Day Thirteen *gulp* of NaNoWriMo

I wrote almost 2,500 words today, for a grand total of 19,544. I decided to leave the 20k milestone for tomorrow, along with the new scene(unless I just get so inspired I can't help myself - which hasn't happened yet with this project). My character is going on a DATE! woo hoo! I can't help it with the woo-hoo!s. I just love the totally awesome party sound of it *cringe*, and I'm having significant feelings of accomplishment the last couple days.

Ever since my early teens (yes, I wrote about this before, a while ago..but since not many people know about this site it's worth it for me to delve into it again), I've identified myself as being someone who has trouble FINISHING things. The technical term would be "lack of task commitment." It was (is) a label for me, something I could point to and go, "See? This is me." It's hard to change things when you've accepted those things as a part of your personality. When you're told by really smart people that this is your problem, you accept it (well, I did). It was the big thorn in my side (not the years of living with alcoholic or otherwise diverted parents, mind you)that I could point to and say "This is a characteristic and something which is very difficult to change" - what a fabulous excuse...."This is just the way I am. I am designed to be a failure. I am meant to want something I cannot have."

I've far too long let preconceptions about myself (and the world) get in the way of actually accomplishing things. So what if I don't have a degree? So what if my first novel STUNK. So what if this one STINKS. How will I ever get better (and I know I can be good; I've been there) if I don't just keep writing? There is never a finish to the grand idea. Who the hell really even knows?

Well...getting down off my little excitement track there...I thought I'd share my excerpt that I have posted at nanowrimo.org here as well:

Rereading it, I realize it's very short. But I'd be uncomfortable posting anything too significant. I do intend to polish this one and send it out sometime next year:

He was rubbing his thumb over her etched wooden face, and I imagined the little doll screaming at him for doing so, in that garbled voice people use when they have food in their mouths. Then he started feeling the fabric of her little skirt and said, “Oh! It’s a clothespin! Okay...”

Now, aren't you glad you stayed with me this far? *silly eye roll*