Today hurt a little bit. It ended up a good day, really, in part due to the decision I made earlier that felt pretty bad at the time:
I’ve quit NaNoWriMo. Things were going well and I had 38,000 of the requisite 50,000 words and I was so close. But in no way do I wish obfuscate the main point: I’m a quitter. Quitting hurts. It hurts me, anyway. I have tendencies of, “don’t try unless you KNOW you can succeed,” because failing is kind of a worst nightmare (I’m going to skip over the fact that the whole novel was an exercise in FAIL, as in an assed-out terrible piece of reading, but anyone who’s written a novel knows this is typical for a first draft or Crap Draft as I’d prefer to call it). I don’t blame any circumstances or anyone else. I chose to stop and it was a measured, calculated, agonizing decision.
I quit because A. my husband been having a rough two weeks which has, unfortunately, translated to him not supporting me in the household stuff as much as I need, but perhaps more relevantly: B. my daughter told me I was spending too much time on the computer. And no, I don’t do whatever pops into my kids’ little noggins. My decision comes down to the knowledge of my daughter: she is more apt to swallow frustrations, to become hurt and resentful, to not ask for what she wants. In a fight earlier in the day I asked her why she’d been glaring at me so much? And this is what came forth from her. And I thought about it, and when I sat at her feet and told her she was more important to me than my book, and I wanted her more than my book, her whole demeanor changed. She was surprised – she did not expect I would change my behavior in any way based on her expressed feelings – and impressed and her eyes opened and her body language softened. She knew how much the book meant to me – she remembered last year when I did the same thing.
So today I got back to cleaning, cooking, and being with the kiddos more. And that’s that.
If you’re interested, you can read (most of) my aborted novel here.