In the sixth grade, I wrote a story. A long story, by my standards: fifty handwritten pages, tucked in a binder. It was a horrible mishmash of genres, but would be most accurately labeled as science fiction. The protagonist was a twelve-year-old girl who was, ultimately, a projection of my twelve-year-old self. That story has disappeared into a box somewhere, probably for the best. I called it my novel. I entertained dreams of writing a whole series. In fact, I created titles and covers for the entire series, and a logo.
My novel-writing dreams disappeared into homework and life as I grew older, but I’ve always felt like I still had a story to write down, to get on paper. I don’t think it’s a great story, really, but I want to write it anyway. This month, I actually started. Someone reminded me that it’s NaNoWriMo, and I realized this year is the best chance I’ll get to participate. So I started my story. I’m 11,085 words in, and little of a plot has taken shape, but I am still having fun–and not writing something quite as ridiculous as my sixth-grade compositions.
In case you don’t know, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, and it runs from November 1-30 every year. Participants are challenged to write 50,000 words of a novel in thirty days. It’s nuts. My story is a mess. Most participants’ stories are, though, because the point is not to create a work of perfection–the point is to stop dreaming about being a writer and just do it. It started last week, but you can still jump in and get started!
Are any of you Wrimos this year? Have you been in the past? Any advice on keeping at it?
Until next Thursday,