I like to take my time with my characters and write and edit at my own pace; sometimes I work all night, sometimes I work a couple hours, sometimes I read what I've written and mull it over in my mind.
SO, I have decided that NaNoWriMo is not for me.
I had some fun with my beginning idea, and I may go back and add to the the 20 or so pages I've been working on, but frankly... for me it's about quality not quantity.
There is something about being required to post daily word counts and the graph of measurement that NaNoWriMo uses to track "progress," that bothers me.
I spoke to an incredible author about my feelings concerning this irritation and he agreed with me.
Yes my friends. T.A. Barron thought that I should simply allow my fingers to follow my heart.
So, poems I can flit about and write quickly on command; long ones even.
Novels and books? No.
I may work more on the NaNoWriMo piece I started. I like the idea. It's fun.
However, I am not going to feel guilty and coerced into putting crapola on the page just so I can update a meaningless "word count," and "win," at the end of the month because I met a goal set by someone else.
Don't get me wrong, I have a SUPER AWESOME FRIEND who participated in NaNoWriMo last year, and she's doing it again this year and loving it.
To Leauxra, I say: BRAVO my dear! YOU ROCK MY SOCKS and I hope to read your November novel.
For me though, I feel pressure, and so if I finish according to their timeline: Great. If not, well, that's great too.
So now I leave you with a poem that I wrote and posted on Soul Pancake about an amazing picture prompt (that you can see here from this SoulPancaker's Blog:)
If I could bottle comfort, I'd give it to you so that when I am gone, you'd have it.
If I could put my voice in too, I would, so when I am gone, you'd hear it.
For you my Dear, I'd trap the smells of pumpkin pie, and sunshine on dirt, and salt water on skin, and clean baby hair and fresh strawberries; all in the bottle for you to breathe in when you wish.
I'd trap the feel of warm sweet kisses and tight full hugs, and the taste of toffee melting on your tongue.
I'd coax in to that bottle the tingling of a warm moonlit breeze across your bare skin; that would go in.
I'd slip in words and whisper "I love you," so that every time you tilted the glass, my heart would make the edges glint and glisten emotion within.
I'd put all my comforts in the bottle for you; this I would do.
Oh, and I had an awesome birthday. WOOT!