You have twelve days until the end of Nano! I want you to remember three important things & I am not making up their importance.
1. if you finish nano with the 50,000 wordcount, you accomplished the goal of completing nano!
2. if you don't finish nano with the 50,000 wordcount, YOU. STILL. WROTE. ON. YOUR. STORY. which means it's that much closer to being finished, & that is no small consideration.
3. if you decide(d) to drop out of nano because it's just too much for a story which needs more time + care, you are exhibiting the mark of a mature individual in recognizing what you + your story need. quickly-made trash is still trash. do what's best for you! <3
I always manage to write my novels in the season opposite to the one I'm experiencing. Take Ethandune, at the start of summer, while I'm prepping for the holidays & it's getting into winter (by "getting into winter" I mean today wants to be a high of 78 because the sc piedmont is bipolar). However, many years of writing in this kind of wacky dichotomy has made me better at compartmentalizing them in my head, so hopefully summertime Ethandune will not wind up in the first draft to have suspicious overtones of Christmas...
...like a wound which does not hurt until you notice it, the smell of the thing hit me two seconds after I realized what I was seeing. It was jumbled together at impossible angles; it took me another moment to see that it was no longer completely connected with itself.
All the rest of that day I had a grey, light-headed sense of being always on the verge of vomiting, but the vomit never came. Dammerung looked up as Goddgofang and I entered the sitting room; there was a sidelong glare of light over the chamber, muting everything, stinging my eyes. I heard Goddgofang’s voice coming from somewhere hollow. I saw the Overlord’s face, without moving, suddenly had a peculiar colour to it which felt like my stomach.
...with a sigh, he put down his book and hefted his lean frame out of the chair, eclipsing the glare into a cruciform shape and muting all his features into a halo grey.
He seemed a good deal older then, coming away from the leper’s bedside, than he had even when we had approached. I wondered if he was truly always that age, that peculiar blackened weight which had little to do with the silvered hair at his temples, and if he had a kind of off-hand glamour at most times thrown over the dark to hide the drag of it from our eyes.
The lull came with us as we went down to the hall, broken by Goddgofang once, coming down behind me, with his father behind him.
“Do you ever get used to it?” he asked quietly.
And from above and behind on the stair, Dammerung’s voice in the dark: “No. You just get better at hiding it.”