The past month has been an odd trip. In October, several friends were talking about doing NaNoWriMo -- National Novel Writing Month. The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. At first, I dismissed it entirely, as far as personal participation goes. Then I started thinking that maybe I'd try it. But I certainly wasn't going to tell anyone about it! After all, I've never written anything that wasn't required for school, except for a few sporadic attempts at journaling over the years. Then I actually opened my mouth. Long story short (too late!) after a crazy month and far too many all-night typing sessions for someone of my advanced age, I actually won! (Meaning that I finished the 50,000 words before 11:59:59 p.m. on November 30.) And I was one of the few winners among those who attempted it. How on earth did this happen?
Of course, the novel's not finished, even though it's over 51,000 words. And most of it is complete dreck. And no, you can't read it. Sorry. But I actually did it. And it's created the most bewildered sense of triumph that I've ever experienced.
Just don't ask me how my schoolwork is going.
