Well then – I’ve finished my story, on the eve of NaNoWriMo’s bitter end! However, saying that, I didn’t reach 50,000 words. I got to 37,821, which is well behind, but I knew it would be a struggle to reach the wordcount goal. As I have stated from the beginning, this year’s NaNoWriMo was not about winning the competition for 50k, it was about finishing the story I wanted to write. I had to rush a lot through the end of the plot but I have finished, and that’s what counts.
I still love it. There are parts I don’t love, bits that will be chucked out like last week’s smelly tupperware of culinary nightmares hidden in the refrigerator of my mind. But I have accepted that this is fine. It was hard, but I have convinced myself, finally, to deal with the fact that novels do not jump out of anyone’s head fully-formed, perfect and without the need to edit. I have labeled this draft Draft Zero, and am already beginning Draft One which has already markedly improved upon the tone and flavour of what came before.
Does anyone else feel like words have flavour? Like some books you try to devour (I love to devour my books, in one sitting if possible) are so bland and tasteless, they fall flat both in your mind’s voice and your mind’s eye. The images they inspire are a dull kind of greyscale.
Or maybe it’s just me. I digress.
I’m feeling pretty victorious about this whole endeavour. It has to be said that I thought it would be impossible to do this with a clingy toddler, and with Thanksgiving and the visit of some much-beloved Noodles for whom I happily forwent writing to spend time with. I will always prioritise my family, but I’m also pleased as punch (is punch really so pleased?) to have been able to have my pumpkin pie and eat it too, to mix my metaphors with reckless abandon.
I will now rest my tired wrists, my sore and unfocused eyes, and recover from this final writing sprint. And then, after a bit of time away to give me perspective, I’ll jump right back in again.