I just make it whatever I want? 500k? 5k? 5? It doesn’t matter, does it? What’s the limit?

If you know anything about me, you might recall I used to be a teacher. I hated giving a length requirement for essays. Because I KNEW if I said the essay had to be 500 words, let’s say, I’d get 250 of quality material, followed by 250 of the same thoughts reworded. Or 250 words of extraneous detail. Or 250 words of “I think” “I feel” “I believe”. MAKE IT STOP. As a student it was the same thing. Like how I can pad this thing to get to the right number of words? Let me undo all my contractions!

Writers, why do this to yourself?

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Why spend an entire month writing something you ALREADY KNOW you’re going to spend the next month rewriting? December shall be DecDoOver. Yeah, the name ain’t catchy. But it’s about as catchy as NaNoWhyAmIDoingThis?

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Thoughts on a Thoughtful Sunday Night

I’ve been feeling quite small lately. Insignificant. I haven’t felt this way in some time now, so I guess it was bound to strike me again. But I don’t know how to overcome this feeling.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve lost myself. I used to have these big dreams. Plans. I was going to motivate and inspire. But instead, I’m the one in need of those motivators.

Life is a fickle thing, right? You think perhaps you’ve cracked its code, that you understand it enough to get through the day-to-day routines it brings. But then, bam. Nope. Don’t think so, Life says. Not today, Lauren. Not today.

I’m not trying to accomplish anything with this post. Nothing of importance has prompted this post. It’s just that sometimes writing helps sort through feelings.

That’s all this was.

Maybe you can relate.

How to Leave that First Book Behind

I started writing I’m Only Me in 2011. I am forcing myself to give the manuscript ONE last pass* as I’m preparing to send it to agents. With that in mind, the first fifty pages are finished. As in I will NOT go back and read them.

And I can’t properly articulate the emotions I’m feeling. I know it’s cheesy, but these characters are more than dialogue and description on a page. They feel more real to me than actual people. I’d even go as far as to say they’re like friends. Wow, cheese! Get me some nachos.

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