It's November 30.
NaNoWriMo is over, and I have finished with 55,523 words in a brand new novel. It's a start, but it's a messy start. It needs a lot of work before I can call it anything worth reading, and I am completely unmotivated to start the editing process.
So that project is getting stuffed into a folder to be looked at later, and I am at a complete loss of what to do now.
I have a few novel drafts that I could start editing, two are stories that are very near and dear to my heart, and one is an unfinished piece of pretentious drivel that probably just needs to be tossed and never looked at again. I'm not sure I can bring myself to deal with the emotional fallout of this though, seeing as how writing the original drafts were so draining. I may have to wait until I'm off work for a bit.
I have several short stories that I need to buckle down and complete. But I'm having a very hard time connected with any of those.
I could spend the next few weeks reading my heart out and not writing anything.
I could play with my family more. They certainly could use the attention.
I could bake and crochet and do other creative things.
But what I really want to do.... is lay around listening to very loud music and zoning out for a week.
I might do that. I might just do that.