This one is big. I know maybe 20 people minimum participating in NaNoWriMo this year, each and every one trying to reach 50k in 30 days. And it is a no-win situation.
To outsiders, you look like you've lost your mind, putting all your spare time in something you don't really win.
To insiders, you look like you have a death wish, because who doesn't when they sign up?
If you write too fast, your friends all glare at you and get irritated at your success, when you talk excitedly about what you've been doing simply because the writing thrills you.
If you write too slow, someone will bring up someone else better, more consistent, someone who got 50k in 11 hours and is shooting for 10.
NaNo tempts you with skin of gold and silver and shiny things, hiding away its sharp teeth and hard, cold surface. And we come back every year, bleeding onto our pages in the hopes that this demon will give us our approval; that we will somehow be validated by completing this monstrous task.
I have published novels before, and the thrill of it is unmistakably intoxicating. But then there's always that next idea. And that thing you promised to write up as a gift for your friend. And suddenly there is no end, you're swimming in a sea of work, your only island this two-faced, shiny demon, and even though you know the result, you swim towards it and allow it to embrace you, because for a few fleeting days, everything becomes clear and you can write like no one is reading.
And just as soon as that energy is there, it's gone, leaving you desolate and demoralized on a shiny demon that either eats you, or the words that you make for it.ns 188.8.131.52da2