NaNoWriMo - Say What?!

I am writing you this missive from a jail cell.  I have been imprisoned for crimes of high treason, crimes against the very fabric of writerdom. 

The writing police appeared at my office door, busting in while I was embarrassingly in mid split infinitive.  “I was going to edit it, I swear!”  But that wasn’t it.   What did I do now?  One played good cop, the other bad.  Mr. Good offered gentle critique in the persuasive lyrical prose ala Diane Ackerman and the clean precision of Joan Didion; while Mr. Bad spoke sparingly in the heavy, no-nonsense language of Hemmingway, and cutting edge new style/no style daring, dropping prepositions at the end of his sentences like he just don’t care.

They roughed me up a bit, sat me back down in my chair and spun me around to face my most egregious error.  It is November.  This is a writing blog.  Why have I not mentioned NaNoWriMo? 

What the hell.

I had not even heard of this Hawaiian-type vowel soup until just very recently.  Apparently I didn’t get the memo.  So now I have been sentenced to house arrest with Mr. Good lurking right outside my door until I make immediate amends for my odious oversight. 

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November is and shall always be National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  The world must come together, and each and every being must write a complete novel.  In a month.  No allowances, no excuses.  I have heard there are factions of this organization that have gone rogue, accosting old ladies in parking lots, demanding they provide drafts of their murder mysteries on the spot.  They’ve established checkpoints, stopping motorists and turning them back to their laptops until they produce.  The rest of life must be put on hold.  Don’t answer the phone, the door.  Ignore those bills and the job to pay them.  Become a teetotaler, celibate.  Neglect your children and certainly your friends.  To hell with Thanksgiving.  Write.  Just write.  All month.  You must have a final novel finished by the deadline of November 30th.

I want to understand, get on board.  I really do.  So I ventured to peek my head out, inquire of Mr. Good, “How did this all begin?  Who came up with this madness?  Doesn’t it rail against everything we are as writers?  The angst, the years spent incubating ideas, the drinking.  What of the suicides?  How could there possibly be time for them in November if we are so tasked with this unbelievable feat?”  He merely smiled briefly, enigmatic.  Whispering Haikus he firmly shut my door.  This time I heard a bolt lock in place.  Ok then.  

NaNoWriMo began in 1999.  It is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit that’s gaining momentum and clearly has no intention of going away.  In 2012 they claimed 586 regions on six continents with 341,375 participants who “… started the month as auto mechanics, out-of-work actors, and middle school English teachers.  They walked away novelists.”  Over 250 NaNoWriMo novels have been traditionally published.  They anticipate a half a million writers joining the challenge this year.  

As if I don’t have enough super-ego pressure weighing down every time I venture away from my desk to sneak an artichoke, Netflix-ed BBC (do not get me started – I am obsessed with Dr. Who), or a mug of wine.  I feel guilty every time I have to do laundry, spend time on chores – ANY time I am not writing.  My logic centers figure I squander away enough time at that meaningless job for god’s sake, I can’t waste any more.  And now this.  A whammy of a mandate.  A herculean test of fortitude, strength, and ultimate commitment to writing.

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What about the actual novel I am working on?  What becomes of that?  Do I put that process on steroids and slam it out?  Would something be lost by doing that or gained?  What happens if I do it and can’t get back to the development it was under?  If I don’t want to risk that contamination, then that means a whole new novel.  I try to reason with the NaNoWriMo police again with this new insight, but they will have none of it.  They’ve heard it all before.  They remain judgmentally quiet just outside the door.  I try my original defense, “I didn’t know!”  Shot down in a heartbeat.  Ignorance of the law of writerdom is no excuse.  Stalemate.  I offer a compromise.  I will write about it here, spread the word to the masses of the land.  After all, maybe there are others out there as ignorant as I was?  No?  Just me huh? 

My final desperate plea bargain:  at the end of November, I will interview a brave enlightened soul who undertook this momentous endeavor and actually completed the mandatory November novel.  We can vicariously experience the process, get a peek inside the madness, the genius, marvel at the fortitude.  Maybe share a piece of the writing here.  Will that appease the NaNoWriMo tribunal?  

 
I do not hear a response.  I hold my breath.  Slowly, the bolt rasps across my door, hits the frame with a finality that reverberates inside my consciousness.  An intra-psychic force field tracking devise has been erected.  I may leave my desk but I cannot escape.  I must serve my time, pay penance and return at the end of the month with my final reparation.

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That was a close one and I am not free and clear yet.  Be warned.  And please, if you are a NaNoWriMo survivor let me know.  My very freedom and identity as a writer hangs in the balance!

For the real story of this amazing organization, please follow the link here, http://nanowrimo.org/ and see their press release in the Runaway Events Page above.

Image courtesy of National Novel Writing Month.

Good luck to us all!