Tonight I met and then surpassed the required 4/5ths word count for my novel – a project driven by NaNoWriMo or “National Novel Writing Month”. I will be done by the end of the month, and then I can go back to not hating to write.
It’s one thing to say writing is important, to write regularly, to spend minutes and hours a day crafting blog posts and return emails and Facebook chatter and zine articles. It’s another to decide to, out of my brain, craft an entire fictional story and commit it to paper.
What’s the book about? Everyone I know – no wait, about four people – ask what my book is about. Meh. It’s not that I can’t describe it, it’s that I kind of don’t want to – like bad, obligatory sex*, I’d like to get it over with. And maybe edit it. And sure, yes, print it out and hand it around to those who express interest. I did tell Ralph the premise – while biking – and he listened with interest and didn’t even pull back his head, snort, and say, “That’s duuuumb.” So, that was nice.
Today I had to catch up by writing over 4,000 words. This was rather painful. My family supported me: the kids getting their own breakfast and tidying the living room, my husband keeping on my case – gently – until I’d finished the task. For this I thank them. As well as their inspirations for the characters around the claustrophobic, psychotic young mother driven mad by her depressingly clingy, whiny family. I kid, I kid!
Remember that scene in The Naked Gun 33 1/3 where after a day of undercover work at a sperm bank Detective Frank Drebin comes home and pours a bucket of ice over his nuts?**
I’m going to go do that to my wrists.
* Note: this author does not engage in bad, obligatory sex. But she does apparently write bad, obligatory novels.
** Of course you remember; who hasn’t seen this seminal cinematic masterpiece?