As you can see from the gratuitously smug picture on the side of this post, I've done Nanowrimo. Thank god.
It hasn't sunk in yet that the mammoth task is over. It's a little disheartening how crap I think everything I've written is (and let me tell you, I think it's dire), but heck, that's why it's a first draft, right?
This time four weeks ago I didn't have anything but an idea, and now, 26 days later, I've got a 50,318 word document, and however shoddy, it's something. And now I shall have an extra two hours a night free in which to do... well, bugger all at first probably, but eventually, something else.
Once I've recovered, I may even go back to it...
But seriously, I've really enjoyed myself, exhaustion and frustration and guilt and self-doubt aside. I hope it's taught me something other than 'why use one word when twelve will do?', since I've loved having something on the go all the time, and the fact it's been a tight, ridiculous deadline has really spurred me on to do it and got me used to working consistently on something daily. Truth be told, however smug this makes me sound, I'm proud of myself for writing 50,000 words worth of twaddle.