In March 2004, my son Fain was just over a year old, and I was turning thirty the very next month. Fain had made all his major milestones in record time: rolling over, batting his eyelashes at strangers, but I was nowhere near finishing the novel I’d been half-heartedly working on for eight years. Not even close.

I felt sure my writing days were over before they’d even begun. I had a kid, and kids take up a lot of time and energy, in case you didn’t know. I assumed that I would never have time or energy ever again. I had utterly misspent my youth, and I should give up on writing for good.

In the end, I didn’t listen to this nay-sayer in my brain. “Nay,” I said, “I will write a novel before I turn thirty.”

I had a month, and a kid kind enough to sleep through nap times. Plus, National Novel Writing Month had already been in existence for several years, so I knew it could technically be done.

In order to set myself up for success, I decided to abandon the brilliant novel that was never to be and to commit, instead, to writing a very bad novel in that measly little month. I would rely on tropes and hackneyed plot devices. Describe every setting with as much purple prose as possible. Include rambling dialogue that didn’t move the plot forward. Get every cheesy metaphor out of my system. Just generally have fun with it.

And I did. Eventually. But even with those light-hearted, libertine guidelines, I still wrote this on the blog I was keeping about the experience at the time with a few other friends (including my future husband and friendly CW IT guy Jack):

I typed a paragraph, and then I deleted it and cursed myself for ever contemplating writing a novel. I reminded myself that even my grocery lists had been shabby and lacking in imagination recently. I also informed myself that no one liked me and that everyone who pretended to like me was just trying to get my money. Then I remembered that I have no money, so I became more nervous because it occurred to me that the only reason, other than money, that people would pretend to like me was because they belonged to a black market ring that sold body parts. Maybe these back-stabbers were really going to stab me in the back! And remove my kidney!

Then I stared at the blank screen. And stared. And stared.

Writing is weird, isn’t it? I truly enjoy it. It feels like an indulgence, a vacation, a mystery, an adventure. Sometimes. Sometimes, the words flow from some divine source directly through me and onto the page, and I am delighted with what a clever little monkey I am.

Other times, writing feels impossible, and I become melodramatic about it. Will I ever write again? Or has the muse departed from this dark night of my soul forevermore?

For me, it’s helpful to remember that it’s probably not that serious either way. If I’m not feeling it, I give myself a break. Empires won’t collapse if I don’t make my word count quota for a couple of days. Usually, I’ll come back refreshed and ready to go after a walk or a snack or time spent reading – doing anything else, essentially. If you find yourself really struggling with your NaNo goals on occasion, take a break, treat yourself to a Snickers bar, and remember that this particular creative feat is for fun. Then, when you’re feeling better, go add an alien invasion or a body snatching. You’ll find things are moving right along again.

I did finish that first novel in a month, and I called it Bronte Sparks for the titular character, whose very bad first novel becomes a best-seller when the press believes a secret society has killed her. Not only that, I wrote the sequel The Golden Apple Bites Back with even more secret societies, plot contrivances, and an evil twin during the next NaNoWriMo. They are both very bad books that were a helluva lot of fun to write, and writing them gave me the confidence I needed to write several more bad books over the years. Each one taught me more about my voice and the stories I want to tell, and I like to think I improved as a writer with every bad-but-slightly-better book.

Lowering your expectations and giving yourself grace can make your NaNoWriMo experience magical. I don’t know if you can write a bestseller in a month (I can’t), but you could definitely write something that you never would’ve otherwise, and that’s the point. This NaNoWriMo, write something.

On a whole other note, submissions to Winter Hauntings: An EPIC Carteret Ghost Story Contest are open today! Visit EPIC Carteret to submit your story inspired by the Crystal Coast.