Last year, I said it was my last year.
And then October 31 happened.
I completed my first NaNoWriMo in 2008, and went on to win nine more years after that. For me it became an annual tradition — something I actually looked forward to, like Christmas or the end of the school year.
But after 10 straight years, I (supposedly) decided I was done. While I was 16, bored in high school and still unsure of my career goals during my first run, by year 10, I had a full-time writing job, a fairly successful (?) blog, and very limited time to spend rushing through the first 50,000 words of yet another book I might not finish.
I was completely OK with this decision. I was prepared to focus on unfinished projects, take my time, and work on my fiction when it suited me.
And then I was sitting…
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