I’m not built to be a writer (for a career).
I love writing, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing for good. Writing got me exploring places my mind had never been, twisting plots out of apparent thin air, sent my imagination reeling with every piece of writing, film, video, and anime that I watch. It’s amazing. It’s fulfilling and exhilarating to go through the journey with my characters and grow with them every step of the way.
But forcing myself to churn out words, to turn that detailed plot into actual story, making each of my characters talk to each other, to themselves, all the time — that is exhausting. Knowing I have to write, I have to meet that deadline — and it’s just for NaNo! It’s meant to be for fun! But that makes me realise if I were to become a full-time writer, assuming I even get an agent or publishing deal and people want my books, this will become my life. I will need to write, need to meet deadlines, just to earn money and pay my bills.
I don’t want that.
I don’t think I can deal with that stress when my source of stress relief is writing itself. And I admire very much those people who can write on demand and write continuously, because I can’t. NaNoWriMo has just cemented for me what I’ve always known: writing (for me) is a hobby, and I need to enjoy it for it to remain a hobby.
I’ll carry on NaNo’ing as long as I can, because there is still some bit I’m enjoying. It’s started to become a bit like running, though. The start is OK. I think I can do it. I think it’s not that bad. Then my lungs start burning, my brain starts aching, and my muscles hurt. Then I realise it’s actually a bad idea and regret thinking I was ever fit enough to run. My thinking machine is starting to ache a little.
Am I biting more off than I can chew? I can safely say yes.