I’ve been a NaNoWriMo participant since 2012, when I began a novel about a futuristic, oppressive one-world government and the rebel factions trying to take it down by sneaking through the woods with machine guns and grey body suits.

Needless to say, that book slowed to an inevitable halt around 25,000 words. The next year, 2013, I started the same way: full of hope, adrenaline, crazy plot devices, and detailed character charts. But again, around 25,000 words, my NaNo novel petered out like an asthmatic oboist playing a Mozart concerto.

The same happened last year in 2014. I began with gusto, only to get swept up in the void–that chasm of redundant ideas and turns of phrase that never seems to sprout anything new. So I stopped. And for the third year in a row, I “lost” NaNoWriMo.

I starting thinking. Why was this happening? While my writer friends continued to plot and “muahaha” at their literary genius, I sat derelict and disappointed at my desk, wondering if I’d ever finish these novels I still loved but could not presently even look at.

Then it dawned on me. I’m not a good fit for NaNo. It’s a wonderful thing that inspires many people and creates a worldwide writing phenomenon of greatness. But the way I work–the way I go through the writing process–was quite the opposite of what’s expected of a NaNo participant.

The goal is to reach 50,000 words by the end of November. That means at least 1667 words per day, if not more. Maybe that’s not much by some people’s standards. But for me, the perfectionist, the constant editor, it’s almost impossible, and quite unnecessarily stressful.

When I write, I edit at the same time. This means that as soon as a sentence leaves my fingertips and appears in the Word doc, I’m on it like a vulture on carrion, nit-picking and evaluating and rewriting and polishing. I go back and go back and go back until a section of writing is perfect before I can move on. Now, this also means I have basically print-worthy drafts the first time around without having to revise too much afterwards. But when it comes down to churning out a vast word count, my method just doesn’t do the trick.

Have I tried to change my writing style? Yes. I’ve tried to do the free-writing thing, not thinking about what I’m writing, just spewing out ideas and letting it flow without judgement. But when that happens, I tend to write awful melodramatic personal memoirs about–well–yours truly. And that doesn’t make a very sell-able novel.

And that’s ok. I’ve learned to accept that my perfectionism and editorial neurosis are part of me as a writer, and that it’s useless to try and be something else. So I can’t write a novel in a month. I can, as I’ve proven three times now, finish a novel in a couple of years. Which is fine by me.

But, please, go at it my NaNo friends. I’m rooting for you. As for me, I refuse to feel guilty for needing more time to exercise my writing muscles. If I ever did win NaNo, I can guarantee those 50,000 words would be nonsense not fit for anyone’s eyes. You may say “Well that’s the point, the writing doesn’t have to be good.” And I will reply, “Did you not get that I’m a NEUROTIC PERFECTIONIST?!”

I will get the book done. I’ll win, but at my own pace.

Plus I kind of want to have a life in November, thank you very much.