Picture by Lizzie Gudkov.
“Oh here it comes,
that funny feeling inside,
Winding me up again,
Every time we touch,”
Why can’t this be love?
(Musical accompaniment by Van Halen)
Why? Because it’s NaNoWriMo. Love has nothing to do with it.
Or does it?
Would you do this just for giggles? If so you’re sicker than a sausage straightener trying to figure out American slang. Seriously, there are 320 million of us, and we have regional slang the rest of the country can’t figure out.
What does that have to do with NaNoWriMo?
Here in America we’ve just enjoyed Fangsgiving. Watched the kind of football that people really get injured in (3 games scheduled for Fangsgiving Day; how great is that?), not the kind where they just fall over holding their shins when the wind blows past them. And our most beloved bloodsport, politics, is roaring ahead unabated with knives drawn and brandished. And we’re pounding out 50,000 words this month.
It has to be love.
“No, no,” you might say, “Love is just a second hand emotion. Love has nothing to do with it.”
With Love to Tina Turner
It better. I wake up at all manner of stupid hours to scribble. I sit here until my eyes bug out of my head searching for just the right word. Those tiny icepacks to keep the fingers from swelling with the salt mine like labors are starting to wear thin. I have that crazed look on my face like Ozzy Osbourne on the cover of that great album ‘Diary of a Madman.’
I have a spreadsheet to keep track of my snippets and poppets and do-wangers and do-whatses and all those Seussisms that have escaped through the holes in my head. My coffee pot has raised a white flag and my pod brewer, yes I have a combo machine that brews both, wants a well-deserved vacation.
In order to manage what we’re attempting you have to have some sort of love for it. Now this isn’t my first rodeo or whatever you have in your part of the world that uses that same ‘slang term,’ (see how I worked that back in?). I keep several projects handy so I don’t burn out on just one. Had that happen my first NaNo, and come January, I didn’t love writing.
It’s the story.
Your story.
The story only you can tell. It keeps gnawing at you. Won’t let you think about anything else. Talks to you while you’re driving. People in the cars next to you give you stares and make faces at you. You may order NaNo at the drive-through of the Taco Burger Barn and then have to sheepishly apologize while slapping yourself in the face.
You better have some love for it, to go through this.
We’re closing on the finish line, whether you’re not there yet or you’ve already finished and are enjoying the well-earned fruits of your labor. Just a few more days. The craziness will be over for another year and come February, yes I mean February, you will sigh with the pleasure of success. Your family will be able to tolerate you again. Small animals won’t flee your dark aura anymore. That black cloud that’s hovered over you can hopefully find a politician or athlete to linger over. The sun will be a little brighter.
And you better love it.
Steve King has said 125,000 words is a good read. 50,000 is a solid effort for one month. No matter what your final total, you have earned the right to pat yourself on the back.
Is this love that I’m feeling?
Is this the love that I’ve been searching for?
Is this love or am I dreaming?
This must be love
(David Coverdale/John Sykes)
After all the struggle.
I look back every year and exhale. Another year gone another 50,000-word November. Does it ever get to be rote? Not ever. I begin my preparation in October. Some crazies begin even earlier. I don’t want to peak early. The accomplishment is still worthy of hoisting a glass of whatever gets you through.
About Doyle
Doyle Slen is the Second Life® alter ego of his creator. He is also the main character in an, as yet, unpublished, with high hopes of one day being published, epic high fantasy series. He serves as the Dark Queen’s (Harriet Gausman) enforcer and loyal sycophant at the Milk Wood Writers’ Colony, haranguing such slackers as Nathan Ballard and Fionn Bookmite.
