It’s that time of year again. Leaves are damp, dying bits of organic compost, we're all diabetic from Halloween, and we're halfway through the hell known as NaNoWriMo. Halfway through a bottle of ibuprofen for our backs, and managing acid reflux from too much coffee. Or is that just me?
Actually, this year, it is not me.
I've done the NaNo. In fact, I did it last year, and started a novel that I just sold to a small press (more on that awesome news on a later post), but that 50,000 words in a month mandate may have actually been counter-productive. I fleshed out the book in winter, and redrafted it in spring and summer, and basically rewrote most of those 50,000 words before submitting it to publishers.
For generative purposes, NaNo can be terrific, but at my age, the cons outweigh the pros. The tiny repetitive-motion injuries to obscure, but necessary, muscles and fascia. The headaches. The bleary vision. For me, to write 50K words in a month is physically dangerous. It just is. My eyes, my head, my shoulders.
But I want to immerse myself in the dream of new material. So what am I doing this November?