Something different is happening for me in the lead-up to NaNoWriMo¹ this year.
I’m not looking forward to it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to do it, but the high-energy anticipation that gripped me in previous years is absent this time around. In its place is a hollow dread, a nervousness, a feeling that I might just flub the whole thing.
There’s always a little of that and, I suspect, a lot more writers have it than they might care to admit. There’s always the possibility that life will throw you a curveball and you’ll find yourself needing to abandon NaNoWriMo in favour of not having your life collapse around your ears. I’m not talking about that.
What I’m talking about is more insidious.
Read on, if you care to…