I’ve been to a Land Down Under (now I just have to write about it)

As my sister will angrily tell you, I never finish what I start. Much to her annoyance, I have countless unfinished stories gathering virtual dust on my external hard-drive, unopened and unedited for more months than I can count. The truth is starting new projects is a bit of an obsession of mine. I dive in, giving 110% for about five minutes before a shiny new project drags me away.

My experience with NaNoWriMo was no exception.

See, last November, after much prodding from my roommate, I signed up to do NaNoWriMo. For those of you don’t know what it is, National Novel Writing Month is a personal challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. That works out to 1,667 words a day.

That’s a lot of words.  Like, a lot of words. Totally.

My point? I didn’t finish.
(You’re surprised, aren’t you?)

I had started out incredibly gung ho and confident. In the first week I had around 15,000 words, more than the daily quota. I had a great story idea, one that I had been formulating in my mind for about five years. I even had the format laid out and each chapter completely outlined by the end of the first day.

And since this project was completely based on a true story it was basically already written.

Still, I didn’t finish.

I’d like to blame my failure on the 50,000 word finish line (daunting, isn’t it?) but that would be a lie. The truth is a shiny new project came along and I lost interest.

(In my defense, the new project was t-shirt reconstruction which is super awesome. Unfortunately, that project was dropped mid-quilt by a newfound love of knitting, which was then cast aside (get it? Casting is knitting lingo, bitches) with a forced gluten-free baking obsession. Such is life.)

Lately, however, I keep coming back to this project. (Excerpt? Yes!)

Funny isn’t it? (Just say it is. I won’t leave you alone until you do.)

Now you want the back story? I live to please!

My sister and I went backpacking Down Under in the summer between my grade 11 and 12 year. It was an epic adventure, resulting in a tattoo and dozens of embarrassingly brilliant stories, and it is the best possible format for my short bursts of self-deprecation and satire. The perfect first novel, if you will.

And I can’t get it out of my head.

In the spirit of finally finishing a project, I’ve printed the 16,000 words I do have written and arranged them in a lovely stolen binder for my darling sister to read and edit – which will look a little like this:

My sister’s scary editing practices aside, I’m quite excited. Wish me luck folks, it’s back on like Donkey Kong.

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