Day two of NaNoWriMo, and it becomes ever more apparent: I cannot NOT edit. Seriously. There's a vindictive little critic living in my left ear, just a fraction of an inch beyond Q-tip range, who insists on having extensive debates about every little syllable. My writing buddies are breezing through the experiment, words piling up like the corpses of the valiantly slain, and I'm sitting on a measly 621 words, like an anxious mother hen afraid she's hatched a frog. I wrote an eight hundred word email last night without a second thought. The critic is not only belligerent, he's snobby, too.
I guess it would be easier if I were writing a plot driven story. I don't know why I'm not; I have no shortage of ideas. I feel like I have something to say- something important (to me)- and it refuses to sit still long enough for me to sketch its portrait. I should probably take the recorder and talk it all out. I tend to be far less tetchy when I hear the words spoken aloud. For now, though, I think I'll take a little mental holiday and focus on something else. I have a couple of songs that could use final touches. I've got the Card project to finish- I mean, start (stupid Major Arcana!). And if all else fails, there's always turning pictures of myself into zombies, which is way, waaaay more fun than it ought to be.
Will Zombify for Brains.
