I am somewhat stuck, here. I want this to be written. Until I write it, I will want it to be written. The ideas, the story (the memories), will be with me and torment me, begging to be let out of my head and put down on paper until I give up, give in to it. Yet for some reason, this part of it comes slowly. If it all comes this slowly, it will kill me, it will drag out for months, more years. On the other hand, I want to “succeed” at NaNoWriMo this year. To prove that I can do it. That I’ve still “got it”. All I’ve finished since the last year I succeeded at NaNo is … wait, well, two novels and two poetry books and the bigger step of actually going ‘legit’. I guess I can’t really discourage myself too much; I’m not as much a failure as I’d like to be able to tell myself I am (for whatever reason). One of the novels was written in a couple of weeks, the other in ~3 days work, and the first poetry book was composed in less than a week. I have 22, 23 days left in the month. Several long weekends. I can do this. Don’t give up.