I got up at my usual writing time this morning, fully intending to carry through on my intent to start a NaNoWriMo novel.
I’ve been conducting research for the past few weeks, but I haven’t had a chance to get through all the material I amassed, some of it fairly important. Doesn’t matter, I told myself each day. I can start anyway.
And yet I’ve had this sort of free-floating anxiety about the project that I’ve been trying to ignore. I’m not ready, one voice repeated in my head, but I ignored it. Or, rather, I pretended to ignore it, but actually I was listening to it. Just not obeying it, or heeding its wisdom.
This morning, I didn’t even pretend to start a new project. I didn’t create a new Word document, insert the title at the top of the first page and in the running headers. Instead, I listened. I’m not ready. I don’t know enough about the characters to start this morning. I still have some very influential resources to read and listen to.
Am I giving up on NaNoWriMo before it even begins? Not exactly, though I am seriously handicapping my chances of writing 50,000 words during November. That’s not important. What’s important is doing it right. I might get off to a late start. I might have a prolific five-day weekend over Thanksgiving. Or, November 30th might arrive and I’ll have only a couple of chapters written. I can live with that. It’s better than trying to start when I don’t feel ready. I have at least another solid week of research to finish. Then I’ll be ready. Perhaps.
This morning, I sought out markets for a couple of stories. Yesterday wasn’t a good day: I didn’t place in the Apex digest contest (I got honorable mention, though!), and I had two other stories rejected. The danger with having so many stories in submission at the same time is that I run the risk of having days like that, when a bunch of decisions are made and delivered all at the same time. Got back on the horse again, though, resubbing two of the three orphaned stories. The third might need a little work. My first reader’s report reflects comments I received from Richard Chwedyk during a critique session at World Horror five years ago. I rediscovered those notes when I was filing the draft this weekend and thought perhaps I’d gotten close to what he’d recommended all those years ago, but perhaps not close enough. Some of my babies might have to die, I’m afraid. Lop, lop, lop go the words.
