I’ve now spent seven days writing my novel for NaNoWriMo. End of week one. And I have to tell you, I don’t know why I haven’t done this before. I’m LOVING it. I purposely didn’t plan it out too much, lest I sabotage what I was hoping was the best part of the process: seeing what my brain can do with essentially a month of intensive free writing, bound together in a plot. And so far it has been a whole lot of fun.

What I’ve noticed most is the lack of fear. I went into this telling myself I wasn’t doing it to be published or to even write a great book. I was doing it for practice, to get more writing under my belt, which is what I’ve been focusing on since early April. No fear. No little voice telling me I don’t know what I’m doing, worrying that I took a misstep, wailing that I’ve ruined everything. Why was I beating myself up so much about writing years ago?

Yeah, that “years ago” part is another thing. Writing as I am now, without all of that fear, I can’t help wishing I had come to this realization twenty years ago. All that time, not writing enough. Worrying. Being afraid. What a waste. Still, I’m glad I woke up when I did. I still have time to write and revel in it.

I’ve also noticed that I’m putting in my 1700-odd words each day without changing my life that much. WHAT IF I HAD THAT GOAL EVERY DAY, EVERY MONTH, ALL OF THE TIME? What would I accomplish then? It boggles the mind.

And my son is doing great too. He’s ahead on his word count. We wrote together tonight, each at our own computer. He sits down and his fingers clack away on the keys without even stopping. That’s how a young mind’s creativity flows. I’m trying to do that too. Let it flow. Let it go.

Next time I’ll tell you how my book is different than I expected. Stay tuned.