This reminds me of the Nanowrimo project every November. Unfortunately, I never finished the novel for last year’s competition and I’m still currently working on that novel. This year, however, I’m determined to make an honest effort to finish the 50,000 word count during that month.
In a few weeks’ time I’ll temporarily relocate to a lovely apartment in the south of France, making it three years in a row that I’ve done that, and I’ll try to complete my novel while I’m there, making it three years in a row that I’ve done that too.
The key word there is try. Why can’t I just finish this damn book?
In my defence, things are quite hectic in Catherineland. (But then people with far more hectic lives than me write books all the time.) And it hasn’t been the same novel for the last three years. (But it was the same novel this time last year.) And some progress has been made. (A messy ‘discovery’ draft completed, but what since then? You finished that at the end of July, for feck’s sake!)
Time is definitely a major factor—and I don’t mean a lack of…
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