NaNoWriMo Bites Back
Once upon a time, a long time ago, I wrote 12,000 words in three days. (And none of those words were as cliche as that first sentence.)
To accomplish that feat, I did very little besides write, cook meals and push play on the DVD player. When the haze of imagination lifted, I realized that my sink was full of dishes, my floor was covered in cheese, and my children didn’t like me.
It was not a good time.
Somehow we forget the lessons we learn during our first writing binge (much like we forget what it’s like to be pregnant. I mean, honestly, if we remembered how crappy it was would we do it over and over?)
Yesterday I managed to get a whopping 1,267 words added to my WIP. I couldn’t ignore my filthy bathrooms or mound of laundry, so I had to devote some time to household chores. By late afternoon my kids were begging for attention. Here’s how they let me know:
To accomplish that feat, I did very little besides write, cook meals and push play on the DVD player. When the haze of imagination lifted, I realized that my sink was full of dishes, my floor was covered in cheese, and my children didn’t like me.
It was not a good time.
Somehow we forget the lessons we learn during our first writing binge (much like we forget what it’s like to be pregnant. I mean, honestly, if we remembered how crappy it was would we do it over and over?)
Yesterday I managed to get a whopping 1,267 words added to my WIP. I couldn’t ignore my filthy bathrooms or mound of laundry, so I had to devote some time to household chores. By late afternoon my kids were begging for attention. Here’s how they let me know:
- a puddle of pee on the floor next to my laptop
- all the clothes pulled out of a dresser
- all the toys cleared off a shelf during a full-fledged tantrum
- my leg tied to a kitchen cabinet
- and poop wiped on a t-shirt when I didn’t hustle to help
The key to writing any time of the year is simple: Moderation. I would love, love, love to finish “Saw it Coming” this month and NaNoWriMo is good motivation, but I’d also like to live in a house that wasn’t covered in bodily fluids.
Anyone have tips on how to be a writer without mother’s guilt? I haven’t figured it out yet. Apparently.
