I’m generally a guy who hates unfinished business.
Whenever a project languishes, it eats away at me. I don’t sleep, I get pissy, and I start withdrawing from my friends and family. I just want to be left alone to stew in my own frustration.
Unfinished is the status of the last novel I set out to write, and it’s been that way for far too long. I love the story, and it has its fair share of really funny sections, but for whatever reason, I never saw it through to the end.
Well, it’s about time that stopped.
As the calendar has continued its unstoppable march toward November, the grumpy, isolated insomniac in me has begun to rear his ugly head. I have an entirely new project plotted out, something in the horror-comedy vein, and I’d planned on wading into that story for NaNoWriMo, but I’ve changed my mind.
I have to finish the other thing first. One, because I believe in its worth, and two, because I need to prove to myself that I haven’t lost the thread entirely. I need to remember how it feels to finish something longer than a short story, and I need the energy rush that comes from typing the words “The End.”
I haven’t waited for November. I’m already writing again, devoting a little time each day to the novel I still think can be something special. The only difference the new month will bring is that I’ll begin counting words and seeking out people to write alongside me.
I plan on counting all my November words toward NaNo, and if I type “The End” and still haven’t reached 50,000, then I have a whole new story that’s waiting in the wings.
The truth is NaNo freaks me out. It kicked my ass last year, and I have no intentions of experiencing a repeat performance. I’m organized and motivated and maybe even a little bit desperate. I’ve had a year to stew, and I’m coming out swinging.
This year I’m making NaNo my bitch.