It's inevitable. I log in to my NaNoWriMo page, update my novel title, all ready for the new year to start.... and suddenly my mind becomes a prison. The story idea I was so excited about feels like a cage. Or worse, it's drab and flat and small and I can't do anything with it, and I write a dozen useless pages, stuff I'd be ashamed for anyone to read ever, stuff I don't enjoy at all, and why? Because I have to update my word count every day because that's the point of all this. So I churn out a mound of drivel just so I can say I'm writing something.
It's not fun. I feel cheap and stupid doing it. This isn't what I love about writing. I hate this. It makes me want to scream.
But every year I think it's going to be different. I get excited, because during the month of November, everybody's pumped about writing, the way I feel about it all the time. Many of my friends dive into their own creative projects. It's a wonderful sense of community. That's a great energy to be around.
But NaNoWriMo isn't for me. I've finally come to terms with that. I'll have to write my novel some other way.
Fuck you, word count widget.