Ouch. This is getting harder. Everything was flowing for a while there. For the first 15,000 words or so, the novel was practically writing itself. Plot arcs were fleshing themselves out even as I wrote them drawing inexorably to their conclusions, side-tracking just enough to put the brakes on things when it felt like I was moving ahead too quickly. Then pow, I find my protagonist acting uncharacteristically, the supporting cast and antagonists stilted and forced and contrived, and the pace just plain feeling wrong.

My National Novel Writing Month effort has gone from freely traipsing along, piling ideas and details into a fun little mixed salad into a strained effort to pitch more manure onto a steaming compost heap. I’m 17 days in to the challenge — write a 50,000 word novel starting November 1st and ending by December 1st — and I’m in serious need of a second wind. Going by a strict average-per-day word count, I’m 4,500 words in back at the moment, a staggering deficit at my recent rate of output.

So where does this leave me? Wait for lightning to strike? Trudge onward at whatever pace I can muster? I’m not ready to call it quits, but I’m certainly developing a greater appreciation for some of my favorite fiction writers.