My Nanowrimo word count hasn't moved an inch in the last several days. The thing is, my novel's health deteriorated with mine over Thanksgiving, and though I'm much better now, the story has yet to recover. And I'm just going to give it time and wait for inspiration to strike. Perhaps it never will. Perhaps the novel will be finished in fifteen years after a lengthy hibernation.
Last year, Nanowrimo was a breeze. I finished a couple of days early, my novel was great, and it had another 30,000 words to be added on in the two months following. But this year, it took a decidedly nasty turn. My novel didn't want to be written. It was very shy this time around, and while it seemed to be going wonderfully its appearance was deceiving and it was slowly retreating into the cave of unfinished novels (I have quite a few residing in there). It came to a sudden stop and I was happy to let it rest.
So I'm going to lose Nanowrimo. Or rather, I'm not going to win. It doesn't seem to be the sort of thing you can lose at. But it's okay. Just remind me not to take part in it next November. Really. Do not let me participate in Nanowrimo in 2013.