I met the challenge
I finished that atrocious 50,000 word challenge.
Of, course, since I neglected it right before, during, and after Thanksgiving, I had to write 10,000 words on the last day.
It was so difficult.
I had run out of story around 25,000 words.
"Send them to outer space," said 2of4.
So I did.
"Did they have kids? Make one not normal," suggested my Sweet Baboo.
So I did.
"Does your story have werewolves? Put werewolves in your story," said my son.
So I did.
And it still wasn't enough!
It got to a point where I was very unhappy.
All I was doing was counting words.
And I was miles away from the finish line.
And the clock was ticking.
My son had commented once, a long time ago, when he was reading the classics-
"Why are all the great novels written by grumpy old men?"
I understand why.
Because this isn't how it was supposed to be!
I wanted artistic freedom.
Word totals and time limits kill my creativity.
I understand that's how the business works, and I now know it's as bad a business as any other.
By the end of it all, my hands were swollen and my back was about to snap.
I really don't think I can pursue this career path.
It'll kill me.
And to top it all, after I was done, I wandered around the house the last few days without anything to do, even though I have plenty to do!
I'm lost and aimless, and just now began to wonder....did I just give an entire book away?
I mean, I know the story was terrible- but it was my story nonetheless.
I feel so used.