The Freefall into Failure

Sorry, NaNoWriMo.

I know I have almost four days left.  But I don't think that even my brilliant wit and clever writing (note: sarcasm) can pummel through 30,000 words in half a week.

I have failed my task.

I was not able to complete a 50,000-word novel in thirty days.  I am disappointed in myself because I was really trying to make things different.  For years now, I've had the bad habit of adopting wonderful ideas, nurturing them for a few days or weeks, then leaving them starving on the side of the road.  I wanted this to be better.  Different.  I wanted to be able to keep my promise: to deliver a finished product (albeit one that needed major editing in the aftermath).

I couldn't.  Not this time.

Granted, I had a lot of setbacks and other obligations this month, some good and some bad: my car died when I was driving to see my mom in Kentucky...we held Thanksgiving at my house and spent Black Friday with my in-laws...I've been writing and directing several short plays and skits for church...my birthday was this month (which meant a wonderful road trip to Lancaster)...

Not that any of those things are excuses.  But they provided an easy way for me to make excuses.  I've learned that practicing self-discipline takes time and committment.  I can scoop a blog post out of my brain in a few minutes, a recipe in several minutes, and a short story in a few hours, but writing a novel is a much bigger project and it does require, for me, far more discipline.  A change of venue helps - sometimes.  More coffee doesn't help.  Two adoring cats who NEED TO BE EXACTLY WHERE I AM  AT ALL TIMES don't help, either. 

The good news is: I learned from my failure, which ultimately means it wasn't a failure at all.  I have a plan for next time!  I will hash out my plot in its entirey before the month begins.  Although I had a good general idea of where I was going, I found myself adding characters and doing a lot of rewriting of the ones that I had thought I'd established.  I also changed several major plot points.  Repeatedly.  Like I didn't trust my own instincts.  Not that novels-in-process are fixed in time and space.  Ideas come and go.  I'm really thrilled about one in particular, though, that struck me like lightning while I was thinking of something entirely different: I have planned that a character who seemed like an innocent pawn will end up as a co-conspirator.  I love what it adds to the story. 

But my second-guessing ended up being part of my downfall.  It was as though I had bought a decent house that needed nothing but a paint job and some redecorating, but I decided to rewire all the electricity, replace the carpet, and update the plumbing, too.  Wasted time and effort.

I will have a flow chart, pie chart, graphs, timelines, whatever I need to keep me more focused during next year's NaNoWriMo (and as I continue to work independently on this book).  I will be more strict with myself about keeping ahead of the game.  The first week, it was easy to do that.  But ideas flowed less freely after that.  The longer I waited to sit and write, the more nerve-wracking it became when I finally did so.  I panicked.  I didn't let the story unfold as it needed to.

It became like forcing myself to like someone for whom I had no feelings, but who needed me.

Ugh.  When I did that in real life, I ended up in unhealthy relationships with guys with criminal records. 

But I digress.

I guess that I'm making progress.  In  a way.  I am not giving up on my novel. I wrote 31 pages. That's more than I've ever written in one shot in my life.   I love my characters!   I love that they've taken me on an adventure these past few weeks, and I don't want to give that up. I love that they've come alive and surprised me with twists and turns I didn't expect.   I need to make time for them.

I guess they wanted more than a month out of me!  I'm willing to give that to them.