(jenny. that's not nano.)
No, not strictly speaking, no - that's not NaNo at all. However, while I don't have a chronic illness, growing a baby does reduce one to "spooning," & I have to eek out my energy sparingly, because I basically have none at all to give.
(jenny. nano is just sitting + writing. how energetic can that be?)
My exhaustion is as much mental as physical, so it really is crucial that I rest - old-fashioned, conked-out, eyes-closed rest. Napping is an Olympic sport. So the story is, if I have to go out of the house at all, for anything length of time, on a given day, that is a day I will not write. I don't even try to push it. I only write on the days that I will be home, quiet, + rested. No one wants to deal with a boneless, exhausted, agonized maman who was too stupid to stop working when she should have & not overload herself with things-to-do. There's benefit in the hustle, but wisdom in knowing one's limitations.
When I do write, I do not try to keep up with the projected wordcount of traditional NaNo. TRANSLATION: I just aim to write the daily wordcount (1,667 words) during each writing session, rather than try to keep pace to write 50,000 words by the end of the month because I simply cannot & Ethandune would be a sorry mess if I tried. I would be a sorry mess if I tried.
if you have "excuses" or limitations in conquering nano, & just use the opportunity to provide motivation to your work, i hope this makes you feel better! i'm right there with you. i am a slow, slow, SLOW writer, a pantser to boot (??), & i am HEXhausted. but i'm still doing this. yes. because i care.
(**Oh, & my husband + I are starting an independent doughnut business. Trying out flavour combinations, filing paperwork, networking, studying + taking food photography...how much time could that possibly take up?? Bah haaaa.)
snippets finally ye gads
“Do you suppose, on your own, you could handle the affairs of the place satisfactorily?” asked Ireton, politely.
The earrings jangled. “Me? The Lord save us! I can cut expenses with my horsewhip, but for the long-term management of Mondegreen I have no training and no natural art.” Suddenly she stopped, and her profile was darkened by an inward oppression. “I really believe,” she went on gently, “that we have come to the last days of the house of Blackthorn.” She forced a smile to cover the wound and looked directly in Youngblood’s face. “Maybe the right thing to do would be to let it lie in the dust and be dead, like an old dog, than to torment it to life any longer.”
Dammerung was longer-limbed, and reached it first. He went down on his knees with a ripping of breech-cloth and hefted the figure over so that I had an unexpected, ghastly shock of bloodied face and disarrayed hair.
She handed him the copper coffeepot, pausing to stare as he heedlessly took the smoking object without any apparent sensation of its heat. “I don’t remember the half of what we talked about,” she admitted. “I had a nasty stabbing headache. Your father kept Casparic on his toes, though—I remember that much. And I thought I had a sharp tongue!”
Goddgofang smiled. “Oh yes, I’ve seen him do that sort of thing. He likes to do that to people he’s not fond of.”
I flew to get them and leave as soundlessly as possible—but not, as I passed back through the sitting room, without shooting a curious glance at the pages of Dammerung’s book. The lettering was too distant for me to decipher, and I got the impression, with only one hurried look, that they were not letters, but some form of hieroglyph. I bounded out the door with a cold chill, those indistinct images flickering like charms in the wind before my vision.
“Come on back, sirrah,” Goddgofang said softly, so soft I hardly heard. “I’ll let you have first pick of spears next time, eh?”
Golightly smiled like one overcoming the throb of a wound.
Fantome Rex was first to the door’s threshold. Dammerung swung a leg up over his horse’s neck, but paused a moment looking down at our host, the meteors of the rain streaking through the lanternlight around him. “We regret Secy Coeur de Leon was unable to come, although he had his heart set on it,” the Overlord said blithely. Taking his off toe out of the stirrup, he slid to the ground like an otter slipping into water. “But don’t be too cast down!” I could hear the iron smile on his face. “I’ve brought along Ireton, who, materially, is just as good.”
Floating light in the mist caught the headstall of Jennalaide’s grey and winked out like the flick-flick-flick of a bird’s warning call.
how is your nano progress?