It's snowing. Holy moly is it snowing, half a meter over the last 6 hours and there's still more coming down. Feels like Alaska, except with less bears around here. Then again who knows, the Bavarian Forest isn't that far away... but I digress.
Actually I'm thinking about Alaska 'cause my this year's NaNo project was set there. Two men, twelve dogs and the cruelty of the Great White Yonder. Sounds good, doesn't it? Well I didn't get far, had to cry uncle about 30 k in.
NaNoWriMo got to me this year. I kept telling myself, it's less than 2000 words per day, it's not THAT much, surely you can make it?
Big surprise: I didn't.
I've heard about storys practically writing themselves, just pouring out of the writer. I've even had it happen to me once--I wrote Desert Falcon over the course of one long weekend and afterward sat back, rubbed my eyes and thought, "Did I just do this? Really?" It was magic, but like all magical things, something like this can't be forced.
As wrapped up as I was in my Alaska story, I couldn't force it out of myself.
Writing is a slow process for me. I mull over sentences. I search the thesaurus for the ONE word, the ONE phrase that's just right, that says exactly what I want it to say, and that can take half an hour. I go back, I edit, I jump forward again, write a scene from the beginning, one from closer to the end, then I have to connect them--or I realize they don't fit in anymore or have to be written in an entirely different way.
There's that, and then there's real life too.
Million Dollar Question: how do you know it's NaNo? When my husband call me "Ms. Faber" and the empty pizza boxes are about to reach critical mass in the kitchen, when my dogs won't let me into the sitting room anymore, when I'm so out of it from sheer lack of sleep that I find myself driving to work even though it's Sunday: that's how.
Anyhow, I'll never figure out how people write two, three, a dozen books a year while managing a full time job/ family/kids/pets/all of the above. I'm in awe, and perhaps a little envious.
But then again: so what?
That's not who I am.
Some people like my books, some don't. Most have never heard about them. Once again: So?
I didn't make it through NaNo. But I got back into the flow of writing. And even if the Alaska story joined the WIP Nursery for the time being, I know I'll revisit it. Like I do the rest of the poor abandoned babys there time and again; and perhaps, someday soon, one of them is going to see the light of day.
The mountain laboured and brought forth a mouse, some might say. Again: So what?
Some people think mice cute.
