NaNoWriMo 2011

Good luck to everyone participating in National Novel Writing Month out there.

I don't think either of us here at the Word Nerd team are jumping on that bandwagon this year, but we've both done it in the past and know what you're in for in the next 30 days.

There are a zillion of great links out there on how to make the most of NaNoWriMo. Of course a chief practice is to not get hung-up reading posts but to actually write. Some of the best encouragement is over at Pbackwriter's blog, so I'd point you there if you need a boost.

Hope the words flow freely for you.

NaNoWriMo = NaNoNOTMo for me

Let me declare my intentions boldly -- I am NOT participating in NaNoWriMo this year.

It doesn't start for a month, you might say. How can you be so definitive, you ask. You had fun last year, you remind me.

Yes, I know. It was fun. Once. But here's the deal -- I'm still working to whip that 50,000 words into shape. It's about 90K words now and I like maybe the first 50K of them. It took a good number of early mornings to work the section I wrote during NaNo into something viable. The next 40K words need that kind of attention if this story is ever going to be anything. Some of the changes will delve back into that first 50K as well, tightening the plot and the focus.

I can't say I'd never do NaNo again, because never is an awfully long time and an awfully definitive statement. I think it's fair to say it's unlikely I'll do NaNo again. As a writer friend said, when you're done, you have to take a machete to cut out the bad stuff. I think I'm beyond machete-ing to slash-and-burn deforestation. I knew I was writing a lot of crappy words as they went by but the NaNo pace is such that you can't fix them.

Now, I know that NaNo enthusiasts will say that's the point. It's quantity, not quality. But, if you're hoping for a real book when you're done, quality counts.

So, I'll spent November (and October and possibly December as well) continuing to edit and rewrite and revise.

NaNoWriMo Revisted

In the past week, Word Nerd has re-read the 50,000 words she wrote during November and the madness that is National Novel Writing Month.

A bunch of life stuff happened in between NaNo and now (like, say, buying and moving into her first house). She putzed around back in December with some of the early chapters. Yet honestly, she didn't really even remember what happened in her whole story. And, Word Nerd is not one who likes leaving projects unfinished.

The plan is to get back into the book -- move some scenes around, spruce up the first 50K words and finish telling this story. Word Nerd doesn't exactly remember all the things she thought she might do in the second half of the book (oh, the dangers of no outline and writing at NaNo speeds), but she's given herself bread crumbs all over the place to pick up and run with. (Like the thing with still, as-yet-unnamed Pegasus. Or the miniature knight. Who also needs a name.)

Now that's she's done with the reread, the next step is an outline. For the whole thing. Word Nerd actually likes a lot of what she wrote during NaNo, but not the placement. The flow feels a little disjointed. So, a full out map of the story is in order. She's also got one minor character who needs sorted out (what's her role in the story? Does she even belong there?). But it's all good problems to solve.

NaNo Excerpt

As promised, here's an excerpt from my NaNo 2009. This is most of chapter three. Chapter 1 features a house fire and chapter 2, a visit to a strange lawyer's office. Now, in chapter 3, Ainsley, the protagonist, is trying to shake off the experience in chapter 2 with a night on the town.

It's gone through, at least, a cursory polish, but any mistakes (spelling, grammar, punctuation, or just lousy word choice) are entirely my fault.

There was, I decided after a glorious steak dinner alone and now two yummy martinis my new friend Geoff – Geoff with a G, he’d told me – a serious flaw with Kate’s plan. I was feeling good, but beyond the vodka haze, I knew it was just the booze and not an upturn on life. Geoff had his own plan, that I’d go somewhere with him, but there was a serious flaw with his plan too.

“Look,” he said leaning over on the high-backed couch-booth-thing where we sat at the martini bar. He twisted his watch toward me. “11:11 p.m. Isn’t that great?”

For every martini I’d had, he’d outpaced me with at least one whiskey chaser.

“Swell,” I replied. Ainsley, I told myself, who says “swell” anymore?

I leaned back in my chair, trying to keep my head attached to my shoulders and not let it get away with that floaty feeling I got after two martinis.

Turning to my right, I saw a clock rimmed in a blue neon light hanging over the bar. The minute hand slid from 11:10 to 11:11 with a tick that sounded to me like thunder.

The blue neon edge of the clock pulsed once, like a languorous heartbeat. I could hear the sweep of the second hand, brushing though each second effortlessly. Life was present in the space between the seconds, a primal feeling of possibility and things being called forth from nothing, from imagination. This life-giving force resonated in my being, to the deepest matter of my cells. To me, it felt like an eon.

The second hand finished its upward sweep and the clock moved to 11:12.

“—the whole point of it, right?” Geoff asked. He looked at me for whatever kind of pithy response I was sure to have.

I mumbled some kind of response, half-hearted and stupid. I was still vitally aware of the past moment.

I’d never felt anything like that before in my life. I’d read plenty of accounts of strange happenings – my roommate in college was obsessed with things like alien abductions and the 11:11 phenomenon. I’d read them all with the same disinterest I’d read my economics textbook, that they were things that occurred, but that had no bearing on my life. The odd parts of our world, the unexplainable happened to other people.

I wasn’t surprised I encountered it today. Today was just too weird all the way around. I double-checked my watch just to ensure I hadn’t lost any time, like some sort of X-Files symptom. It said 11:13 now, just like it should.

“Are you alright?” Geoff asked. He put a concerned hand on my arm. Smooth, I thought.

When he asked, though, I realized I wasn’t all right. Not entirely, at least. My senses felt hyper-aware, the way they did when I had to cover an emergency, sucking in every detail. I could smell the regular bar smell, the yeast and hops and the more subtle liquors, but also the wood polish for the bar, and the cleaner rubbed over the tables. I could hear the hum of the underbar refrigerators. Taste the cigarette smoke still in the air, even though it had been a nonsmoking establishment for a number of years now. Beneath my fingers, the wood of the old table still shimmered with a life, though the tree itself was long dead.

I was, I determined, more than all right. I was aware. Of everything.

Geoff’s hand, my jeans, how the alcohol in my system was changing my responses. The flicker of the lights. The conversation three tables over. All of it was vivid and accessible to me.
This was true information overload. My brain couldn’t work fast enough to process everything it was taking in.

I shut my eyes. The darkness helped some, but not enough. While it blocked out the visual assault from the room, I could still sense all the rest. The awareness felt like it was deeper than just my senses, like it was in my blood. Even my watch, ticking against the vein in my wrist, echoed through my whole body.

If I wasn’t so aware, I would have thought Geoff roofied me. I knew from reporting about a spate of the drug that these were not the symptoms.

“Ainsley?” Geoff asked again, sounding less drunk than he had a few minutes ago.

My eyes fluttered open. “I need to go,” I said. I could only hope that the dark and quiet of my hotel room would help bring this feeling under control. And if I could sleep off what I’d drunk.

I gathered up my bag and my jacket and got to my feet. As soon as I stood, the room gave one lazy spin and I tottered.

“Let me walk you to your car,” Geoff offered, putting a hand under my elbow. “Or call you a cab.”

I waved off his help, the room righting itself. “The walk would be good. Some air.”

Geoff followed me out of the bar. As soon as I was outside, I breathed in deep lungful of the cold, winter night air. It seared going down, feeling like I was coating my insides with frost.

The air tasted like snow and freezing and truck exhaust and the hotdog stand set up down the block. Around me, I saw the blinking of traffic signals and the sheen of car-lights. The hyper-awareness was not any better outside.

Like in any big city, I had to park at least five blocks from my destination. I set off at a good clip down the sidewalk. I heard each of my own footsteps. And Geoff’s. I looked behind me to see that he was wearing some kind of soft-soled shoe that shouldn’t make noise. Nevertheless, I could hear each of his steps as he tried to keep up with my fast-paced stride.

“Where’s your car?” he asked.

I told him the intersection near the empty street space where I’d wiggled my rental Toyota.

“Wait,” he called. “It’s faster if we cut through here.” Geoff pointed at an alley running between two of the city’s tallest office buildings.


Tromping through an alley in any city was not highly rated in Ainsley’s best ideas ever, but I wanted to be home. The hotel room would have to do. Burrowed under the covers, where I couldn’t feel like this.

The alley wasn’t all that bad, I thought, looking again. Security lights brightened most of it and I didn’t hear anything scuttling around. I could see straight through to the next main street over. Geoff trotted a few steps in, stamping his feet against the cold and beckoned for me.

I supposed he could try to get friendly in there, but it took two to tango and right now, it was way too cold. I gave a wistful glance at the main street with its glowing street lights – its buzzing, glowing storefronts and traffic lights – and followed Geoff down the alley.

When we were about one-quarter of the way in, I heard another set of footsteps. Inside my coat pocket, I crossed my fingers and hoped that it was just a homeless guy hoping for a handout. But then there was another set, and another.

My stomach dropped toward my shoes. I took ahold of Geoff’s arm and whispered toward his ear. “I think we’re being followed.”

He gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “I thought that weirdo convention was next weekend,” he said.

Unable to help myself, I looked back as well.

The end of the alley we’d come from was blocked by three figures, make that four. They were dressed in some kind of robe, with cowls or hoods pulled up around their faces. Poking out from the bottoms of their pants were metallic colored pants and black booted feet.

“Who are you guys? Devo dressed up as Dementors?” Geoff taunted.

“Not helping,” I hissed at him.

The four figures advanced. Other than their footsteps I couldn’t sense anything else about them. Next to me, I could hear Geoff’s heart-rate increase, smell his beer-laced sweat and the tinge of adrenaline beginning to pump through his system. I could feel my own pulse, matching the ticking of the watch at my wrist.

This was bad, I knew, that these four were blank in my otherwise highly-tuned Spidey senses. Their chests didn’t rise and fall with breath. I caught no trace of a pulse.

I tugged on Geoff’s arm, pulling him backward deeper into the alley.

The four figures advanced as well, faster than we were retreating.

“What do you want?” Geoff shouted. “I’m calling the police.” He brandished his cell phone at them. It was off, I noticed.

They took another few steps forward. Even though Geoff’s phone was off, it gave a sick whirring noise, then sparks jumped from around the edges. Geoff yelped and dropped it in a puddle. One of the four robed guys raised what should have been an arm, but looked more like a tentacle, toward it and the phone was enveloped in a bright flash like a magnesium fire.

Geoff shoved me behind him, a gesture of chivalry that seemed completely irrelevant to me. “I don’t have much money,” he held up his hands, palms out. “What I’ve got is yours. Let me get my wallet.”

They came a few more steps closer. Geoff smelled more now of panic and fear. They smelled of nothing.

“C’mon guys,” Geoff tried again. “No police. Let’s just all be civil here.”

One of the four raised its head. From underneath the cowl, I heard something that seemed like language, but nothing I could understand. It looked at me, ignoring Geoff. It had no true eyes, just two even darker pits in the shadows of its hood.

“Ainsley Doran,” it said.

“Oh shit,” I breathed.

They took another step closer and we ran. They came after us, faster than seemed possible. One reached out a tentacle-arm and Geoff yelled. I saw red dripping from his shoulder, but he continued to run.

I was a few steps ahead of Geoff, since he’d tried to be gallant and move me out of danger. I wasn’t much of a runner, but fear does amazing things for a person.

I pushed whatever energy I had into my legs, ignoring the painful rubbing of my feet in my boots. My life right now, blisters tomorrow.

Behind me, I heard another shout of pain from Geoff, then a full out scream. I risked a quick look. One of the robed guys was on Geoff’s back, pulling him down. I stopped running.

It was like a Nature special, the pack of lions bringing down a giraffe. The robed guys lifted Geoff off his feet and then all I could see was robes swirling. Geoff screamed, the sound echoing in my ears, pain and terror. And then silence, as rivulets of blood streamed past their feet.

I let out a small whimper and one of the figures turned in my direction.

It raised a tentacle in my direction and I felt a sting across my cheek. I touched the spot with my fingers and found a bleeding cut, like a deep lash mark.

Without thinking or waiting any longer, I ran full out to my car. I didn’t hear any signs of pursuit, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of nothingness that surrounded the robed guys.

I burst from the end of the alley and slammed into a wall of sensations from the city street. It made me disoriented and I lost precious seconds trying to get my bearings. From the alley, I heard the sound of footfalls again. I whirled in a circle, attempting to locate my car.

“Give me your keys!” shouted a familiar voice off to my left.

Standing next to my Toyota was Rémi, the butler fromTulio di Lorenzo’s house.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.

“Answers later, Ainsley,” Ibsen VanderVeld (or VanderVelde) said, emerging from a recessed doorway to my left. “Ordinary blood will not sate them for long.”

“Who are you people?” I demanded again. I clutched my keys in my hand, the way we were shown in a personal safety class I took in college. I wasn’t going to be carted off by this group of wackos after escaping from those robed guys.

“C’mon!” Rémi shouted. “Your keys.”

“Hey!” I shouted to the street at large. “Some help here!”

From across the street, two other men approached. One wore a trenchcoat and looked vaguely like Columbo. The other was bald, his eyes lost behind the reflection of sodium lights on his glasses. None of the city’s other denizens stopped or even looked at me.

“Hey!” I shouted at the two men.

The guy in the trenchcoat ran over toward Ibsen, both taking up defensive postures at the end of the alley. Postures like they were ready for a fight.

The other man came up to me. “This is the best help I can offer,” he said to me.

I jerked back, but he was quicker. He grabbed me around the waist and with his other hand, put his thumb and first two fingers on my face like a Vulcan mind meld. I smelled salty ocean air, then the overwhelming sensations left me and in their place, blackness rushed in.

NaNoWriMo 2009 Reflections

November is, thankfully, over and with it National Novel Writing Month 2009.

I should probably not say "never" because one never knows, but my first reaction is to say "I will never do NaNo again."

Let me back up and explain:
1. I won this year, my final NaNo word count clocking in at 50,045 words. That count left me in the middle of a scene. Literally.
2. In November, I read only four or five books (way below my normal 7 or 8) because I couldnt' do both. Frankly, I missed reading.
3. I let lots of stuff slide this month. Chores. Hanging out with friends. Volunteering.
4. More days than not, I ended up in physical pain from the number of hours I spent typing away. My chair is ergonomic and all that, but that much sitting and typing at a stretch is just too much.

So, here's where my thinking is. I won NaNo, but quite frankly, I was sure I was going to. I don't mean that to sound arrogant at all, but I know me. I don't set goals willy-nilly; I don't start things I can't finish (unless of course you count the times I've tried to read The Three Musketeers... then, well, that's different...)

I've written 50,000 words before. While I'm still working on the getting published part, I know that I can sit down and write a story with a beginning, middle and an end. And one that has a plot.

The problem I had with NaNo honestly was the no revising thing. I've mostly been a write it all the way through till it's done girl, but this time, I saw a big thing I wanted to change in the early chapters when I was about halfway through. It means I need to take some things away, and add some others. It was frustrating to not be able to make those changes right then when I needed to. Granted, I made them in my head and proceeded as if the early chapters were corrected. But still.

Conversely, I had a couple days where, because of the pace which made it so I couldn't think about it too much, things happened that were unexpected and I think, damn cool. Or if not cool, usable for the plot. Kind of nice to have to be that free in the creative process.

I wouldn't warn someone off from NaNo in the future, but I would want them to think about what their goals for it are. Is it really to write just that much quantity? Is it to play with ideas and see where they lead? Is it try to write something that will end up publishable? If it's that last one, I would definitely make sure they understand the vast, vast quantities of work to come. My editing machete will have to be used on a couple scenes (they were boring come out, so I know they will be boring to read...)

The NaNo story is not done, so I'll be back at it next week for sure. I'm not wasting these 50,000 words and the time I put in.

In the meantime, as compensation (meager, meager compensation) for all my posts about NaNo, I will post a small excerpt from mine on Monday. Happy reading.

Winner winner, chicken dinner

Yep. It's done. All 50,045 words of it.

I think my fingers are going to fall off now.

Where I'm at, writing-wise

The word count meter got an update this morning.

I'm hovering just under 30K words and it's telling me I'm 60% done with NaNoWriMo.

60 percent, as all you math whizzes know, is less than 100 percent. The next 20K words feel very daunting. This week is not a good one for writing.

I had a great session yesterday and then this morning it was very Monday. My word count for today so far is just over 1K and my guess is in an edit, a lot of those 1K words will get changed. Or deleted.

Week three feels like this will be the challenge.

And that's 25K words (or, who let my protagonist drive today?)

I crossed the magical 25K mark for NaNo this morning, two days before the actual halfway point of the month.

I've been pushing the pace, more like 2K words a day and sometimes more than that. I've been trying to bank words, what with holidays and meetings and the chaos of my calendar in the next two weeks.

This morning, something interesting happened.

Maybe subconsciously, I knew characters were heading in a different direction but all of a sudden. BAM! Things are happening and all I could do was keep typing.

I generally hate it when authors talk about characters doing that because it seems so false to me. Really?, I think. They really do that and you end up with this wonderful product. I doubt it. You probably had your hand on the wheel, white-knuckling it the whole time.

White knuckles are right. I was white-knuckled for a little while this morning because I was just trying to hang on and keep some control. My brain is working over time, neurons firing, with oooh, now that I've done this, that can happen in the next chapter instead of later.

Let me put one thing straight: My characters didn't truly hijack things this morning. What they did, was act in an unexpected way, but one that's not outside the realm of their personas. Part of it comes from putting characters in conflict --when someone is stressed they act differently. People ignore the warning signs in their own heads. So while I as the author hadn't thought of what happened this morning, exactly, I had created the set of circumstances that let them act how they did.

Once I got over my initial reaction -- No Way! No Way! No Way! -- and let the scene flow and happen and develop, I decided it was a good thing.

And it helped me get over the 25K hump.

Maybe I need to say "thanks" to my protagonist.

NaNo Day 10 -- Oh, the terror... the voices...

Today is day 10 of NaNoWriMo 2009. In another 15 or so hours, this insanity will be 1/3 of the way over.

I've written more than 1/3 of my 50,000 words. After this morning's writing session, I'm sitting at 19,000-odd words and plan to do another 1,000 tonight to put me over 20k. (This will also put me two full days ahead which is good because I'm seeing many things on the horizon that could impede my progress.)

The first time I tried my hand at writing a novel, I think it was somewhere around this point when I realized that I was indeed writing a novel. This was quickly followed by sheer terror.

The terror is again building. But for a different reason this time.

NaNoWriMo's lovely organizers send me email about twice a week, reminding me how hard this is. How my enthusiasm is going to peter out this week. That I shouldn't worry about whether my story is good at all. They offer tips about filling up word count with things like minute details about what everyone is wearing until you figure out where the story is going.

They even have authors giving tips. At first, when I saw an email in my inbox from Jasper Fforde, I was elated. I interviewed him a couple years ago... maybe he wanted to get back in touch for a follow-up? Nope. He offered the following:

But the overriding importance is that the 50,000 words don’t have to be good. They don’t even have to be spelled properly, punctuated or even tabulated neatly on the page.

Ack.

I'm sorry, Jasper. You're wrong. Spelling does count. At least for me. And that comma that I typed outside the quote? I've got to go fix it.

I'm listening to competing voices about NaNo. On one hand, there's the NaNo crown, telling me to just write 50,000 words, no matter their order, or usefulness, or even spelling. Makes sense -- turn that inner editor off. On the other, there is another contingent of writers saying NaNo teaches the wrong things -- that quantity over quality is a bad lesson to learn. Stop and make it good the first time because you won't like the major editing that comes afterward -- and that makes sense too.

There's my own voice, too. It's not talking so much about process. No, it's saying things like, have you noticed how dusty it is in here? Or who's going to wash those dishes; the cat doesn't have thumbs. Or, go make a NaNoWriMo2009 playlist for your iPod.

And then there's the voice that says, "Those last three pages suck. They are boring. If you're bored, a reader will be doubly bored. Why aren't they good like those other three pages back a couple chapters?" Or the one that says, "Are you mental? NaNo is just crazy."

The terror comes because I don't know which voice is right. I think it's quite possible they all are.

I fix my typos. I reread part of what I wrote yesterday to get going again. I've gone back and added little bits of dialogue and description. I'm not describing every last button on someone's clothes and I'm not rewriting whole scenes. Yet I know that everything I've written for the last two days will need serious work during revisions. Serious cutting and rewriting.

Getting words on paper is important, the sheer constancy of creating. My book does have a plot. I am in an upward arc toward the 40-45K mark that will be a big revelation for the whole story.

The terror, quite frankly, is a motivation -- an I'll show them all deal. The book won't completely suck. But I'll follow the rules for the most part. For the next 20 days, I'll listen to all the voices off-and-on, when they make sense.

Even the one about the playlist.

NaNo Contest Winner!

Thanks to all of you who suggested great character names to get me unstuck in my NaNo.

I liked a lot of the suggestions...though maybe not the one suggestion of "Dave." ;)

Some suggestions just didn't fit, largely because there were a few names that were too similar to some already existing characters.

But, one rose to the top as a clear winner.... Drumroll please....

My NaNo villain is named Sorian Pearce, thanks to Rachel's suggestion. YAY for Rachel!

In recognition of her great suggestion, if interested, Rachel wins a copy of "Mortal Path: Dark Time" from Dakota Banks. If not, the book will be donated to an outlet that needs it, like a local library. (Rachel, drop me an email to let me know what you want to do...)

Thanks for playing. I'm thinking about a possible other contest before the end of November, so stay tuned!

NaNo quick contest!

Help!

It's day six of NaNoWriMo 2009 and I need a name for a character.

And not just any character, my villain!

His last name is Pearce, but he needs a catchy first name. Pearce is a global player, and can be from a family with parents of two different nationalities, so his first name might be something exotic.

Post your suggestions for a first name in the comments by Monday morning (8 am EST). If I pick yours, you'll win my undying gratitude. And possibly a cool prize. Like a free book.

Also, if you want to be NaNo buddies, my NaNo username is bkwarner.

NaNo starts way too soon

The NaNoWrimo countdown over there --> is now under 24 hours remaining.

Yipes.

This means I actually have to start this tomorrow.

Double yipes.

My goal, hopefully, for day one, is to hit the word count really hard tomorrow and get off on a really strong start. I know there are days coming in November when I'm not going to be able to write the full 1,667 words and so I want to bank some words when I can.

Even with NaNo going, I'm still going to try to blog fairly regularly during the next month. I've got some guest authors lined up, so stay tuned!

The NaNo Countdown is still going

If you got worried on Monday that I was bailing from doing NaNoWriMo this year, set your concerns aside.

I’m still going forth.

I really want to challenge myself with the pace of the writing demanded to complete NaNo. As I explained earlier, the book I thought I would start during NaNo isn’t ready yet in my head. I’m not to the point where putting those words down on paper would be productive. If I were, I’d need to use a machete after it was over to whack out all the useless words and I’m not really a fan of that kind of editing.

So, I’m going to burn an idea on NaNo.

Alright, maybe “burn” is too strong of a descriptor. I hope the whole experiment doesn’t go up in flames – either literal or metaphorical.

I’m resurrecting an old idea and trying again. I wrote another novel a couple years back. I tried to revise it and realized there were huge, monstrous, man-eating plot holes in the middle of the thing. I stuck it in a binder in my file cabinet in a drawer that rarely gets opened. It could stay there a good long while, I figured.

Except parts of it I really like. Parts like the main character. And the bug scene. And the thing with the clock.

I don’t like how it’s all framed and where the story starts and some of the other things the protagonist does.

So for NaNo, I’m pulling that novel back out of the drawer. (Ok, that is a metaphor). The first draft is staying where it is and I’m starting over. I’m not planning on using anything from the first version over again. I’m keeping some of the ideas, but I’m going to new versions of those scenes. I am playing by NaNo rules and not starting to write before Nov. 1 (which I take to mean pulling scenes from the original at any point during the month.)

Do I know quite how the plot’s changing from the original? Nope. Not so much.

But that’s NaNoWriMo for you.

Percolating

One of the things that I heard a lot from authors at Bouchercon was that they had ideas for a long time before they actually got to writing the story.

They could be hard at work on one book, and thinking about the ideas that they might be using later one. Michael Connelly, the featured author, was clear that he’s thinking ahead for what’s coming up in the life of his main character – Det. Harry Bosch – and is letting that simmer in his brain for a while before putting the ideas on paper.

With the start of NaNoWriMo less than a week away now, I realized I’m not ready to start with the idea I’ve been thinking about. The past few weeks of gearing up for NaNo have been really productive. I know a lot of things about my characters that I didn’t know before. I have new characters and pieces of plot that will be great.

I know now what medical condition Timot suffers from. I know what his nickname is. I understand some of what drives Sai. I discovered why Artair is so angry.

These are good things to know. And I could barrel ahead with this plot for NaNo, but I think that’s a bad choice. I’m not ready to tell this story. My subconscious hasn’t had long enough to work on this, to figure out what truly motivates them. It’s the depth of the story that’s missing. I could put my characters through a series of actions during November, but I know that the result would not be what I’m looking for.

I don’t think I can write at the pace that NaNo demands with this plot and these characters. They are too young, too fragile in my head to waste on this frenetic month. It just doesn’t feel right to push 50,000 words with these folks. Not yet.

More to come this week on NaNo and what my plans are.

On Your Mark, Get Set, NaNo

I’m doing National Novel Writing Month this year. Yep, I’ve taken a big dose of crazy already for even contemplating it. (For ease of writing about NaNo, I’m dropping the Word Nerd-third-person schtick… my brain isn’t that talented.)

I found out about NaNoWriMo a few years ago, but it’s never been the right time. As a reporter covering local governmental bodies, there were always these pesky things called elections every November. Trust me, waiting until midnight for returns to come in and then writing front-page worthy copy was not a great way to stay on the 50,000-word bandwagon. The fallout of elections kept me too busy and occupied too much brain space to force that many words of fiction out at the same time. (No jokes about reporters writing fiction anyway… )

Then, two years ago, I’d just moved to Indianapolis and was hammering away at the current WIP that’s the subject of query letters. Why do NaNo when I was already writing?

Last fall, I’d just transitioned from being an impoverished AmeriCorps member to having a real title and real salary and not-scary apartment. I’m not sure NaNo even crossed my mind then.

This year, though, is the perfect time because of several factors.

One -- the fate of the current WIP is rapidly moving out of my hands.

Two – I read a blog post from Paperback Writer that recommended for every writers’ convention you attend, you should write a novel. I’m headed to Bouchercon in two weeks and next year, I’m thinking World Fantasy (since that’s what I write). It seems like good advice: if you only go to cons, and don’t write, you’ll never move out of that “aspiring” category for authors. If I go to World Fantasy, that means I’ve got about eight months or so to crank out most of the next book.

Three – Marcus Sakey, in similar advice to Paperback Writer, recommends writing the next book while working on selling the first one.

So why NaNo? My plan is to use the 50,000 NaNo goal to make a serious dent in the next book. My plan is to write what will hopefully be 50,000 words well on their way to being good words that contain interesting characters and a compelling plot.

That’s why October is becoming critically important. October is all about planning. I’ve erased one of my blackboard panels; the second one is coming clean in a few days. I’m giving myself space and permission to scribble out ideas. I’ve got a list of characters already. I’ve got my 3x5 note cards handy to jot out fuller scene ideas. One of my original ideas for a main character is already being replaced with a much better new character who can help the plot move better and provide more tension.

The plan is the key. And the rest of the dose of crazy I need to do NaNo.

National Novel Writing Month

November is still some weeks away -- a good thing, that.

But Word Nerd is starting to contemplating trying to do National Novel Writing Month this year. Yes, she has a novel already done. It needs to be shopped out. While she's waiting for replies, she's interested in working on something else. For which she has an idea.

Realistically, there's never been a good year for it before. Word Nerd always had to cover elections which were held in November. Then, it was right after she moved to Indy. And then, right after becoming gainfully employed again. This year, though, it's looking do-able. Maybe.

So -- from past participants, what advice do you have? What does Word Nerd need to think about before launching into this on November 1st?