I've spent most of my holiday break reading (and reading, and reading, and reading). Which has been glorious and fun. But you know the side effect of this much reading?
At some point, I'm bound to think, "I can't write like this," and go drown my sorrows in hot cocoa and Days of Our Lives reruns. Because while being in the presence of greatness is awe-inspiring, it's also a signal to my already-addled brain to give it up and quit while I'm ahead. Set myself up for a "I coulda been a contenda" moment in my distant future. Lose myself so much in other people's characters that I can forget, for a little while, about my own.
But, as I drain the dregs of my cocoa and drag myself from the pit of despair, I consider that surely I can write better that whoever is on the payroll at Days, and return to my computer. Well, my desk; I'm still plotting on my NaNo novel (I have to give it a different name now, I should think). Yes, there is still a lot of white space on there. I'm doing my best to remember all I've heard/read/learned in the past couple of months and give Natasha a lot more drama that I'm willing to have in my own life. But I'm also trying to remember to make her at least a little bit likeable, because as things stand right now, she may well be a complete jerk.
So. That's what I'm doing this week. How about you?