Editor's Note: I have been informed that my NaNoWriMo attempt should not be called an "Epic Fail." Therefore, I am changing the title to "Epic Zombiefication." Because I can make up words, too.
"I've got better things to do," I said.
"You need to eat," I said.
"All semblance of sanity will be ripped from your mind, stomped into teensy weensy bits in a field of sludge, and scrambled back into your brain in a mockery of what was once there," I said.
And did I listen? I. Think. Not. (Kudos if you know where that one is from.)
I had every plan to write my NaNoWriMo book to its completion this year and, for the first week, it seemed to be going well. Not great or even good, mind you, but hope still lived within my beating heart and that is always a decent sign of good things to come.
Then my freelancing kind of exploded, in the every-morsel-of-flesh-ripped-in-screaming-shreds-from-my-body kind of way. (Don't you just love the images I leave you with? You're welcome.) Hello, 60 to 70-hour work weeks and goodbye...everything else.
I would have still cheerfully made an effort to continue onward but a secondary explosion went off while everyone in my head was still stumbling away from the shock wave of the first fiery missile: moving plans that had to be dealt with A.S.A.P.
Trust me, if I could have remained awake for the remaining five hours of each day, I would have gladly crawled on. But by this time, I was running on my backup's backup power and nothing very human, much less coherent, made it into the light of day.
Every day, I hated NaNo more for existing while I could not and for taunting me with its promises of full word counts and purple-barred glory. My hatred has now eased out of pure exhaustion and I have come to terms with what must be at this time in my life. There will be other NaNos and purer triumphs, I am sure. My story is certainly in no danger as its six-year expansion in my head continues to grow by the day.
So, to all of you who crossed the finish line with flying colors: bravo! I am happy for you, if a little bruised in spirit.
Note: I practically won, anyway, since the wave of short story orders I ghostwrote equaled much more than fifty thousand words...