So, this month is the National Write a Novel in a Month…Month.
And I am participating again. As I have for the past three years. After a friend turned me onto it while I was only partially employed and sensed I needed some form of structure in my life. I started a day late, which might give you an idea of where my mental state was at, and already pretty ready to abandon it as I sat down in a Starbucks with a pike roast to GET TO WRITING (You know, like all the greats do).
50,000 words seems insurmountable. Even four years later, it’s a monstrous figure to stare up at on Nov 1st. But once you get in the habit of it, it’s like chipping away at a stone block until you find your masterpiece. Which when you finish, you feel amazing. For those of us who perhaps need projects to be done or accolades to feel good, getting the PDF of completion from the Nanowrimo website is like sweet black tar heroin.
I’ve completed this three times now, going on four. And have, throughout my 175,000 (Soon to be 200,000 in two weeks) words, discovered a consistent pattern. A constant in the chaotic world of hurried creativity. And of course such a discovery must be shared, so…
Here are the Three Kinds of Nanowrimo writing.
1- The Revving Engine
Probably where most people who complete their word-count daily will live. You start in the morning, with coffee. A few dozen words, scattered in their direction as you try to figure out what the next words are. You take a break. Write 20 words. Check twitter. Write a hundred words. Slowly but surely you get a notion, a direction and you’re moving at a steady pace as the coffee kicks in and the story has a natural and true direction you want it to go in. Like a car engine, you slowly get up to speed until you are finally able to consistently coast, seeing exactly where you’re going.
2 – The Lord guides my Hand.
This is what can follow after a day of Revving Engine writing. You know exactly what happens next. This is the moment that you wanted to write for the last 1000 words. Your count dwindles quickly as the story pours out of you, your hands barely keeping up with your new ideas and quippy characters. Whatever god you believe in is guiding your hand with brilliance and once you’re done with this chapter she’s gonna reach down through the clouds and high five you for a job well done. Will you take advantage of this furious creativity and write more than your daily word-count? No, you won’t.
3 – ahhhhhhhhhhhhh
Your cursor mocks you, blinking uselessly on the screen. The only marks on your page in scribbles in the margins. Reading and re-reading your last 400 words from yesterday is not helping you remember where this tale was headed. Why don’t you keep notes? You bang your head on the desk, pace the room, and refill your tea cup endlessly hoping for a light at the end of the tunnel. You write two hundred words and sit blankly, as they didn’t help you move anything forward. You added a detailed description of a room and how your character feels about the room and that other characters are in the room but WHAT IS HAPPENING TO YOUR STORY AND YOUR SANITY. The sound you make is not a scream, or whine. It is a moan.
I’m not really sure with what intent I am sharing this. For science, for knowledge, for a dark and dire warning to other future would-be “Wrimos”? But here it is nonetheless. But I think the truest knowledge I can pass on is this: Don’t put off your daily word count to work on a humorous editorial like this one.
