We're in Kruger.
… That's honestly all I can think of saying. It's not even a happy yay… more like a.. "We're here," yay.
I'm tired, slightly depressed, a lot stressed, and not in the mood for anything. In a word… well, I can't think of a good enough word.
We drove all day, finally ended up at the bungalow, put together another 20 seconds of the documentary (… what did I get myself into? Runs constantly through my head).
I haven't even reached the 20% mark of Frankenstein. I'm not sure if I care about Frankenstein any more. Or reading. Or editing. Scratch that. I want to edit, I just don't feel like I have enough brain cells for it (which is a bad excuse. But there it is).
… I want to go home. It's easier there. At least, it used to be. Probably when I get home it'll be twenty hundred times harder than what I'm doing now. But when it's summer, people want it to be winter, and when it's winter they're wishing for summer. It's human nature to want what we don't have. Yay.
Dad said something scary today. He said that in a few years— two or three or ten, I'll look back on NaNoWriMo and wonder how I could have possibly spent 50 hours of my time writing a novel in a month. I won't be able to conceive how I could have wasted so much time on something like that.
And all I could think was… No way. That's never going to happen. It won't… right?
Writing is important to me. It's like… the only thing that lets me be creative. Really creative. I can't draw without looking at the drawing two minutes later and thinking, "This is bad." I'm not musically inclined. Making a sculpture is annoying. Coming up with different ways to solve a problem is pointless— what's the one that works? Okay, I'm using that one. If someone else finds something that they say works better, I'll try that one out too. But for me to come up with the new technique? No, thank you.
I can't imagine a November coming and me forgetting about NaNo, or deciding not to try for it. I can't imagine not having a novel idea somewhere. I can't imagine being too busy to set aside thirty minutes a day to write in November. I can't imagine thinking that all that time was wasted, or silly.
Every time I do NaNoWriMo I learn something. Plan a little, but not too much. Don't take on a ton of goals. Go with what happens. Have fun.
It may only be in the context of writing— at the moment I can't think of anything I could do to 'have fun.'
I cannot imagine, to be honest, thinking that the time to write a novel would be 'wasted.'
How many people have wanted to write a novel? How many people have actually done it? And of those people, how many have said it wasn't worth it?