Today's the last day of Nanowrimo. I have exactly fifteen minutes to write the 20,000 words I've been neglecting. I think that the 50,000 word goal was a bit too ambitious for me.
I would love to say that I've been busy, that I haven't been able to carve out any time to write; but that's bullshit. I've been sitting around on my ass for nearly two weeks now, just procrastinating. Not even procrastinating anything too difficult, even just things such as "update blog" and "check on Figment". Although, in my defense, I did sit down once to write, but I ended up downloading a game-making program and beginning to make an rpg. On the bright side, I'm learning scripting.
I think half of my reluctance to write is the story itself. I'm a stone's throw away from the climax. Heck, I've just finished up a rather provocative scene, strife with complications and twists; the only problem is that I don't know how to fix it.
I've never been this far in a story to know what to do, so I've virtually written myself into a corner. There is nothing my characters can do to win, the events have become so hopeless. On top of that, I've neglected to end a relationship I've been meaning to end, and now with the sudden reappearance of another character, I'm afraid there's going to be a bit of a conflict of love. Nay, there is a conflict of love. I'm so clueless as to how to navigate these waters, I'm afraid that whatever route I use is going to end up being not very pretty.
As much as I wish to explain the dynamics to you, my dear reader(s), half of it is routed in some very irrelevant non sequiturs my subconscious dredged up when I dreamt the story in the first place.
Mind you, this is probably a good time to tell you: do NOT base a novel off a dream, no matter how cool the dream. All you will end up doing, is make a completely incoherent plot that hinges on vampires jumping into lakes to age and ghosts that turn into spirits with a parasite called 'Wothig'.
Dreams should stay as they are, in your head. Not in print.
It's currently 12:02. I've failed the Nanowrimo challenge. Oh well, there's always next year.
I would love to say that I've been busy, that I haven't been able to carve out any time to write; but that's bullshit. I've been sitting around on my ass for nearly two weeks now, just procrastinating. Not even procrastinating anything too difficult, even just things such as "update blog" and "check on Figment". Although, in my defense, I did sit down once to write, but I ended up downloading a game-making program and beginning to make an rpg. On the bright side, I'm learning scripting.
I think half of my reluctance to write is the story itself. I'm a stone's throw away from the climax. Heck, I've just finished up a rather provocative scene, strife with complications and twists; the only problem is that I don't know how to fix it.
I've never been this far in a story to know what to do, so I've virtually written myself into a corner. There is nothing my characters can do to win, the events have become so hopeless. On top of that, I've neglected to end a relationship I've been meaning to end, and now with the sudden reappearance of another character, I'm afraid there's going to be a bit of a conflict of love. Nay, there is a conflict of love. I'm so clueless as to how to navigate these waters, I'm afraid that whatever route I use is going to end up being not very pretty.
As much as I wish to explain the dynamics to you, my dear reader(s), half of it is routed in some very irrelevant non sequiturs my subconscious dredged up when I dreamt the story in the first place.
Mind you, this is probably a good time to tell you: do NOT base a novel off a dream, no matter how cool the dream. All you will end up doing, is make a completely incoherent plot that hinges on vampires jumping into lakes to age and ghosts that turn into spirits with a parasite called 'Wothig'.
Dreams should stay as they are, in your head. Not in print.
It's currently 12:02. I've failed the Nanowrimo challenge. Oh well, there's always next year.
