Well, it's Endo-NaNoWriMo Eve. I've put out a plate of cookies and glass of absinthe for the NaNo Fairy, though I don't think she'll make it to my house this year. For, you see, I am not a winner. I cannot haz a little patchwork sign of success.
And I'm alright with that.
I knew going in that I wouldn't have enough time during the august month of November to generate 50,000 of the right kind of words. I think my goal was something like 25,000. I had a solid outline, and now stand right around 28,000.
Shortly after I acquired an agent, I developed a deepseated terror of revisions. I can do them, mind you, and they inevitably make the story delightfully bettah. But my first reaction upon receiving notes is to sprint for a (metaphorical) knife so that I can commit (metaphorical) seppuku stat.
So I took my time this year. I cranked through Act I, then stopped. I backtracked, chopping excess words with the editorial machete in my right hand and tweaking characters and phrasing with the polishing wrench in my left. I've written about 45,000 words to date in this manuscript, and currently stand at 28,000. But they're a good 28,000, and they're going to roll me into another good 28,000. And, hopefully, by the time I get the last third of the story set, I'll have a draft 1.5. No zero drafts for this girl.
So, my dears, how are you going to be celebrating Endo-Nano? With a bang, or with a whimper?