My personal record for words written in a day is 10k. I've written and submitted a 35k novella in five days. And because of this, I have absolutely no doubt that I could write a novel in a month. I could do NaNoWriMo. I could. Heck- with those figures, I could write a novel in a week.
But then I get to the but. Yes, I could do all of this, but...
Why in God's name would I want to? For a start, writing is exhausting. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Don't let your husband/wife/mother/brother/dog tell you that you have it easy, sat on your can all day, tapping away at your laptop.
Writing is hard. After a night of hammering out ten thousand words, my eyes get a weird crust all around them. They feel full of garbage. My little finger twitches of its own accord, my legs have turned to jelly. I go outside and it's like having a nuclear bomb go off behind my eyes. Sometimes I forget to eat and drink or go to the toilet, and then have to do all three at once.
Shoving ham into your mouth while trying to wee isn't fun. Nor is falling asleep in the middle of hamming and weeing, then waking up passed out on the bathroom floor only to remember that you might have eaten and wee-ed and slept, but you didn't drink.
So now you have a mammoth dehydration headache and a mouth like the insides of a pork chop.
But that's not even the worst thing writing can do to you. That part is actually quite fun! Plus, you managed to complete ten thousand words. Hurrah!
No, the worst part is when you're there, exhausted in your bones and in your soul and just drained from pouring all of that out of you and onto the page...and then you reread it, the next day.
And oh, how it sucks great big donkey balls. How much you hate yourself, for writing such unadultered shite. Life has no meaning. Everything is despair. Bring on the zombie apocalypse because Lord knows it sounds better than slogging away at something you've mysteriously lost the knack for.
Which is all just a long way of saying: no, I don't do NaNoWriMo. And no, I never will. The thought of waking up on the bathroom floor after a month of forgetting to wee, drink, eat, sleep and take it easy on myself is just too grim to bear.