One of the hardest part about NaNoWriMo is forcing myself to Turn Off my internal editor, and just let it spew.
I find this troublesome. But it’s a good prescription for what ails me: a hyper-perfectionist writer, who polishes and polishes until the life is rubbed right out of the thing.
There is a lot of cringing going on as the words gush out of my fingers. I want so badly to go back and fix, smooth, adjust. But I can’t, not with that word count demanding first dibs on my brain. Its cry for more, more, more, can only be soothed for a few hours, and then it’s a new day and a new 1,667 words that must be fed to it. No time for reflection on what’s been written. I have to plunge on.
Even if I never use this manuscript, I’ll have broken free of at least one rut. That’s what I keep telling myself.
