Nanowrimo - Day Eleven (Anxiety and the Revision Impulse)

I'm finding that much of what I'm writing in this rough rough draft is dialogue driven.  I'm writing pages and pages of dialogue between characters.  I'm not having sweeping passages of prose that describes place, time, and nuance.  It's beginning to worry me.  If you were to look at my pages, you might find yourself asking, "Is this a script?"  I find myself asking it. 

I'm not.

I'm not writing a script, or a screenplay.  I'm writing a novel.  So, where are the expected passages that locate the reader in time and space.  There are, of course, little gestures and movements that punctuate the dialogue, but not much.  At times, I'm worried that I'm writing shallow, that the story doesn't have any of that muscle and tendon of connected scene that makes the novels I love come to life.

I have to stop worrying.  Nanowrimo is all about volume.  It's all about uninhibited space.  I don't need to shoehorn these first pages into something as of yet.  That is what revision is for.  I will have time to build on the themes of place and of culture, but as of now I am simply getting to know my characters, finding their voices, and learning who they are.  I will have the deep meditative time it takes to connect the dots later.  Once again, I'm over-thinking my process in mid-process. 

That's the epiphany I had today.  I'm hoping the insight will allow me a brief reprieve from the anxiety I've been feeling lately, but I'll only know that for sure when I sit back down in front of a blank page.

Word Count: 1730
Total Word Count: 18629
Sample Sentence/Sentences (I figure an illustration of dialogue is important for today):

                “I hit Misty last night.”

                “You hit on Misty last night?  Who cares?  It’s not like she hasn't done worse.”

                “I didn’t hit ON Misty.  Well, I did, but that isn’t the problem.  I HIT her.”

                “Like hit hit?”  John was confused.

                “Yes, like I hit her with my hands.”

                “Why?”

                “I don’t know.”

                “What were you guys doing?”

                “I don’t want to talk about it.”  Willy dropped his head into his hands and sniffed.  It was a wet gurgling sound, the mucus sliding up into his sinuses. 

                    “I think you have to now.”