I think I said something about doing National Novel Writing Month. Every year I say I’ll do it, but then… I don’t. You see, every other month of the year, I feel no burning desire to write a novel. Especially not under time pressure. I know, as a writer, novels are supposed to be The Thing. When people ask, “Have you written a book yet?” They generally mean a novel rather than say, a poetry collection or a natural history field guide.
Well, because I don’t currently want to write a novel, (or have the mental capacity to do so), I’m not going to. But I still want to get into the spirit of things, ride the wave of writerly energy that fills the ether at this time. Cheekily glom on to the hard work and motivation of others, like a vampire feeding on creativity.
So I’ve invented my own thing: NaNoNoWriMo: National Not-Novel Writing Month. Each day this month (including yesterday, because linear time is illusory), I will write Something. I will keep meticulous records. Whatever is written must 1. Exist 2. Either start or complete a thing 3. Not be a novel 4. Not be one Tweet. Because I do have some standards of conscientiousness. Those are the rules. They’re admittedly, and deliberately, vague. Because fuck the police, I do what I want, etc.
I’ll tell you at the end what happened. Did I become super-productive? Did I decide that Reddit shitposts are the new literary artform? Did I write a novel because I’m deeply contrary? Did I give up halfway through because I’m wildly inconsistent? Find out here on November 30th. I bet you can’t wait.