No NaNo

November is almost over and I'm coming to terms with the fact that I will not be writing another 50,000 word novel as I have during the last two Novembers. I went to the kick-off meetings, I had a couple of ideas but this year my attention was elsewhere. Since I'm now doing freelance writing two or three days a week, I couldn't get the motivation to write an additional 1667 words a day for a new novel. And with two previous attempts sitting in desperate need of editing, I couldn't bring myself to create another "child" without tending to the ones I've already got.

I will never minimize how much the experience of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) changed my life. Going from talking about doing something to actually doing it was a life-altering event and I'm thrilled that I did it not once but twice. But it's nice not to have anything to prove. I can do the challenge in the future for fun, for encouragement or to mentor someone else but I never have to do it to prove that I can. I've already done that.

So, now the path that NaNoWriMo opened for me has to be traveled. I need to find out what I can do with the knowledge that I can write on a regular basis if I really want to and I can finish what I start if I really push myself. Finding a way to make money from writing has always been a goal and getting that first check was a thrill but it's just the beginning.

The big dream that remains is seeing one of my books in a bookstore. Thanks to the last two Novembers, I'm one step closer to making that happen.

TGIO (Thank God It's Over)

In the past, November has meant only one thing - Thanksgiving. This November, it's meant something else - writing. Or as I like to call it - hell. It started out as a challenge; something I've always wanted to do. Doesn't everyone think they've got at least one novel hidden in the deep recesses of their souls? I know I always did. For the last twenty years my husband has been reminding me of my promise to someday put on paper (or computer as the case may be) the bestseller that will allow us to move into that villa in Italy next to George's. Well, he may not have mentioned that part about George. That may have been my idea. Anyway, I was always shooting off my mouth that I could write something better than half of the drivel occupying spots on the library's shelves. But did I actually do it? No. Until this November 29th, I was only a novelist wannabe.

Not anymore. For twenty-nine days, I wrote an average of 1750 words per day. I sat my butt in front of the computer twenty-eight of those days and actually typed a beginning, a middle and an end of what I hope will be an actual, published book. The hard part is over. I've proved to myself that I can do it. Even if my novel never finds its way into an agent's hands; even if it never occupies a shelf in your neighborhood bookstore, no one will ever be able to take its existence away from me.

As a reward for a month of grueling hard work, our local region of the National Novel Writing Month challenge met today for a celebratory luncheon. Everyone who participated was recognized for their accomplishments (even if they didn't hit the necessary 50,000 words) and one of the writers read an essay by Tom Clancy. In it he praised and offered encouragement to anyone who had the audacity to think that what they had to say was important enough to spend hours of their lives putting it on paper. He reminded all novel writers to be proud of the fact that they accomplished something that others only talk about doing. As I listened, my eyes started to tear up. Finally. Finally, he was talking about me.

26,140 To Go

This is my first blog in almost two weeks and I'm not sure when you might see the next one. As I mentioned in my last post, I'm firmly enmeshed in the insanity of trying to write a 50,000 word novel in thirty days. All I can say is, it's amazing what you can do when you really put your mind to it. When I told my husband that this is the hardest thing I've ever done, he asked, "Harder than childbirth?" I had to think about that one. While there are some similarities and I wouldn't want to compare the pain of the two endeavors, I will say in childbirth's favor, it was over in one day. The birth of my novel is taking thirty, long, tiring days of labor and I'm still not convinced there's going to be a baby at the end of it.

Still, I'm plodding through. Through writer's block, characters spouting trite dialogue and a plot that's going in circles, I press on. I can almost see the finish line but I know that some speed bumps are waiting to knock me off track. If all else fails, I can always resort to typing my washing machine manual into my book. The challenge says 50,000 words. It doesn't say they have to make sense.

Wish Me Luck

This may be my last blog for a little while. I'm about to embark on the craziest/bravest/dumbest endeavor in my life. I've signed on with thousands of others around the world who are going to attempt to write a novel in thirty days. A yearly event, National Novel Writing Month, has been taking place every November since 1999. When I first heard about it, I was intrigued. Could I really do such a thing? And if so, what would I do with it? Procrastination, forgetfulness, and fear took over and year after year went by without me giving it a try.

So, here I am. Out of excuses and determined to succeed. The NaNoWriMo website is full of ideas, tips and support for all of us who are crazy enough to think we can do this and the local writers I've met at the kick-off events are all committed (or should I say should be committed) to helping each other survive the month. It all starts at midnight. So if you don't hear from me for awhile, know that I'm burrowed down with my laptop and a Diet Coke, trying to prove I can produce a written product longer than three paragraphs.

In the meantime, I will check in with any updates or frustration. But if I have to come up with an average of 1667 words a day, very few of them will be here. Wish me luck. I'm going to need it.