Another Opportunity to Get My Message Out

Once again, I'm going to be on the radio. I did it last year and it was really fun, even though what I was reading was silly, silly, silly. This year, I think I'll mix my soundbed carefully and practice a lot. I haven't read in public in a while, and I'm feeling out of practice.

It would be even better if, by the time I read, I can tell people that the novel is due to be published....

The Days Simply Fly By

In October, I announced to people that I was definitively NOT participating in National Novel Writing Month. And then, at the beginning of the November, I found myself with some unaccustomed time on my hands and an idea that was just sitting there in my brain waiting to be written. I wrote nearly a quarter of my novel in three days.

I was 60% done by the end of the first week, and then things hit a snag. I had no time, I had more projects in the real world than I could reasonably complete, and besides, I wasn't participating. Why should I worry about things like plot trajectories and word counts if I'm not participating?

But then, just after Thanksgiving, guilt caught up with me. November 26th and I'm still stuck with the same 35k words I'd had for the past two weeks, and not a word more to show for it. I knew that, given my logorrhea, I could certainly produce the requisite 15k words, but would I? After all, I wasn't even participating.

I guess it says a certain something about my character that, given the writing successes that I've had this November, I decided that I wanted to go ahead and finish. The effort sapped my health (okay, that may have been cold season and my proximity to a 5-year-old) and I ended up, at the end of things, in bed for an entire day, but I did finish.

And now, I don't even know how I feel about it. Happy? Not really. More like, not embarrassed that I gave up in the middle of things. Proud? Again, not so much. The first year, I was proud just that I had finished, despite the fact that what I had at the end of the process wasn't usuable. This year, I realized that my novel was not even close to coherent until the last 10k words, which means that to make it usable and readable, I have to pare away several weeks' worth of work and do several weeks more, and that's just writing. Being proud of my effort at this stage is akin to being my age and being proud that one can use the potty like a big girl.

So I guess that my feeling right now is really just relief. Once again, I haven't embarrassed myself. I have been a good example for other people I know who are struggling and who may or may not have finished. I have the beginnings of something workable and ideas for a great many other things that are possibilities. The whole exercise is not a loss, and I do have to say that the ultra-competitive side of me really loves knowing that I'm one of only a handful of people who enter every year who actually finishes. It does make me feel that I am, indeed, a writer after all and not one of those people who thinks that any boob can sit down and crank out a book.