So here it is again, National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo to those who value brevity over word count–which is to say, none of the participants!). The time when thousands of brave, over-caffeinated souls all over the planet attempt to crank out fifty thousand words in thirty days, barely pausing to read the hilarious email exhortations from NaNo Central and to choke down some turkey in the home stretch (here in the U.S. of A.). I have made the attempt twice, once dropping out before much of anything had happened, novelistically speaking, once with a good-sized(but not 50,000-word) chunk of a novel about a group of homeless teens.
I’m hoping three times is the charm, possibly because I really want one of those cool t-shirts, a certificate, bragging rights, and proof that I can blast out prose as fast as any hack who ever lived. Or maybe to nostalgically revisit depths of procrastination unplumbed since I graduated from college. Or else to see if I can finally master the art of typing with my eyes closed, so I can pretend I am sleeping and getting writing done at the same time.
In any case, for whatever reason, I’m in again.
Some people plan for this event like runners preparing for a marathon, with carefully drawn-up plot outlines and character notes completed (and probably organized alphabetically) well ahead of All Hallows Day. I, on the other hand, am what the NaNo folks unfortunately describe as a “pantser”: someone who starts this 30-day endeavour with the literary equivalent of flip flops, a dried up tube of sunscreen and an optimistic but totally unfounded belief that water will be available along the route. Which is to say, flying by the seat of my pants. Without a map. Definitely no map.
What a blast. I’m thinking maybe paranormal romance this time, for fun? They say everybody has one good vampire novel in them, right? I’m sure somebody somewhere said something like that. Bram Stoker, or maybe Anne Rice? I should probably look it up before I start writing….
Wish me luck!