I ended 30 days of quotes on the 31st, only to be informed November 1st by a Facebook friend that November was
National Novel Writing Month
As in, you spend the month of November writing a novel, or rather, the first draft, to be precise, 50,000 words.
Nice idea, but no, I just finished 30 Days of Blogging and that was enough of a challenge. But hm, that was fun, maybe joining this community of writers would be too. But no, it's November 1st and I'm just hearing about this and I haven't prepared myself at all for such an undertaking.
So that night I sat down with my computer on my bed and began typing.
By the way, one of the "rules" is that you can't use things you've previously written. It's supposed to be all fresh. (I don't know if ppl actually keep that rule, but ah well.)
I found I did have something to say. But I wasn't going to commit. Actually, I tried to sign up on the official website, but it didn't quite work so I ditched the idea. My Facebook friend however was posting her word count and was apparently excited about it.
My thought? I'll piggyback on her enthusiasm. Ride in her wake.
A few days passed, including a splendid trip to an English Country Barn Dance, and I got sidetracked. Problem is, if you want to keep on this novel-in-a-month idea, you've got to write at least 1600 words a DAY!
To give up or carry on?
I carried on. And now I'm ALMOST at 15,000 words. (They say I'm supposed to be at some 18,000, but I'm sufficiently impressed with my progress, thank you.)
Might I share here a passage of what I've written in honor of the season? I'm sure I've read somewhere that a writer should NOT share what she's written prematurely, but . . . .
Here goes (and yes, that is the font I've been creating in--quite fun! and yes, this is a NOVEL, ie. NON-FICTION, but I'm writing it in the first person because that is what the story needs):
I absolutely loved Thanksgiving because I loved autumn. The red and orange and yellow leaves. The brisk air and slight breeze. Pumpkin pie, apple donuts, and maple syrup over cornbread. Thanksgiving was the apex of the season, especially in California where fall didn’t really come until late October. [. . . ]
With nothing to deter me from reveling in the holiday, I was ready to eat my heart out. I filled my plate with roasted turkey, candied yams, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, and crescent rolls. I went back to the kitchen to fill up a mug with cinnamony apple cider. I could smell the pumpkin pie cooking in the oven. I loved Thanksgiving!
The Charlie Brown theme song started playing.
“It’s Jen!” I said, handing the cellphone to my dad.
I took my hot mug back to the table and picked up my fork and knife. I cut a small piece of turkey and stabbed it.
“Jen wants me to put her on the loud speaker,” Dad said.
With the turkey still on my fork, I squished it into the yams, then used my knife to shovel mashed potatoes and stuffing on top, then dipped it all into the gravy. I looked at my loaded fork. Sheer delight in a single bite.
Jen’s voice came over the cell phone loudspeaker. “Hi, you guys! Michael and I are engaged!”
The next day I would feel jipped—my favorite meal of the year had come and gone and I hadn’t even been able to stomach a whole plate.