It happened the last time, too. This time, the urge is simply too great. I have yet to succumb to it, though.
Must. Stop. Thinking. About. Joining. Nanowrimo.
I certainly cannot write well enough to whip out a decent 50,000-word novel, and to put finishing touches to it within that one crucial month.
If I do join, I know I will disappoint myself somehow. I reckon I will have no beginning and no ending to the story. Just bits and pieces from my sudden bouts of inspirations, so disjointed that should they be somehow miraculously put together, they would sound like… uhm…
Nah, they will be too incoherent to be made into one whole story.
So tell me: how can I stop my mind from regularly conjuring those intriguing storylines, shady characters, mountain-high castles, gun-toting assassins, and of grand, scaly dragons that breathe not fire but of…
I lost the plot.