I edited. I threw out about 1500 words from last night, boiled my first three paragraphs down to one, and redid what I had of chapter 1. I know it's wrong, and I hate myself for it (not really) but there was no way I could continue my adorable novel with that steaming pile of excrement sitting at the beginning of it. If I end up on November 30 with 48,500 words, I'll feel a pang or two. Or maybe I'll just dump those 1500 words back in, I wrote them in November after all, and celebrate with everyone else.
I don't know what it is about writing female main characters. Last year's novel had a female MC that I just loved so much I could have eaten her in a flauta. She failed to translate that on the page. Nobody liked her but me. I thought she was resolute, fragile, militant, tense, knock-kneed, and great. Apparently I wrote something that made her seem like a grey robot. There may be some kind of personal lack, here, with my inability to inhabit female characters. Let's see, would that be self-loathing? Stifling self-awareness? Or... not enough self-awareness to determine what my problem could be.
Dan is putting the children to bed so I can word-war my way back up to par. It's my sincere hope that I can avoid any more dumps of that nature, but it's a possibility. It may wreck my Nano, but because of the subject matter and what I've chosen to get myself into, I can't just power through this one. Great choices, me!