Joy (cithra) wrote,

nanowrimo, good-bye

21,636. I know, it isn't midnight yet, but I have to work tomorrow, and I'm still feeling pretty crappy.

Well, it was an interesting experiment. Proving perhaps that I am better at sprinting than running marathons. Or that I'm just not very dedicated to a project when I am trying to manufacture inspiration, rather than recording something that I've already put together in my mind.

I'm feeling a bit daunted at the moment. Makes me doubt the worthiness (in the worthwhile sense) of my writing, ability and output. I'll get over it. One of my literary heroes, Jorge Luis Borges, never wrote a novel.

I think that part of the problem is that it is quite clear to me that while I have 21k of words or so, they are not a novel. Not even a novel in ovo. Unless you are willing to stretch the definition of novel to include a string of barely related vignettes, as I can't quite bring myself to do.

I certainly don't regret the attempt. Both years I've learned interesting things about process (or my process, to be more specific) and I'll probably even give it another go next year. Maybe.

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