Yes, I am alive, but sadly my (fiction) writing is not. It’s gone into hibernation yet again, buried by work, emotional stress, the Various Little Things That Take Up Your Attention. Plus the super typhoon. (We still don’t have electricity in Laguna.)
October makes me remember NaNoWriMo, though. Sadly, every single year I’ve joined (I’ve been joining for a while), I’ve always lost. The steam disappears after around a week or so, and then the Various Little Things start covering up anything left over.
It still doesn’t stop me from toying with the idea of signing up (and eventually losing) again. Yes, I fear I am a masochist. Seriously, though, I always have my ideas all bottled up in my head, and if my journal entries are any indication, I can easily write reams of words enough to meet (and exceed) the 50k word minimum.
Only I don’t feel satisfied with the way the words convey sentiments, or my thoughts are all jumbled up. My emotions are always connected to what I write. But I always have difficulty understanding my emotions, which is why I am always, always, always writing about it, analyzing it to death, trying to piece it all together and be able to label it accordingly. I feel this, I feel that. No, I don’t know what I feel about this yet, I need to find out what I feel about it. And so on and so forth.
My subconscious finds a lot of excuses. Oh, but you have to do your exercises. Oh, it’s already late, you should sleep. Oh, you should take advantage of your website layout creativity right now and revamp everything, you know it can go away again in a while. …and so on and so forth until it’s the last day of NaNo and I’ll just think, oh! It’s the last day, oh well, I failed again.
You know what would be a luxury? To take November off and just write. (Fat chance of that, though.)