Reflecting on Camp NaNoWriMo

I’ve been neglecting you. Sorry about that. Here’s what happened.

I finished Camp NaNoWriMo in July on a high. I’d smashed my 50K target to tiny little love-shaped pieces. I didn’t stop at 60K. I didn’t even stop at 70K. I’d never written so much in a single month in my whole life. I wrote seventy-three thousand words that never existed in that same order before by the time the month was out. I felt proud of myself, but the first draft was still not finished. I was only about 60% of the way through my plot outline.

I decided to take a few days off from my self-imposed seclusion. I wanted to see if my kids still recognised me or if my husband remembered my name. So I shuffled out of my writing cave and soon fell into my old normal life. Everyone still loved me. There were hugs and kisses and games and laughter and lots of tea and biscuits. I got a bit too comfortable. My writing cave started to look like a spiked medieval cage. How had I spent so long in there? I wouldn’t have to go back in there, would I? I like it out here. There is a sofa and a telly.

I managed to write the odd word here and there. Some life happened. Then more words. Then a bit more life. I’m about 75% through now. I was going to look at it again in January, but I’ve decided that from the start of December, I’m going to write 500 words each day and see if I can get this project back on track.

I wonder if anyone else suffers from post-NaNo crash. I wasn’t expecting it and I still feel a little disappointed with myself. I didn’t expect to continue with that level of momentum but the brick wall was a nasty surprise. I don’t like surprises.

And yes, I am doing NaNoWriMo again right now.

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