Yesterday’s NaNo Word Count Was What?

I only wrote 139 words yesterday.

We’re starting day six of NaNo, and contrary to what you believe, I’m not panicking. I’m actually doing really well. “But Amanda,” you might say, “you only wrote 139 words yesterday.” Don’t worry, I hear the confusion and the worry in your imagined voices… and I thank you for it. However, don’t worry about my word count.

I’m doing just fine. This week is hectic for me. I have deadlines and karaoke and three days of nothing but my birthday. So I planned for it. I spent the whole weekend with my fingers flying across the keyboard. To stay on track, I don’t have to write another word on my novel until Sunday.

That isn’t how you do NaNo though. (Well, everyone can do it differently, really). You do NaNo one day at a time. The point is to learn how to bang out some words every day of the week. So I’m going to. My word counts may just be a bit lackluster.

In other news, this is my second time attempting NaNo. You may recall from last year that I was gearing up, trying to decide on an idea, until suddenly I took a look at that oncoming train and dove off the tracks. Last year it was probably a good decision. This year I faced that train, got hit by it, and am currently riding its momentum to the finish line.

2011 was my first NaNo. I won it. But I was a rebel. I came into NaNo with a solid 25,000 words already written. By the time I hit save for the final time on that draft, the story clocked in around 77,000. Last year I planned to write the sequel, but hadn’t edited the initial story to a point I was comfortable with. (I still haven’t).

This year I’m writing something new. It’s not my typical genre. I’ve described it to friends as a “J-drama, but set in America.” I believe I listed it as “chick lit” on the NaNo forums. I’m having a blast writing it, but to be honest, I have no clue what I’m doing with it or where it’s going. And you know what?

That’s okay.

I’ll check in next week with an update on how I survived the dreaded week two.

At the age of six, Eliza was certain of two things. The first was that she had stories to tell. The second was that she had no talent for illustrating them herself. Talent or no, she still wrote and illustrated her first book, one that should be located and locked away if only to prevent her parents from embarrassing her terribly by showing it off alongside baby pictures. Now she spends her days writing stories that she isn't embarrassed to show off after a little bit of polishing.

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