Why I hate NaNoWriMo
Posted By AmyPadgett on August 1, 2011
The idea of writing intrigues me a lot. I’ve found in my own experience that good ideas can roll around in your head for ages, and sometimes you can get some of those ideas on paper, but actually writing a complete story is extremely hard work.
Enter NaNoWriMo. For the 3 people on the planet who haven’t heard of it yet, NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month, is a challenge to anyone who has ever wanted to write a book to actually set time aside and write. There are only a couple of rules:
- Start a new work from scratch – this is about fresh writing, not picking up something you’ve been beating to death for years.
- Make it your own work – no collaborations
- Write fiction – novels are not autobiographys. Fictional autobiographies are an exception.
- No editing – you can edit later. NaNo is about getting words on a page (digital or otherwise), not about those words being good.
- Crank out 50,000 words in 30 days (31 if you’re doing Camp NaNoWriMo in July or August)
For most of us, that doesn’t sound too hard… it sounds impossible.
I am not exaggerating. I said impossible, I meant IMPOSSIBLE.
And yet, I continue to torture myself and attempt the impossible.
My best effort so far was to produce around 25,000 words toward a Y/A novel. I actually wrote around 35,000 words, but 10,000 words got eaten by a hard drive crash so only 25,000 words remain as proof that I can write. And let me say here that I actually can write. I like the 25,000 words that I wrote and look forward to one day reading the end of the story.
Therein lies my dilemma and the reason I titled this post as I did. I’m finding that I’m pretty good at starting stuff. I can write an introduction like nobody’s business. I can create a tantalizing scenario that will make you drool with anticipation at reading the rest of the story. But I have several documents that range from a few hundred to a few thousand words, and zero completed manuscripts.
Why? Because I desperately need structure, but I’m horrible at creating it. I’ll do what NaNo recommends – sit down and begin to type. But when I don’t know where I’m going I never actually arrive anyplace.
There’s probably a sermon in there somewhere. Maybe a self-help book.
But never a novel.
Now – off to start my NaNoWriMo non-novel for Camp NaNoWriMo, August 2011. And for those who might care, here’s my Camp NaNoWriMo non-novel for July of 2011…. All 469 words of it. Needless to say, I didn’t win.
Let’s get one thing straight. I’m a skeptic.
I like the idea that there might be a God and a Heaven, or that there might be aliens, monsters, magic, whatever. I like the idea that there’s something to believe in – to really believe in. Not just made-up fairy stories and nonsense.
I’m trying to say that I hope there’s something out there bigger than us. Bigger than me. Bigger… and better too.
But I doubt it.
I remember sitting out on the porch after dinner when I was a kid, listening to Grandad tell stories. And he had some whoppers, let me tell you. Some were without a doubt true – like about how he pulled his buddy to safety on the beach at Normandy, with guys dying all around them. His buddy got shipped home, not quite in one piece. Grandad stayed and became a hero. He just called it doing his job, but he was a hero for sure.
But I think some of his other stories are pure fiction. He told about a girl he met who turned out to be a spy. Like something out of James Bond maybe. He told about little people – fairies or something – sneaking out of the woods to bring them presents sometimes. He claims that’s where he got his gold teeth. And he talks about really crazy stuff like seeing a guy hit by mortar fire who should have been blown to bits. When they were able to get to him, there was a hole burned right through the middle of his shirt, front and back both. But the guy himself wasn’t hurt at all. A little dirty and singed, had his bell rung like crazy… they said he could barely hear anything for the next couple of weeks. But other than the hearing, he didn’t even need to see a medic to get a band aid. Not a scratch on him. Apparently the guy claimed he’d just gotten a letter from home saying his whole church was praying for his safe return. That they’d lost too many boys already and didn’t want to lose another one.
I don’t know if I can really believe in the power of prayer like that. I think sometimes things just line up that are dumb luck coming together with wishful thinking and people take it way too far.
That said, I have no explanation whatsoever for the story I’m about to tell you. Like I said, I’m a skeptic. I don’t believe in magic. I don’t trust religion. I don’t think the brownies come to clean up the house while we’re sleeping. And I think people pretty much get what they deserve whether they are willing to admit it or not. Not always though. Not always.
