So it is day 20 of the NaNoWriMo challenge. This is the Novel Writing Challnege co-ordinated by the beautifully named Office of Letters and Light, an office I am sure that is designed with floor to floor book shelving of every book known to mankind, as well as those not known. These neatly packed book shelves are interspersed with full-length glass windows, perhaps with a view of the mountains or the sea, or a heavily populated metropolis that allows one to cast a glance among the myriad of human relationships reflected in the books. The office is populated by well-spoken, witty, intelligent employees who gush and quote and voice monologues. There are no villains in this office. Simply put, it is the best place ever in the world. It may not be, but in my imagination it is, and my imagination wants to keep believing it.
I will admit, on Day 20 out of a 30 Day Challenge, I am slightly behind in my word count, only slightly. Do not fear. I am determined, nay, I am positive, I will reach the 50,000 mark in time. I sit at my computer often. I write well at times, or at least fast. There has been moments I have written something, a line, a phrase, maybe just a word, and I have liked it. To be honest, for the most part, it is not well written. The plot is decent enough. The idea, I believe, is a winner. The writing is the kind I would be disappointed with if I were telling it to my niece as a story as we sat on her bedroom floor. She can, and actually has, done better including a tone of raw excitement, using words to show this is the scary part, allowing the characters to walk where they must, even if into the mouth of the shark.
At this stage, I am allowing my protagonist to walk her own way. did try guiding her, but it failed. Sometimes though I throw in an obstacle, as if laughing at her, and showing her who is boss. I am not really laughing though, just learning what she is made of. I blew up the cinema on her once, but oddly she acted quite calmly, concentrating on getting the children to safety. I think her brother is in trouble, but there is a little work to be done before we can go investigate what happened.
I write in spare moments at work, and huge tracts of the morning. I write well after a run, and love writing in my favourite coffee shop after yoga. I sometimes write on slips of paper. I am not sure what I did with my time before using it to write. I once wondered where I would get the time to write a bog every day until December 31st. Look at me Mum, I am juggling, and I can still talk to you while I do. I have also met other people who like to write, just to write.
I love it. I love a challenge but more so, I love immersing myself in something I love. Just like I am not, or rather was not, any good at running, I still loved the act of putting one foot in front of the other and doing it. It’s the same with writing. I learned that in running, you can sprint, do hill repeats, tempo runs, long runs, slow runs. Similarly, in writing there is the same variety of exercises to strengthen you, re-energise you, pace you. It has been fun, and I am still enjoying it.
I do it not because I have skill. I keep at not because I am committed. It is all out of love.