White Flag
November 10, 2011
Ten days. That was as long as I lasted before reality set in and I surrendered to not finishing NaNoWriMo. I am a schnitzel.
It’s a matter of pragmatism. I am currently incapable of reaching the 50,000 word goal by the end of November without fracturing an already delicate priority system. Here are the bullet points that led me to this conclusion.
- The demands of my day job have increased. Substantially. I am behind on everything and this weekend is time to either catch up work or on WriMo. Not both.
- I am woefully behind already. My fault? Definitely. The story I am working on is not a story. All I really have is a milieu. The characters are cardboard, but the kind of cardboard you can stand up. The plot is thinner than Kate Moss. I’m not opposed to fighting to salvage a crappy novel on a deadline, but not at the expense of my day job, especially with no monetary prospect at the end.
- I do have a novelette to work on that does have a monetary prospect at the end of the rainbow. It was a bit asinine of me to take on NaNoWriMo with that project swaying in the breeze.
- I have “stuff going on at home” that’s none of your business.
I’ve done the math. Not happening. I have set a new goal of finishing the novelette by November 30th. With my current workload and the holiday looming, that’s still a significant aspiration, but one that won’t get me fired or alienate my family. And my novel? It’s going back in the drawer to await the rest of its skeleton before I heap any more innards into the mess.
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Scott W. Baker: Chaos out of Chaos 
Sounds like you made a sound decision based on your life right now. Kudos on hanging on to good sense. Those bills have got to be paid and even if you were writing prose so brilliant that it would make Hemmingway yearn to be you, there’s no automatic pay day at the end. So in this case, “don’t quit your day job” is not an insult just a nod to the market. Also, the people in our lives are always more important than those we create on the page. Dying alone clutching a great novel is probably less comforting than holidng a warm hand. I think it is a sign of sickness that I had to consider that for a moment. Good luck on your endeavors.