I’m cursed. I have to be. There is nothing else to explain it. Why does something tragic happen during NaNoWriMo every odd-number year?
Back in 2011, my second year attempting NaNo, I succumbed to the sophomore curse. After a breakout year in 2010, I stumbled through a series of pitfalls, bad scheduling and work. I chalked it up to a bad outing and went on with my writing life.
In 2013, after bouncing back and completing NaNo the previous year, I hit the metaphorical wall and bust in flames. Again, work was the biggest anchor on my writing. I didn’t have much time to do anything else. I also had myself to blame for treating my writing as something to do in my spare time, instead of making the time to write.
Two years later and once again, the specter of NaNoWriMo, like the poltergeist in the Final Destination movies, attacked. After ironing out computer issues the first day, I cranked out over 2,000 words day two. I believed I hit the save key before going downstairs to change my writing space, but when I opened the project on my laptop, only a few typed notes remained. I ran upstairs to my desktop PC, opened the same document and gone were over 3,000 words I amassed over the previous two days. I checked my hard drive — running data recovery software — and could find no trace of the words. I went online and checked Dropbox; the last date stamp showing October 31, the night I wrote the bullet point notes. If my wife had not witnessed me writing, I would have believed I was dreaming. I ended the night, caught up on this week’s The Walking Dead and turned in for the night.
So here I am, sitting writing this post when I should be working on my project. Don’t worry, it’s too early to call it quits. I needed to vent before jogging back on the field. It’s been a rough start this year and I am getting my ass kicked. Nevertheless, there are 27 days to go, right?
Photo by Aidensdame