The first week of NaNoWriMo is mostly fun with a side of anxious. Fresh ideas abound even if you secretly worry about hitting 50,000 words by the end of the month. And with the excitement of getting the words on the page, hitting the 1,667 daily word goal seems fairly easy at this point.
For me, fall is all about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), with the prep happening in October (and even earlier for those super planners) and the writing occurring in November.
Yesterday I wrote about the three types of NaNoWriMo writers—planners, pantser, and plantsers. Where planners and plantsers spend the month of October prepping for November. And pantser spend October thinking they have plenty of time before November 1 and then panic on the actual day.
No, I’m not talking about PSL* time at Starbucks . . . and every other place that sells coffee or pastries or really any food product that pumpkin flavor can be added. (Really, Trader Joe’s, pumpkin flavored tortilla chips?) The pumpkin spice craze has gone a bit too far IMO, but I digress.
And no, it’s not that fall has arrived. Or that it’s the season of all things paranormal with Halloween right around the corner. Or that it’s the start of the countdown to the Christmas holidays.
Today wasn’t a day that I fell down the rabbit hole (although I have had days that felt like that). No, today was more like when Alice cried after taking the “Drink Me” bottle:
“Come, there’s no use in crying like that!” said Alice to herself, rather sharply; “I advise you to leave off this minute!” She generally gave herself very good advice, (though she very seldom followed it).
And like Alice, I gave myself good advice, then didn’t follow it.
I still haven’t caught up to the fact that this is 2017. (I swear parts of last year fast-forwarded because they went by in such a blur.) But here we in another new year (and almost one month done of this new year). But where I would normally write about making resolutions on how I plan on eating healthier, organizing better, walking more, or keeping a diary, prepare for a shock. I didn’t make resolutions <gasp!> this year.
Every year before this one I have made resolutions. And then subsequently failed to keep every.last.one. (I think I failed to meet the diary-writing resolution every year since 1986). I not only made resolutions, I wrote them down, made check-lists, and used other goal-achieving strategies. I joined groups, tracked progress, and told others about them (for the “accountability”). But I still failed. Usually by March.