NaNoWriMo Continues, Thoughts Thereupon

I had meant to make a note of the major points of the novel’s progress, quarter, half-way, three quarters, seven eighths, and the like, but have fallen behind on announcing my completed amounts due to my effort in actually completing them.

I’m well past a quarter, well past a third, even. As I’m not finished writing for the day the exact percentage remains nebulous. NaNoWriMo dot org has my official word count, as of three this afternoon, at 17,182. It still isn’t the longest thing I’ve ever written, as if that were an accomplishment to pursue, but it is probably the farthest I’ve come on a long form piece in so short a time.

Despite my misgivings that this writing month promotes quantity, but not necessarily quality, the ubiquitous daily deadline has driven me to complete more. In that regard, the exercise is a great success.

As to some others, though, I remain worried. This month’s writing has so far so much consumed me that I haven’t worked on anything else. None of my short stories have gotten any attention, no other projects have grown. That’s all fine, sacrifices for the sake of complete a larger project. What’s less fine, is that I haven’t submitted anything. I’ve the same four items up for review that I’ve had in for the last few weeks. As publishing for nameless (more accurately unfamous), authors is mostly a game of averages or percentages, relying on mass submissions to get that one in a hundred publication slot filled, missed submission opportunities are keenly felt.

Today, I’ve written more than two-thousand words. The scene seems to know where it’s going, so there’s likely a few hundred if not a thousand more to come. Between then and then, or thereafter both, I’ll use the unexpected glut of free writing time to make up some of my missed opportunities.

At times I wish I were paid hourly, to see an immediate reward for the work I feel I’m doing, but such is not the nature of the literary game, at least not at my level. But at other times, those when I’m writing, when I’m discussing it, or lost to time, constructing sections in my head, I’m merely grateful to write, to have something so enjoyable with which to occupy so substantial a portion of my time.

And as such, I keep writing.