I’m writing this post on my phone.
I flew to Minnesota for Veteran’s Day Weekend, planning to put off my WIP until I got home.
I’d already decided I didn’t have to finish on time.
I still wanted to blog, though; my mom, aunt, and I had gone book shopping and picked up some exciting reads.
MID BOOK TAG, my laptop died.
And this after an epic battle trying to connect to my aunt’s WiFi.
I restarted and troubleshooted and tried my hardest, but I haven’t been able to boot up my computer since November 11th.
HAPPY NANOWRIMO, EVERYONE!
I will OFFICIALLY not be finishing my WIP anytime soon, NaMoWriMo be damned.
I feel a fun mix of guilt and shame about the whole thing.
I don’t know who to blame for my inability to accept limits. I want to believe others encouraging me to “persevere” and “overcome” warped my brain.
I should just own how I operate: even when something – a project, a relationship, what have you – has completely fallen apart, I convince myself I can still fix it.
Once I saw the Blue Screen of Death, I fleetingly thought, “I’ll just write my novel by hand and count my words every night!”
“OR,” I also thought, “I’ll work on my draft at the LIBRARY! They have computers!”
Beneath all this is the fear that others will find me weak. I would hate to admit my failure only to hear I didn’t try hard enough.
“No, I swear, I did everything I could! I’m still good, I promise!”
That was my attitude four years ago when I last did NaNoWriMo. I don’t think I made any bad decisions; I did wake up early, skimp on sleep, and cut down on socializing, but I maintained all my friendships, got all my work done, and finished my novel early…because, dammit, I WAS GOING TO FINISH. I wanted to prove I could do it all.
Let me admit here I CAN’T DO IT ALL.
I’M NOT 21 ANYMORE, I DON’T CARE (as much) ABOUT PROVING MYSELF, AND I’M TIRED.
I would love to overcome it all and add a Perseverance badge to my 2018 belt.
I want to be the shiny, successful example for writers who “can’t make time” for special projects. (I have people in mind.)
That’s not going to happen this year.
Hands in the air, Improv 101 style, I’ll say, “I FAILED.”
And that’s perfectly all right.