NaNoWriMo Approacheth

Yeah, I know it isn’t until November, but if you think I’m bringing this up too early, I have one question for you:

Biiiiiiiitch, do you even know?

It’s been on my mind for some weeks now that NaNoWriMo will be upon us shortly. The event has crept back into my vocabulary in a couple of conversations, and it’s been shocking to me that, both times, the reference fell flat, like a cardboard pancake, on too many commas.

(Seriously, I’ll watch the commas this year).

The Breakdown

NaNoWriMo is a portmanteau of National Novel Writing Month. It’s free to sign up. If you participate, you’ll join thousands of other writers of all abilities, traditional, and otherwise, as they run, nay, sprint, towards 50,000 written words during the month of November.

50,000 words in the month of November works out to 1,667 words per day. Does that daunt you? bore you? excite you?

Good- it should. Because, by the end of the month, 1,667 words will evoke the shortest of evenings and the longest of nights, easy trysts of sing-song words, and dark, sordid weekends out behind the dumpster with Trisha, ‘The Fix,’ Malone.

You will find yourself asking, “where is this all going?” and “why am I doing this?” and saying outloud, “this is so stupid,” and “I can skip one night,” and “oh god, I shouldn’t have skipped last night, because I forgot about tonight.”

This is a mental marathon and an excellent way to start a project, build confidence, and remind yourself that you can do a lot more than you think when you just put one foot in front of another, each and every day.

So sign up, damnit!

PS- How will the brother and sister below confront a mysterious murder that’s left their neighborhood in shock? I don’t know. I’ve just made them up. See? Fun.

“What made you think you could have it?”

“Have what?”

“My birthday cake,” said Katy. Her voice cracked like stressed-out leather as she peered at the sad, paper plate smeared with frosting and crumbs.

Duncan smirked, “I didn’t see your name on it.”

“But, it literally had my name on it!” Katy protested.

Duncan shook his head, quite vehemently, to the contrary.

“No, don’t you see? They spelled it ‘K-a-t-i-e.’ Different name, different person. Nicer person, in fact. You don’t see K-a-t-i-e over here yelling at me.”

Katy broke down. She’d been dieting all week, fantasizing about some of that delicious birthday cake. And now, it was gone.

“You’re especially awful,” she sobbed, “and now I’m not at all ashamed that I’ve drowned your hamster.”