It’s November 9th. For nine days, I have been ignoring the fact that it’s November. I’m supposed to be writing for National Novel Writing Month, but I haven’t even picked a plot. It’s really pathetic.
Right now, I am with my friend Hannah, and apparently we’re having a “Writing Party”, which just means we’re spending our Friday night staring at our laptops/notebooks. We have thrilling lives.
She’s managed to nearly keep up with her word count, but I take comfort in the fact that she completely changed her story, and just now figured out her main character’s name. At least she’s writing.
I just really don’t want a repeat of last year, where I wrote garbage of the same quality as the short stories I wrote when I was ten. It pains me to look at that document.
Actually, over the summer I found an old notebook I’d used when I was thirteen or fourteen. The princess story I wrote in that notebook had more of a plot.
This year, if I’m actually going to do this, I need to have a real plot. I don’t know how I’ll ever catch up. I’m thinking I’ll just write more than normal and not worry about the NaNo word goal. A small increase in the time I spend in writing would probably be better than writing 15,000 of the worst words of my life in a single night(which is what I’d need to do to catch up), right?
Wow. I just did that math. I’m definitely not writing 15,000 words tonight. I could, but then I’d just hit the delete button.
Okay, I have to go get coffee and possibly start writing this thing. I don’t know what I’m writing, but I’ll figure it out.