So yea, as the title explains, I am wayyyy off my 1,600 words per day to write my novel in the month of November.
I have two options, I beat myself up about it, cursing the fact that I haven’t done what I set out to do when I signed up for National Novel Writing Month, or I can accept that I although I am not on course to write a novel in a short space of time, I have at least started the novel and also written some poems that I think are pretty good (self-expression is self-expression and I’m happy that at least I’m doing it). I’m going with option No.2 because nobody likes a bruised body from internal battering so hold fire personal attack and welcome to the creative process of writing.
Creating is a strange process. You plan, you plan to stick to the plan (or so you hope) but the planned form of expression turns into something completely different and you end up with something that is most probably more true to you than the original plan. This has been my whole creative life. I began as a dancer, then went to drama school then ended up at university specialising in Playwriting and now I am here, still writing but not plays. The twists and turns in life are what make it so… well a combo of so fucked up and so glorious all rolled into one.
The controller in me wants everything to go according to how I’ve rolled my time-line out in my head. I’ve done this ever since I was small, pretending I know what the outcome is most likely going to be, saying ‘oh I know, I have this feeling’ and although I consider myself an intuitive person, we can never know what is going to happen on every path we venture down. LET GO OF THE WHEEL. I write that in capitols for me, not to preach. I am the giver of advice and the worst receiver. My own advice comes from a place within that I know I need to listen too. I’m pretty much advising myself with the advice that I give when I’m asked to give it (as listening is most often the best help we can give) because I only ever know my perspectives, my own interpretations of my reality.
I am grateful that I am not on track with NaNoWriMo because it’s making me look at myself, hard… Through those truth lenses that I like to keep in my pocket and pretend I’ve lost them when pretending seems like the most fun game in life when truth is hard to accept. I’ve also realised that maybe this book isn’t a long winded intricate novel. I’m writing a teenage fiction book, it’s the diary of a girl who has been made to live with her difficult aunt after loosing her parents and coming to terms with this, if she ever does. It’s character driven and now, the more I write, it seems to be crossing into fantasy too. So I’ll keep going and see what happens but I’m relieving the pressure of 1,600 words a day as this was stressful rather than encouraging. We all work differently and part of the process is finding your own way.
Writing is so enjoyable yet so challenging all at once. I guess like life, the perfect combination of contradictions. As you ride the wave you get wet, so you get out of the water, dry off, then get back in the water again.