The most fun…

Woman at a Typewriter
Library of Congress LC-USZ62-70770

I can’t sleep. There is a hum of excitement that is building. It’s in the air, in my dreams, itching at my skin. Tickling my fingers. I do believe I’m as giddy as a school girl. As jumpy as a first time roller coaster rider. As excited as a child as the sun sets on Halloween.

Why so excited?

Because at midnight on Halloween, you will find me, fingers splayed across my keyboard as the quest to write a book in a month begins.

I’m getting excited for National Novel Writing Month, Nanowrimo.

This is the 6th year I’ll be participating. I was thinking about this last night, so perhaps being ‘giddy as a school girl’ is an apropos statement. As it was, I was visited by the ghosts of Nanowrimo Past.

Each year has been a different experience for me. The first year it was a revelation. To sit down and just write for a word count, and to let go of my self-inflicted pressures. Stephen King has said you write the first draft with the door closed. Hemingway said the first draft of anything is shit. So writing for a word count and not worrying about anything else, was putting into practice closing the door and writing some shit.

One year, when I started writing, I was instantly obsessed. I wrote in a crazed trance and finished my 50,000 words, plus a few more, in 18 days.20151130_232333-1

Last year was difficult, I was coming off a rather large rejection and trying to come to terms with why I write. I soldiered on, but it was difficult to get started.

The year I had a new baby at home, trying to figure out how to write was pure agony.

But I accomplished my goal even though most things that happened that year are hazy.

Each time is different, but the end is the same. The sense of accomplishment is so grand, so satisfying. Maybe that’s why I continue to put myself through this crazed exercise. Because no one is making me do it, no one can do it for me. So it’s just me and the page. I alone can decide to finish or quit. I alone can push myself and my limits or settle for excuses.

And when I chose to do the work, at the end, when I plug my work into the word counter and a simple word, ‘congratulations’, covers my screen…pride exudes from every pore.

The pride of accomplishment is one thing, but there is also something else that happens during this attempt. There is a sort of revitalization in the whole process. I’m reminded who I am and why I write.

And the heart of it is always so ridiculously simple. I write because it’s fun.

The story line for the book I’m going to write has begun to materialize and I can’t sleep. I’m excited because I’m about to have the most fun.





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