Expertise

The kickoff party last night was amazing! There was a lot of talking and sorting things out as midnight crept up, and we exchanged a lot of advice. The energy was high, probably due to the presence of LOTS of Halloween candy.

There was one thing that happened that felt strange to me, though. A new novelist came in and asked how many people were doing NaNoWriMo for the very first time. Of course, a couple of hands went up. Then people started sharing how many years they'd done it, and how many wins they had accumulated.

Confidently, I said that this year would be my fifth. Everyone stared. I might have been the youngest person there, but suddenly I commanded a strange respect, the quiet guy that hardly anyone had noticed before. People started asking me questions, like whether it got easier the more times you did it. I said no, it's always difficult. Which, in my experience, has always been true. You can't get through this without a fight. It was the most honest answer I could give. Or so I thought.

One other thing I did, which I feel is relevant: I confessed that this year would probably produce my worst novel yet. And I was okay with that.

As midnight approached, someone began to count the minutes. With thirty to go, I had my first sentence in my head and my fingers above the keyboard. I channeled my inner insanity: tilted my head, widened my eyes, and made a giant grin. My brain got the message.

 The instant I heard zero I was on the rampage that I had anticipated, my keyboard the machine gun, with no worries of running out of ammunition. Oh, and there's no doubt that I did indeed massacre that kickoff: after half an hour we stopped and compared word counts. I heard 250, 300, 500, 800. I didn't want to tell them mine, but I did. It was something like 1100 words.

I had spent that entire time recounting events from my own life, skimming them and deliberately leaving out the happy parts to leave a picture of a very depressed young man to begin with. I was sure it was the wild anticipation that had done it, but once again I channeled my crazy, and by 1AM my total word count was 2276. I managed yet another half hour just this evening, with similar results.

Who knows? Maybe I am really good at this now after all. Obviously part of it was my statement, my worst novel ever, which killed all quality control outright--something we're told to do time and time again. But I think just as important were the madness that drove me, and the method of listing things very specific and personal to me. I think everyone can do those things, at least. We're all a little crazy. Otherwise we wouldn't be doing this. And putting in a bit of yourself comes with the trade--it might be tough if your novel is really "out there," but you can always find a way.

Whew! Too bad this blog post isn't part of my novel--I spent another half-hour working on it. Ah, well, I'm off to do more of my absolutely insane writing--and you should, too!

BwaHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAhahahahahahhahaaHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA