I want to do NaNo this year.
I love the event. I love it so much. Somehow, in the middle of November every year, I find myself half-crying near the computer, staring at what seems like a big shitty blob of words and wondering all over again why I was doing this in the first place. But then I look back on it, and I laugh at my mountain of questionable prose and remember the electric word sprints and caffeine-induced epiphanies.
It was my favorite part of the year, to be honest. Like a crazy little tradition of mine, where, for a month, my wild stories and rambling prose got top priority.
Can I do it this year?
I don’t know. This past year has led me all over the place in terms of writing, and I’m still at this place where I’m not quite sure what path I’m on and what my goals are. I’ve been elated, exhausted, hopeful. I’m not sure I have the high-powered threads of ideas, or perhaps the time to do the 30 day sprint. (But in the past years, the trend seems to be me deciding on a last-minute, hurried basis, so…)
To be honest, I feel a little lost, and uncentered. After going through an extremely tight-scheduled summer with a constant sense of panic. It drained me a little, mentally and creatively. , I feel like I haven’t had a proper rest in a while. And this blog has been receiving a little, just a little bit of neglect.
Through everything, writing’s still absolutely been my home. It’s where I know I can safely store my thoughts and laugh at my mistakes. Writing stories and prose still feels like the most natural thing in the world. For that, I’m thankful.
I’ve gotten a ton of experience in the past year, and that’s incredible. But I still want to stay as centered as before, and I’m still trying to find my way.