National Novel Writing Month

Last month I stumbled across this strange thing called NaNoWriMo (or in long-hand, National Novel Writing Month). I go to the website and discover that for the month of November, would-be novelists, professional writers, or anyone who wants to, can sign up to write their novel, or 50,000 words of it, between November 1-30.

I dink around the website, thinking what an odd idea this is, and man, how daunting to put yourself under that kind of pressure. Cripes. 50,000 words?? In just a month??

I find out this concept started about 10 years ago in San Francisco and has grown from just a few hundred intrepid folks, to over 120,000 participants in 2008. It's now an international November thing, with most countries of the world represented. Wow. How cool is that?

I read on. The success rate is astronomically bad. Last year, for instance, of the 120,000 or so people who signed on, less than 15,000 actually accomplished the goal. Holy Lost the Plot, Batman!!

I mull this over for a week or so, half of that time wondering if I'm insane to even be thinking what it appears I'm thinking. I've just spent two months laboring over the house and all the DIY crap. Can I commit myself to another month of angst? Isn't it time I relaxed, got back to reading that pile of books I have stacked next to the bed?

Finally, one day while walking Oz, I mention this whole thing to Alan. He says I should do it, why not, I've been talking about writing a book for ages, didn't I say I even had a plot bouncing around in my head? I say there's no bloody way I could do 50,000 words in just 30 days. I'll be mortified if I sign up and can't do it. He says, who cares? All you can do is try.

October 26th I go on the NaNo website. I have butterflies. I can't believe what I'm going to do. I will be humiliated when I fail. Fighting my inner demons, I sign up. I get my notification that I am now an "Official Participant in NaNoWriMo 2009." I nearly throw up.

November 1st, Sunday. I don't even have the plot worked out. I only have a vague idea of my two main characters. I stare at the blank page (okay, the blank computer screen). I'm a total loser the first day. I have to write 1,667 words each and every day to reach 50K by the end of the month. I am doomed.

Then suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, the first sentence comes to me, then the first paragraph. Oh.My.God. I write like the Furies are breathing down my neck, the words flying out of my head, filling page after page. When I finish the first day, my word count is 4,400. I am exhausted, but also elated. As the week goes on, I feel good, positive. Maybe I can pull this off after all.

Week Two hits. I can't remember my name, let alone the frigging plot of this stinking, worthless novel. What was I thinking? I can't write, and what I do write is crap. The mind parasites have crawled in and are eating my brain with voracious appetites. My word count is lower than a five year old's IQ.

Walking Oz, I tell Alan I'm quitting. Shocked, he says I most certainly am NOT quitting. Just write something, anything, to get the ball rolling again. That same day I get an email from the NaNo people. It's a pep talk about the Dreaded Week Two. Everything I am feeling is normal and happening to everybody else, all over the world. I should feel better that I'm not alone in this. I don't.

I take the day off to think things through. Late in that afternoon I suddenly remember where I was going with the plot. I tentatively sit down at the computer, I read the previous chapter to get myself back into the mindset. I tell my mind parasites to leave me alone, I'm writing. And I do.

Today, the end of Week Three, I wrote my 52,518th word. I reached the goal with more than a week to spare. I am filled with euphoria at my achievement. I am exhausted from using my brain so hard for so many days running. I'm only halfway to a full novel, but that's okay. I made it this far, what's another 50,000.