When is losing, winning? Or how is a raven like a writing desk?

I mentioned in my last post and on a thousand Facebook status updates I was doing NaNoWriMo this year.

50000 words in thirty days. Or 1667 a day. And you have to start a completely new project on November 1st. No finishing up a manuscript you’re let’s say four chapters into and have been for three, four years? Since the November you started this puppy?

Sounds easy? It’s not.

The problem wasn’t finding the time to write, although several days I didn’t even seem to find five minutes. But keeping the energy level up and going so you could get lost in the story and let it flow from your fingers. Keeping your mind in the game to use a sports analogy.

So what happened? Where did I wind up? On November 30 – I had 35000 words on a brand new series contemporary I’d been THINKING about writing since July. Now I have two thirds of the book done. In a month. 20K more, and the first draft will be complete. That’s my December goal. Which isn’t going as well as I’d hoped. Especially with it already being the 8th.

What did I learn? Thirty minutes gets me 500-900 words. I can do 2000 words on a Saturday morning and then go back for more. Writing on my lunch hour, thirty minutes before work, and then thirty after and I can reach that 1667 a day. And when I found myself 100 or so words short of the daily goal when I finished a scene or chapter? I stepped back into the manuscript and started a new scene or a new chapter.

Nike’s motto. Just do it.

This week I’m working on revising my first chapter and writing a synopsis for a deadline of December 15th. And buying a house and moving.

I don’t think I’m going to have the luxury of just writing. But I’m going to try to find those small quiet times where I can sneak in a few minutes. A few words.

The house in the picture is part of the old brewery in Highland, IL. Tunnels ran under the owner's houses so they didn't have to walk the block to the brewery. And no, it's not the house I'm moving into.

Avoiding writing

It's November and there are a lot of writers out there trying to write the great american novel in 30 days. I'm hiding. Trying my hardest not to write.

Now I'm not doing it conciously. I'm sneakier than that. Like right now. I told myself I was going to write a scene in Paris or Bust. Just one scene, nothing earth shattering like an entire novel. But what am I doing? Updating this blog instead. This weekend was suppose to me my big push to get the other three chapters done before my friday meeting with my writer muse. (She's a real person, really)

So I'm going to cut this a little short and see if I can get started. Just a paragraph. Maybe only a sentence but something that moves the storyline down the road just a little. And then I have two new assignments. One story that I really have to finish. And three chapters due by Friday. Do I know how to procrastinate or not?

Later.