I know this is silly, but I’m inordinately proud of myself for completing NaNoWriMo this year.
The past two year I’ve done it, I haven’t really written a “novel” – I’ve written more like “50,000 words that are mostly stories about someone who bears an uncanny resemblance to me, and occasionally straight-up journal entries.” So I’ve gotten to 50,000 but it’s sort of been cheating.
This year I stuck to it and wrote an entire story about one person – and yes, you might be able to point out a large number of things that she and I have in common, but so what? – and it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. I suspect there is some good stuff in there, too, which excites me. I’ll find out when I reread (but Stephen King says to give it at least 6 weeks before then).
In April, the same team of people responsible for Nanowrimo hosts Script Frenzy, which is 100 pages of scripted material. I am so there.
Dude, look at these stats. I was so far behind for most of this:
I’m so grateful for those Week Three sprints.
So today I’ve been able to relax a little bit and run a bunch of errands (probably one of my most favorite things in the entire world). I recently got the chance to wash all my clothes (usually I kind of cycle things through, and the bottom of the basket collects things that I don’t really care about), so my dresser drawers are stuffed with clean things. That feels nice. I’m going to go read Deathly Hallows and feel smug.