Can I write 50.000 words in 30 days? Will I be able to turn off my inner critic long enough to reach that ultimate goal of about 1666 word per day?
November is coming up and this means that the worldwide writing challenge, called NaNoWriMo http://nanowrimo.org/, is about to start. It’s a crazy writing- challenge, in which you are suppose to write a complete book of at least 50.000 words in the month November.
I heard about it a couple of years ago, but up until now I’ve never dared to participate.
Why not? Several reasons, I suppose. First of all, of course, I think I won’t be able to finish such a project. I feel sure I’ll utterly fail and be hugely disappointed with myself on the 30st of November. Secondly, I don’t know what to write about. I should at least have a decent idea to work with, shouldn’t I? And I don’t.
And lastly, I’m still trying to decide whether I believe that this challenge will help me with my never-ending writers block.
I can probably type over a 1000 words a day and if I really set my mind to it, I might have written a ‘novel’ or at least the beginning of a novel, at the end of the month. But will it be any good? Can I write so much and still concentrate on a good story, strong characters and a decent plot? Won’t my work be a collection of nonsense, merely aimed at writing as much as possible. Quantity above quality. And I’m not sure whether that’s me.
But here I am again, already making excuses, just because I’m convinced that what I’ll produce will be bad, will be crappy material. Wish I could say to myself, in my toughest possible voice; ‘and what if it is crap? Who cares? Just go for it and see what happens…’
But should I?
I don’t know.
Tomorrow it will be a year since we moved house. A year since we packed our lives in boxes and shipped them across town. A year since I left the house where I rediscovered my true self once again; step by step, at times losing patience with myself. It was hard & scary to be confronted with the truth of who I was, who I am & probably always will be. But the four walls of that small, cold house provided enough shelter to withstand the storm that often raged within.
And for that I am & always will be grateful.
September has come & gone
leaving traces everywhere
yet nothing solid enough
I’ve been running
in all directions
with little meaning
and no reason
gone are the days
and all the moments
it is like I expect
to live twice