On Failure

If you came here looking for a blog where all is happy and bright, butterflies, unicorns, rainbows, lollipops, ice cream and joy are all abundant, and I'm singing a song of gladness...

Move on.  It ain't gonna happen here.

I have been struggling with "the book project" for the last twelve days.  I haven't written anything worth the read, and I only have less than 12,000 words to my credit...if you can call the fecal matter I've written something to claim credit for.

And yes, I KNOW I ended that last sentence with a preposition.

I am in a foul mood right now.

The bad part is that I also KNOW I can DO THIS.  Unfortunately, knowing and doing are two different animals.

So.

I am not giving up.  I WILL write this.  It will not best me.

If nothing else, I am learning by leaps and bounds about structure, and dialogue, and story.  I find that when I don't really want to write and I do anyway, what I write can usually be summed up with a short four-letter word that polite society does not use.  When I want to write, when I want to tell the story, it's fine.

The problem is that the WANT TO times are not every day...or every week, for that matter.

And something else...LIFE happens.  Regardless of when I decide to sit my hiney down and do some actual writing, it happens.  It creeps in and steals my time and

my desire away, and nothing will keep it in its little cage, away from me, so that I can do what I need to do.  It opens the door and walks right out, growing ten feet tall in front of me as I try to work, screaming and growling all the while.  It will not leave me ALONE.

And so, dear friends, it is that I predict my utter failure at NaNoWriMo.  True, it is a little early to do so, but I know me well.

I will still fight the valiant fight, and I will keep plugging along.  However, 50,000 words at this point seem utterly unattainable.

I am sorry to let you down.