When my novel writing journey started in November, I was full of hot air. I was ALL IN for writing 50,000 words in a month and had an entire saga of plots in my head ready to pour out on the keyboard. Everything forward, remember?
Now I’m tired. I’m at 90,000+ words and still have much farther to go. Clearly, I did not store enough fuel to get me to the finish line by tomorrow, which is when the novel is due for class. I’ve already received permission from my professor to turn in what I have, along with an outline for the conclusion. That’s fine. I can do that. Even though it’s not what I prefer.
Part of the problem is that I’m distracted by the holidays. Another part is that the boys and I have been playing catch-up with school. I’m also just plain tired. The story is much longer than I could’ve foreseen, which is good in the long run, but putting such pressure on myself to finish by December 13 has been unrealistic. It’s a personal failure, which haunts me every night while I’m waiting for the Ambien to kick in.
To think that I wouldn’t finish the rough draft by 2014 feels like an even bigger failure, so I’m wondering if a New Year’s Eve goal is more plausible. Minus the week when my family is in for Christmas, I should have plenty of time to write. I’d rather not have an unfinished novel sitting on my shoulders while enrolled in Short Story and Performance Writing next semester.
Plus, there are two books staring at me everyday day – my holiday reading reserve – begging for attention.
In other news, the boys are itching for Christmas. I’m trying to slow things down, but the calendar keeps turning. At least we’re having wintery weather again. That weird week of Spring threw me off entirely.