NaNoWriMo 2014- JOIN ME!

NaNo2014I’ve said it before, and one time before that as well, and oh that other time too. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll say it again. It’s almost November. And that means another rousing month of writing. Just writing until we puke, and the words on the page mean nothing anymore.

This year, I don’t expect to hit 50,000 words. Not only am I just creatively tapped (and tired,) I don’t have the time! But I’m not giving up. I may not “win” this year and be able to call what I write a full novel, but that doesn’t mean I can quit.

2014 marks my fifth year of participating in NaNoWriMo. My first two attempts, I was not a winner. The last three years though, I’ve written 50,000 word novels. And no one can take away the gratification this gives me. I earned that winner title.

Do you want to feel like a winner? Do you have a story to tell? Isn’t it about damn time you finally did it?

Now is the moment, my friend. Take up your pen, your paper, your word processor, your coffee mug and writing totem and finally become the novelist/author/wordsmith you’ve always known you could be if only you had the time/patience/right idea/incentive/muse, etc.

The conditions for writing will never be “right.” You will never be able to rent that cabin in the woods and finally pen your memoirs in absolute solitude. When you do finally take that seaside vacation with the gorgeous views of the Italian Riveria, you sure as hell won’t stay indoors Kerouac-ing away on a typewriter. And no matter which dank, gritty bar you slide into in Switzerland with notebook and favorite pen in hand, that book isn’t going to get written…unless you start right now.

At your desk at work, stealing moments from your employer to pen a chapter about the main character tracking down the bad guy with nothing to go on but a hunch. While your daughter’s soccer practice commences, scribbling an outline for the story arc that ends with the heroine dying a hero by saving the puppy from the railroad tracks. With sopping wet hands from dirty dish water as you grab a second to jot down an idea that came to you while scratching last night’s lasagna out of the casserole dish with the handle of a spoon about how the murderer scooped out the eyeballs of his newest victim before leaving him to be found by your protagonist.

Those are the moments that get books written. And the sooner you come to terms with the less than glamorous way that books are born, the sooner you can get over yourself and write one. If you can find a seat on the bus for that 20 minute commute, you can write a book. If you can put off binge watching all of the previous seasons of American Horror Story before launching into the newest one, you can finally write your own honest-to-God American (or Japanese or German or whatever) horror story. Excuse yourself from the next pressing social obligation by telling your buddies that you are writing a book, dammit.

You can write a novel.


As writers.

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