I made it through the first week. On track. Suck it, NaNo!
Then it began.
The subtle jibes. The pointed looks. At one week exactly, my family started complaining about unreasonable things like not having clean underwear and there being no more clean plates. They don’t care about NaNoWriMo. All they care about is whether Cinderella has done her damn job.
The clock has struck midnight. My glass slipper is on the stairs and Prince Charming is grumbling about why I’ve left footwear in such an irresponsible location.
It seems that adding almost 10,000 words to my work in progress in the span of a week only gets me pats on the back from other participating writers. Non-NaNos just think I’m crazy. Or lazy.
Now, on my only day off this week, I’ve done two loads of dishes and several loads of laundry. My book ideas are roiling in my head, screaming to get out, but my hands are needed elsewhere. And not for anything fun or clandestine, either. Have I mentioned housework sucks ass?
So this is probably the end of my NaNo participation for the year. Back to my regularly scheduled program. In my head, four imaginary people are trying to get it on and make a complicated relationship work. They’ll just have to wait, because apparently a mom with a hot glue gun has a date with 4th grade beaver diorama.