NaNoWriMo. It stands for National Novel Writing Month, and is how I will be spending a large chunk of November. Hence the new little gadget over there on the right.
The idea is simple, in theory; to write 50,000 words of a novel in 30 days. I'll save you the maths - that's an average of 1667 words a day. The whole point is that it's perfectly OK if those words are completely and utterly devoid of grammar, or plot, or factual accuracy. In fact, they'll probably need to be; the only way to hit the word count day in, day out, is just to write with abandon, and worry about all that stuff later. It's a good general rule for writing the first draft of anything, to be fair, but the beauty of NaNoWriMo is that you have permission to do it.
I signed up for the first time last year and secretly, I didn't think I'd finish. The first problem was that I hadn't written any fiction for years. I wasn't sure I knew how to. But there was a bigger hurdle than that; my distinct (and often lamented on these pages) lack of self-discipline. I was convinced that I would last a couple of days - a week at the most maybe - before the novelty wore off, my enthusiasm waned, and writing a novel in a month would be addded to the long list of ideas I've toyed with but failed to commit to.
Still, I signed up. The best advice anyone gave me before I started was "don't write the novel you've always wanted to write during NaNoWriMo." If you do, this person said, you'll care about it too much. You'll want to agonise over each word and every decision, to make sure you get it right. And you can't afford to do that during NaNoWriMo - there's not enough time. Write something else instead; have fun with it.
It was advice which made a lot of sense. It also meant that on November 1st, when I sat down, and started to write, I had nothing other than a main character and an opening sentence in my head. I was terrifed.
That day I churned out 1816 words. The next day I managed 1990. Then 1688, and, the day after that, 1673. As my word count grew, and something vaguely resembling a story unfolded, I actually began to enjoy myself. I was writing complete tosh, and I had no plan, no outline, and absolutely no idea what I was doing, but that was half the fun. And most importantly, I was soaring ahead of the daily targets I'd set myself.
I'd like to be able to say that the rest of the month went as smoothly as those first few days did, but of course it didn't. A lot of the time writing felt like a chore, and some days other things - work, social commitments, housework - got in the way. But on the good days, I loved it. I became obsessed with the numbers - how many words I'd written, how many I had left to go - terrified that if I fell too far behind target I'd never catch up; or worse, would become despondent and just give up.
But that didn't happen. Oh, I fell behind alright, several times, actually; but each time I managed to pick myself up again and keep on going. Somewhere along the line, and I'm not quite sure when, I just knew that giving up was no longer an option; I was going to finish, no matter how much I hated doing it.
And eventually, I did finish. With a couple of days to spare, in fact. 50,012 words. The manuscript - all 128 pages of it - is still sitting on my desk. It's a complete disaster in writing terms - full of ridiculously long winded descriptions (with targets like those, why use one word if forty three will do the job?), there's not a decent plot twist (or indeed a plot, for the most part) in sight, and the timelines are all out of kilter. I made several attempts at editing it into some kind of shape early this year before realising it's probably beyond repair. But I couldn't care less about that. Even now, a year later, I'm ridiculously proud of those 128 pages.
A lot of good things came out of my first NaNoWriMo experience. I discovered that I do have a tiny ounce of self-discipline after all; enough, at least, to churn out that many words day in and day out for a month. It's what gave me the courage to leave my comfortable job for the great unknown; a decision I'm still convinced was the right one even if I still haven't quite worked out why. It re-ignited my interest in writing, and fiction in general, and got me into a writing habit which has stuck with me, more or less, ever since.
In theory it should be much easier this time around. Last year I was still working full time; this November I have a few bits of work lined up but there are also plenty of spare hours stretching out in front of me. I've got a year's writing experience under my belt and have spent a lot of the last year immersed in the world of words and stories, books and authors. Surely some of that has to have rubbed off? I've certainly thought more about writing, and spent more time writing this year than I ever have before.
I'm just as terrifed though. Probably more. After all, with some experience under my belt, and so many more hours to play with, I have no excuse for failing this year. Plus, I've made a decision; this year I AM going to write a novel I really care about. In fact, it's the exact novel I was warned not to write; the one I've been thinking and talking about for years. The one which made me want to write in the first place. I still don't know if I can write it, but there's only one way to find out.
So that's how I'll be spending November, mainly. The actual writing doesn't start until Monday, but for the last few days I've been knee deep in post-it notes and wall charts, madly scribbling down ideas and trying to come up with a plot. To be honest I have no idea how to go about plotting a novel, but then again this time last year I had no idea how to write one, and that sort of worked out, so............
Bring on November, I say.*
*a bit nervously
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