Introspection

NaNoWriMo is amazing. When I imagine writers all over the world pounding keys, working toward the same goal—a completed manuscript—I get chills. We’re more united than the Republicans or the Democrats, that’s for sure. Well, I guess that’s not saying much, is it?

Aren't you glad we're not using the old Underwoods or Royals? I am!

I’m excited about my NaNo novel but I realized almost immediately that it’s garbage. It would take years to make a real novel out of it. The thing is I like it. I like what it’s saying, what it's trying to say, but especially what it could be if I invested years to fixing it. Yes, years. That’s no exaggeration. I love the few nice things in it. The very few sentences that sing—quite by accident, I might add. And I like that those sentences that sing happened by accident. Is that weird? That I didn't purposely construct them makes me think wow! there's a little bit of talent embedded down deep that rears it's creative head. Harness it!

As I pound these HP keys, I’m asking myself if I should be doing something more productive. Probably. Cleaning house, sorting laundry, organizing genealogy, revising one of my other completed novels, even completing one of the other NaNo attempts. There are lots of things I could/should be doing, but none of them give me this kind of pleasure. Racing toward a finish line—whether I make it or not. It doesn't even have to be November for us to get this kind of rush, does it? Any time we have an idea, plot it, write that first chapter, we feel excited, don't we?

I read a really wonderful, wonderful essay this morning, and I want you to read it too. Go HERE.
What you would do if you didn't write? How many novels or short stories do you write a month or a year? Do you have to force yourself to sit down and do it?

Just wondering why I need November.