NaNoWriMo 2016

I meant to keep my blog up to date with my NaNoWriMo 2016 writing, but it's already day 13 and I'm finally getting around to it. I blame it on CBS and having a season of Big Brother that is currently going!  ha ha ha

I am up to: 46,110 words as of 11:50am on Sunday, November 13th. My story is about a woman who is a widow, with a grown son who has special needs, who happened to follow her dream of designing clothes. She goes to a film festival (much like the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah, but this does not take place in that state) and has some romantic adventures. Where it's headed, I'm not entirely sure.

Writing helps keep me sane. I am not in control of every detail of my day to day life, but I am in control of my characters' day to day lives. I can decide if they can go back in time, if they get to have their dreams come true, if they fall in love or if they pass by that perfect match like strangers in the night.

Good luck to all those who are attempting 50K words for NaNoWriMo. I know how I put myself into my writing and to write is a labor of love.

DG

We're all a little broken

I feel a lot broken today. Unexplained anger and frustration, back to vomiting, choosing not to eat rather than vomit.  I try to remind myself that it's okay to be imperfect. It's okay to write salacious fan fiction just for ME. It's okay if I'm living on liquids. It's okay to require my older children to make dinner. Goodness knows they're not doing much else to help.

Would I be rejected if people knew the real me, the one that writes indiscriminately and with passion?

I feel a LOT broken.  I am riddled with guilt for not having sufficient gratitude. I cried watching American Idol. WHHHHHAAAA????  And yes, my husband thought I was ridiculous. But I am missing my parents. He doesn't understand the deep loss because his parents are living and breathing and available if he wants to call. Mine are not. ::tearing up again::

I'm going to occupy myself with reading and writing and living in my own fantasy of life. Who cares if my characters are unrealistic with their compassion and love? It will increase the depth of the characters to have more flaws, but this is MY dream.

So, I'm broken. I'm still functional. Like a pretty crayon.