Just limped across the 30K mark this morning. Rorie has gotten herself a brand new flavor of problem, which I hope to use to drive toward a more thorough self-examination (with maybe some help from a new charater). Nyx is effectively homeless at the moment, and presumably just about completely broke beside. And Tom is casting about a bit for a sense of just what the hell he’s doing with his life. All of this should, in theory, blend together in a fascinating and emotionally stirring manner in the next 20K words.

And the fact is, what’s written in the above paragraph may not be so much an accurate reflection of what’s been written so far as it is a reflection of what will be rewritten in the long run. I’m trying to let the distinction between the two blur so as to avoid going completely batshit. I know in my head what the story is supposed to be shaped like, and what the characters are supposed to be thinking and feeling and going through, and if that doesn’t get out in the ridiculously-paced rough draft, so be it. It’ll get there.

I’m going to keep pushing for 50K in November, but that’s only a matter of discipline at this point — the allure of doing it just to have done it, to Write a Novel in a Month for the sake of having done so, does not drive me so much anymore. I did that. It was messy and I haven’t gone back to it. So here I am — I happen to be writing a novel in a month, and that’s all there is to it. I might take more than a month to finish the story. I might not hit 50K in the month. These cannot be primary concerns. My concern needs to be, well, writing the story that I’m trying to write.

I’ve had similar thoughts every year for five years now. There’s something about this whole crazy process that clouds one’s judgement and makes one crazy. But maybe some of that up there is true anyway.