Just a few weeks ago, I was furiously typing on my laptop, trying my best to put down as many words as possible, worrying that I would not make my November 30th deadline. Yep, after a 3 year hiatus, I threw myself back into the madness that is NaNoWriMo. It was the first time in what seemed like forever that I finally felt like I had time to focus on speed writing my way through a novel.
This year was particularly worrisome. Because, not only did I have to deal with days where I wasn't able to write, I started with little more than a vague idea and a bucket of determination. Normally, my brainstorming sessions start in August and by the time November rolls around, the story would be pretty much fleshed out in my mind, complete with character development a full story outline. That was not the case this time around. This year, I picked an idea or my novel at the very last minute. But try as I might, I couldn't think of a single thing that helped to expand on this idea. No characters, no plot line. October 31st came around and I completely changed what I was going to write my novel about. And I do mean completely. New setting, new genre, a new and unknown cast of characters. Everything was being started from the beginning and I had 24 hours to figure out how this new thought and blank canvass was going to become 50,000 words.
It was an exhilarating, anxiety riddled, roller coaster of a month. I was discovering my characters as I wrote them. With nothing but a loose semblance of a plan, character personalities formed themselves in unexpected ways. Actions I had not planned made themselves fit into the story line. Pieces of dialogue that I had not expected became important conversations and pushed further insight into the drive of the main protagonists and antagonists. I know I am the one creating the story, but there is something special and riveting when I have no set path and I am following the narrative as if I were the reader and not the author.
Right at the end, I was pretty much ready to give up. I had fallen behind on my daily word count. I had no idea what I was doing with the mess of sentences that was trying to form themselves into a cohesive story. And the holidays were not helping with my fight against simply taking the loss and trying my hand at doing this again next year. But, I kept writing. Partly because I don't like losing and partly because I had people who encouraged me to keep going. So why do I keep doing this if it is so stressful? Certainly, there must be a better ways to get myself to write without putting myself through a 30 day marathon, navigating the ups and downs of this crazy process. And I suppose the answer to that is: It's fun.
There is something about putting yourself through a challenge that is invigorating. Yeah, that middle part where you have ridden the early wave inspiration and the excitement of finish line is still in the distance, sucks donkey balls. But you get through it. And if you are lucky enough to be part of a group, it forges friendships. Nothing helps make friends faster than going through the fire together. And in the end, I have a story. Something I would have agonized over for weeks, I cranked out in 30 days. Sure, it will need polish and reworking, but my story exists.
In the wee morning hours of November 1st, I typed out my last sentence. It was not where I had planned my story ending, but that sentence was the best way to end the trip I had started at the beginning of the month. I submitted and got my NaNoWriMo win. I am glad that I started. I am glad that I finished. I am glad that I got to write with friends. And I am extremely glad that my story now exists in more than just my mind.
