So,finally started NaNoWriMo four days behind. On Saturday morning, I had 6K words. As of right now, I have 14.5K words. Not bad.
My waking up at five this morning did not help with writing at all, as I ended up passing out throughout the day in front of my computer, creating only 2200 words as of this writing.
I am afraid, as I always am, that the story itself will be too short for a novel. I looked up my subplots. One of my characters is not doing what I want him to do; one subplot hasn’t even been introduced; one subplot is barely mentioned. There’s flashbacks and dream sequences that I hate using, but are necessary for the story.
My friend asked me what it’s about. When I tried to explain that I can’t explain it right now, she didn’t understand. Non-creatives don’t get that when we’re in the thick of creating, we can’t explain what we’re doing or how we’re doing it. Sometimes we can’t explain it even afterward.
I just hate being around non-creatives. They don’t get that we need the time, the space, the ability to create, and sometimes creating is a sacred and necessary act. I’m sorry, but I’d rather spend my weekends working on a novel than watching endless games of football. Or I’d rather use my imagination to create my own story rather than have it spoon-fed to me on a TV screen.
And I don’t do this for the money, Gods know. I do this because I have a story to tell, and I want you to see it or hear it or know what it is. I realized that the money is icing on the cake, like when I read cards. It’s an exchange of energy, one thing for another.
I used to read cards for free, and I prefer to do that even now. But I’ve learned since that card-reading is a service that people are willing to pay for. I don’t charge an arm and a leg for it; I try to keep things cheap because, again, I have a story to tell you about yourself and I want you to know it.
Why do I create? Because the muses tell me to. And they are far more interesting than any of the stuff on air, because it’s mine.