(National Novel Writing Month, for the uninitiated.)
I’ve won it a few times. I actually wrote what became my third novel, ARTIFICIAL SWEETHEARTS (very underrated; you should read it), during NaNo of, I think, 2011. The book changed drastically between that November and its publication, in the summer of 2017, but the heart is still there. And so is Sam, whom I adore. Not to play favorites, but he’s the best love interest in any of my books. Wait. I just did play favorites. Sorry, Jack, but you know you’re a dick.
I am doing NaNo this year, and I’m EXCITED about it. I’m teaching two creative writing classes at my kids’ school, and I’ve been prepping all of my students for NaNo. I’ve told them I’m going to write along side them, and I’m raring to go.
A few months ago, I worked on an outline to totally overhaul a book I wrote a few years ago and went nowhere (BUT IT HAS SUCH A GOOD PREMISE, I CAN’T DROP IT). I reread the outline yesterday, made a few notes.
And, reader, I’m excited.
I’m pumped to write.
I feel like I haven’t felt this way in a long time.
(A long time.)
For the past…forever…I’ve been writing books under contract, but this November I’m writing for me. When I’ve talked about this book in the past, I’ve called it “the second book of my heart (THE SOUND OF US was number one) and I’ve spoken about it as the YA novel version of Taylor Swift’s 1989.
That’s what’s great about NaNo–the promise. The promise of writing a book for yourself. The promise of sitting down to write upwards of 1600 words a day, just to prove you can. The promise of finally getting that story out of your head and onto paper (or into a computer).
During class the other day, one of my eighth graders said that she and her friend will get an idea for the kind of book they want to read, but it doesn’t exist. And, I told her, now you can be the one who writes it.
Be the one who writes it. Get your NaNo on in November.
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