It's getting to the end of another Camp Nanowrimo, and as I limp the last few thousand words to the finish line, I'm struck by how hard it's been this time around. Oh sure, it's had the usual hiccups of Nano - procrastination, things cropping up, my own stupidity of running two big projects side by side - but there's something that has been nagging at me for a while, and only now have I fully realised what it is.
When I was planning out the first five months of the year, and setting myself lots of lovely deadlines to teach myself discipline, I was very careful about Camp Nano. I normally have dilemmas on what to write, normally winding up with two ideas and being unable to pick between them. In this case, I was torn between two of my really old pieces of work, that in the last few years have been pulled out, dusted off and begged to be properly revamped: Shadow Summoners, an Ancient Egypt based Yu-Gi-Oh! fanfic that had a pretty solid plot behind it but suffered from terrible writing when I first came up with the idea seven years ago. And So This Is, my first foray into chick lit, which ended up staggering to a halt on fictionpress once I reached university. In this case, the characters were pretty well formed, but the plotline was lacking something.
I started prodding at Shadow Summoners back in 2012 during Nano, and I ended up running both projects side by side. So This Is, ended up being my Camp Nano in July 2013, so in both cases, I would be adding to the word count, rather than starting straight from the beginning. I had plenty of inspiration for both of them, and I was sure that they would both be able to carry me through April with no difficulties. But which to choose?
I looked at all my projects from January to March and realised that, while I loved them all, most of what I was writing was dramatic and full of death. This isn't terribly surprising for me. Anyone who's read my stories is well aware that I have a proclivity for murdering the human race, and even on occasions when I've withheld that particular urge, death is still a constant companion of my stories. Anyone can die and often they do. Even my fanfiction crossover series, which has one of the lowest death counts in my history of writing, features a particular nasty death at the end which reduced me to a steady stream of tears as I typed it out.
So I took all of this in, and realised that it would probably be better for my mental well-being (on tenderhooks these days thanks to my stupid thyroid) if I wrote something a bit more cheerful, and so I naturally pounced on So This Is. It's chick lit, I thought. Plenty of happy teenage problems to blow out of proportion, and fluff so sweet that you develop cavities. Sure, there will probably be a few emotional moments, but most of them will be positive, because that's the kind of genre it is. What's not to be happy about?
I am the world's stupidest author.
Chick lit is a million times more emotionally gruelling than the most nightmarish apocalypse. And I think it's to do with the reality of the chick lit genre. It's knowing as you write that somewhere in real life, someone is being verbally cut down to size by the school's queen bitch until she breaks down into a paranoid, anxiety fuelled mess. Somewhere out there, someone's grandfather is being diagnosed with dementia, and she's miserably wondering if she should have cared enough to notice sooner. Someone's ten year old brother is dying of leukaemia. Someone's mother is contemplating risky behaviour just because she doesn't want to have another baby. This isn't just something happening in a story. These are real problems, that everyone can go through.
It's miserable.
I haven't cried this much over a story since Magic Monsters Dominions and Destiny. And the ten year old brother hasn't even died yet, which I know is going to be the most difficult scene of the lot. Nothing prepares you for the gut wrenching moment when you have to pull these character's lives apart. Every character needs to be pulled apart and built back up in a story - that's how they grow. But there's something about doing it in chick lit, and knowing the reality of these kinds of situations, and the normalcy of the characters that just hurts you a little bit more. Or maybe it's simply that in chick lit the death is more personal because you have to become so intimate with these characters in a different way than you perhaps would in another type of genre. Chick lit has a more personal emotional heart to it, and maybe that's why it hurts more.
All I can say is, once So This Is is over, I will not be writing chick lit again for a while. It takes a stronger author than me to properly do justice to this sort of writing, and I need a proper break from so much death and misery.
Now if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to get on with my magical girl cosplay. At least that's light hearted and cheerful.
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