NaNoWriMo and I have a love-hate relationship. I haven’t won in two years. My mom warned me not to try and juggle a 50,000-word novel and my AP classes, but I laughed in her face. Tons of teenagers have heaps of homework and still manage it. Right? Right. Plus, I had the best story ever. I had great ideas, awesome characters and a perfect plot twist. I was so in love with my plot that I was contemplating a marriage proposal. And so I laughed at my mother.
Fast forward twenty-nine days. I’m a hot mess. I throw things at innocent passersby and break the necks of those who interrupt me. I snarl. I weep. I consume mass quantities of caffeine. And still I fail.
This year is eerily similar to last. AP classes–check. Motherly advice–check. Excitement and confidence that may end in a downward spiral of misery and depression–check.
November, here I come.