It's the last day of NaNo.
Say that out loud looking off somewhere to middle stage with enough melancholy in your voice and it sounds nice. I didn't try that in real life, of course.
The last day of NaNo has been successful. I reached my 40k goal and then a few hundred or so. Better Angels, as it has become titled, is about halfway done. I'm going to try to keep to the 1.3k goal in May and see if I can finish it before then.
But I know I won't, because NaNo is over. It may be a personal drive but there's no real reason. Because NaNo ended. Because things end.
Another thing that's ended: SVVA.
Of course I didn't finish it and then bury my head under a pillow. Of course I didn't send my little sparkly Viking vampire alien off to an unknown world and then have a nice cry. Of course I didn't succumb to such ridiculous emotions.
Of course I'm lying.
Nine months. I'm not even going to notice the convenient number there. But nine months. Much of that being procrastination, but still. Nine months.
Most of the books I've finished lately have been NaNo projects that were over in a month or a little over. I'm not accustomed to long-time projects now. I forgot how they worm under your skin and settle down right between the two halves of your heart like they belong there, like they and they alone stitch the parts together and keep you alive.
I think it'll be good for my temperament and well-being if I keep to short-term projects that need to be finished in a month or two. This is stressful.
When did writing become not-fun and bittersweet and just generally ouch?
Don't answer that.