Just a few weeks ago I finished my sixth NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). It was also my fourth 'win', as I succeeded in my goal of writing fifty-thousand words in the month of November. This doesn't mark the completion of the drafting stage on my fourth novel, however. Out of my four 'wins' and the associated two-hundred-thousand-plus words, only one draft of a novel has actually been completed.
The novel I was working on this past month is longer than fifty-thousand words, and I need probably another fifteen or twenty thousand to complete it. The novel I won with last, in 2016, is also still unfinished and is an epic fantasy story that'll probably wind up being in the neighborhood of two-hundred-thousand words by itself. The novel I won with in 2015 was a ground up rewrite of the novel I won with in 2014, which was the first time I set the goal to participate in NaNoWriMo.
So if you follow my math that's one finished draft overall, in 2015.
And that's fine. I'm proud of what I accomplished, and I'm currently in a good state of mind to set some new goals and work on the last couple-thousand words of this new novel. But in the weeks since the end of November, as I've figured out what to do next, I've spent quite a bit of time thinking about goals, about completing things. And I've realized something I'm not sure I've ever been able to articulate before.
The only times I've ever been able to accomplish anything or make any significant change in my life have all begun with setting a goal and then, crucially, giving myself permission to fail.
There's a sort of obnoxious irony in that realization, but it's true. I couldn't finish a novel before 2014. I had dozens of projects going absolutely nowhere. I'd set goals about word-counts, I'd set goals to write for a certain amount of time each day, but none of them got me anywhere. And then my brother told me about NaNoWriMo, and I thought to myself, what the heck, let's do it. I spent a week or so in October of 2014 planning and plotting, and then I launched in on November first.
And I expected to fail.
See, even for a lot of professional, published, popular authors, fifty-thousand words in a month is rough. You're about to tell me about Brandon Sanderson's writing speed in the comments but I'll head you off here. He's a ridiculous anomaly in virtually every way. For most writers to do this they have to accept that the goal is simply to get words on the page that can be fixed later, because especially if you're not writing full-time a lot of those words are going to be crap. And you just don't have any time to fix them! You make the mistakes, get them onto the page, and forge onward. And for a lot of people, myself included, that's physically painful. So going into November in 2014 I knew it was going to be hard, and that I probably wouldn't make it. But what the heck, I thought, I may as well give it a shot.
And that relieved so much pressure! Even when bad days would roll around, when I'd only write a few dozen words, or I'd miss entire days at a time... heck, looking back I'm pretty sure I didn't write a single syllable over Thanksgiving weekend that year... it didn't matter. I had already given myself permission to screw it up and not finish anyway, so I'd just start back up writing the next day like nothing had happened. I'd do my best to write as much as I could and go smiling on my way.
When the last few days of November rolled around, I realized that I'd just completed my first novel at about forty-eight-thousand words, and I needed a little over a thousand to finish off my goal. I jumped back a hundred pages or so, added a single scene, and finished it off at about fifty-thousand-one-hundred words. The final product was so awful I re-wrote the entire thing the next year, but it was done. Novel drafted. Goal achieved.
And to go along with that, author flabbergasted. Thrilled. Confused.
But the trend bears up under scrutiny. Whenever I want/need to make a change in myself, to achieve something, I have to start with a sincere desire to try, and then follow that up with some goals. I gotta write those goals down, become accountable to myself or someone else, and then look at myself in a mirror and give myself permission to screw up.
It's important to recognize that this isn't a removal of responsibility or accountability. If my desire to meet those goals is actually sincere, I will try my hardest. But if I don't have permission to fall short every now and then, I'm going to get into my own head when I inevitably do, and then I'm going to get depressed, and then I'll fall even further. Which makes me more depressed, which makes the fall harder, which turns into this wonderful cyclical pattern of depression and failure and leaves me in a pit that takes forever to climb out of.
Falling short is okay. I mean, it's actually not, sometimes, but for the love you're not perfect. Even if it's not okay you're going to do it anyway despite your best efforts, and beating yourself up over it will accomplish nothing. So you fell short. You did, it's true. It would be stupid to pretend that wasn't what that was. It's okay. Step back, deep breath, re-center yourself, and commit to it again. Renew your commitment to the folks you've got holding you accountable. They're probably a little disappointed, but hopefully they understand, and hopefully they can see your commitment is real despite the stumbles. After all, they stumble in their own ways too.
And if it helps, if you need to hear it, you have my permission to fail. I said it out loud. Need to hear that I said it out loud? I've recorded this whole blog post on YouTube. Go give it a listen. Feel free to hold yourself to a higher standard, go ahead and look at the mess you just made. It's real, I'm sorry to say. But that goal is still worth all this effort. You are still worth all this effort! So... keep it up.
You'll get it eventually, and you're gonna feel amazing when you do.
The novel I was working on this past month is longer than fifty-thousand words, and I need probably another fifteen or twenty thousand to complete it. The novel I won with last, in 2016, is also still unfinished and is an epic fantasy story that'll probably wind up being in the neighborhood of two-hundred-thousand words by itself. The novel I won with in 2015 was a ground up rewrite of the novel I won with in 2014, which was the first time I set the goal to participate in NaNoWriMo.
So if you follow my math that's one finished draft overall, in 2015.
 |
| 'Winner'... yes... |
And that's fine. I'm proud of what I accomplished, and I'm currently in a good state of mind to set some new goals and work on the last couple-thousand words of this new novel. But in the weeks since the end of November, as I've figured out what to do next, I've spent quite a bit of time thinking about goals, about completing things. And I've realized something I'm not sure I've ever been able to articulate before.
The only times I've ever been able to accomplish anything or make any significant change in my life have all begun with setting a goal and then, crucially, giving myself permission to fail.
There's a sort of obnoxious irony in that realization, but it's true. I couldn't finish a novel before 2014. I had dozens of projects going absolutely nowhere. I'd set goals about word-counts, I'd set goals to write for a certain amount of time each day, but none of them got me anywhere. And then my brother told me about NaNoWriMo, and I thought to myself, what the heck, let's do it. I spent a week or so in October of 2014 planning and plotting, and then I launched in on November first.
And I expected to fail.
See, even for a lot of professional, published, popular authors, fifty-thousand words in a month is rough. You're about to tell me about Brandon Sanderson's writing speed in the comments but I'll head you off here. He's a ridiculous anomaly in virtually every way. For most writers to do this they have to accept that the goal is simply to get words on the page that can be fixed later, because especially if you're not writing full-time a lot of those words are going to be crap. And you just don't have any time to fix them! You make the mistakes, get them onto the page, and forge onward. And for a lot of people, myself included, that's physically painful. So going into November in 2014 I knew it was going to be hard, and that I probably wouldn't make it. But what the heck, I thought, I may as well give it a shot.
And that relieved so much pressure! Even when bad days would roll around, when I'd only write a few dozen words, or I'd miss entire days at a time... heck, looking back I'm pretty sure I didn't write a single syllable over Thanksgiving weekend that year... it didn't matter. I had already given myself permission to screw it up and not finish anyway, so I'd just start back up writing the next day like nothing had happened. I'd do my best to write as much as I could and go smiling on my way.
When the last few days of November rolled around, I realized that I'd just completed my first novel at about forty-eight-thousand words, and I needed a little over a thousand to finish off my goal. I jumped back a hundred pages or so, added a single scene, and finished it off at about fifty-thousand-one-hundred words. The final product was so awful I re-wrote the entire thing the next year, but it was done. Novel drafted. Goal achieved.
And to go along with that, author flabbergasted. Thrilled. Confused.
But the trend bears up under scrutiny. Whenever I want/need to make a change in myself, to achieve something, I have to start with a sincere desire to try, and then follow that up with some goals. I gotta write those goals down, become accountable to myself or someone else, and then look at myself in a mirror and give myself permission to screw up.
It's important to recognize that this isn't a removal of responsibility or accountability. If my desire to meet those goals is actually sincere, I will try my hardest. But if I don't have permission to fall short every now and then, I'm going to get into my own head when I inevitably do, and then I'm going to get depressed, and then I'll fall even further. Which makes me more depressed, which makes the fall harder, which turns into this wonderful cyclical pattern of depression and failure and leaves me in a pit that takes forever to climb out of.
Falling short is okay. I mean, it's actually not, sometimes, but for the love you're not perfect. Even if it's not okay you're going to do it anyway despite your best efforts, and beating yourself up over it will accomplish nothing. So you fell short. You did, it's true. It would be stupid to pretend that wasn't what that was. It's okay. Step back, deep breath, re-center yourself, and commit to it again. Renew your commitment to the folks you've got holding you accountable. They're probably a little disappointed, but hopefully they understand, and hopefully they can see your commitment is real despite the stumbles. After all, they stumble in their own ways too.
And if it helps, if you need to hear it, you have my permission to fail. I said it out loud. Need to hear that I said it out loud? I've recorded this whole blog post on YouTube. Go give it a listen. Feel free to hold yourself to a higher standard, go ahead and look at the mess you just made. It's real, I'm sorry to say. But that goal is still worth all this effort. You are still worth all this effort! So... keep it up.
You'll get it eventually, and you're gonna feel amazing when you do.
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