I’ve been working on a new novel for Camp NaNoWriMo since the first, and halfway through the month I am more than halfway to my 50K word goal and with each day that goes by I am getting more and more discouraged.
It’s not that I don’t think I’ll finish it in time, because I will, I tend to finish these earlier than I expect to. It’s just that I don’t think that in the end the thirty days of writing with reckless abandon will be worth it. I think that at the end of the month I will back up another Scrivener file to Dropbox, print out a copy and put it in a binder on a shelf with all of the other manuscripts I’ve completed in the last few years and have done nothing with.
I just don’t seem to have the confidence in myself to be able to even fathom that making it as a writer is possible for me. I’m shutting myself down, over and over again every single time I do this. It’s over before I’m even out of the gate sometimes, like this one, I know that it is just a hot mess of words and ideas and characters that I don’t know and don’t connect with.
Somewhere inside I know there’s at least one story I think is worth telling and is worth more than a single month of my undivided attention. Somewhere.