I tried to write a novel for NaNoWriMo this year, and I failed…not miserably – I was less than 10,000 words from the final goal of 50,000, but I didn’t make it.
It’s ok, though.
I don’t hate myself. I don’t feel like a loser. I wrote. I made more progress on a book than I did in years, all while balancing a huge deadline at work and getting ready for the holidays.
Here’s the thing. I could have done it. I really could have. But I would have probably abandoned other responsibilities and been miserable.
I love writing. I hate forcing myself to write. Sometimes I have to, just to make progress, but I don’t want to hate writing. I never want that to happen. So I’m going to finish this novel…at my pace.
It will get done. It probably won’t be great. In fact, I’ll probably move right onto the next one and put this one aside, to be forgotten about, or edited a few months from now.
But I will continue to write, and I’ll enjoy every moment of it. Because that’s exactly how it should be.