Sweat.
Dripping.
Down.
My.
Face.
A writer's nightmare: the block. A legendary, arguably mythological state of mind in which a writer cannot conceive thoughts, nonetheless translate them onto paper.
People have asked, "Is it real? What are the causes? How do I evade it?"
As November inevitably approaches and the days leading up to NaNoWriMo dwindle to a small number, I cannot help but anxiously tap my fingers, twirl my pen, crack my knuckles. My thoughts, a jumbled mess of broken plot twists and non-connectable subject matter.
There have been doubtful times in the past. Belligerently constant obstacles such as homework and after-school activities have guarded the gates to the hallowed treasure, the coup de grace, the ultimate number: 50,000.
People underestimate (and overestimate, I suppose) the diligence and perseverance writing a tight, flowing, novel in one month takes. It takes 30 days worth of late nights at the keyboard (or pen, whatever you prefer), it takes gallons upon gallons of jet-black coffee, and it takes a desire, a need, a lust for the prize of a representation of one's own ideals, bound, if even only within the size 12 courier font on Text Edit.
I asked myself, "Why participate in such an event?"
The reason is simple and concise. Self-betterment. Things are easier to do if you are doing them with 250,000 other people. Ever played tug of war? For me, 75% of the effort of writing comes in sitting down. If I can bring myself to the seat, I can lob out 1,000 words in a half-hour. I would argue that practice does not make perfect, but practicing makes you a hell of a lot better at practicing.
So how does one prepare for such an event? I believe there is need for both mental and physical preparation for NaNoWriMo, one hundred vocabulary words per day, one hundred walk breaks from your computer in between sessions. What can one tell oneself, that somehow, amidst a continuous stream of social-networking and obligatory distractions, they will produce a comprehensive, commendable, conclusive novel within the span of 30 short days?
For a regular person, such a challenge would be insurmountable. People complain about having to write 1000, 500, even 300 words for papers every day at school. Now, on top of those little essays and infantilizing research papers, try fitting a 50,000 word novel (yes, you have to THINK about what you are writing) into your schedule. No NaNoWriMo is not for the faint of heart. It is not for the fair-weather authors, the false poets, or those freeloading Script Frenziers. That is what makes it great.
Hopefully, we will all be able to wipe the sweat from our brows, take a nice gulp of that cold, disgusting coffee and churn out a few more chapters than we wanted to that night. And if that horror of horrors, writer's block, pulls a fast one on us, we will be able to brave out the night until those plot connectors are waiting for us there in the morning. People say life is short. Well, people never did NaNoWriMo.
Dripping.
Down.
My.
Face.
A writer's nightmare: the block. A legendary, arguably mythological state of mind in which a writer cannot conceive thoughts, nonetheless translate them onto paper.
People have asked, "Is it real? What are the causes? How do I evade it?"
As November inevitably approaches and the days leading up to NaNoWriMo dwindle to a small number, I cannot help but anxiously tap my fingers, twirl my pen, crack my knuckles. My thoughts, a jumbled mess of broken plot twists and non-connectable subject matter.
There have been doubtful times in the past. Belligerently constant obstacles such as homework and after-school activities have guarded the gates to the hallowed treasure, the coup de grace, the ultimate number: 50,000.
People underestimate (and overestimate, I suppose) the diligence and perseverance writing a tight, flowing, novel in one month takes. It takes 30 days worth of late nights at the keyboard (or pen, whatever you prefer), it takes gallons upon gallons of jet-black coffee, and it takes a desire, a need, a lust for the prize of a representation of one's own ideals, bound, if even only within the size 12 courier font on Text Edit.
I asked myself, "Why participate in such an event?"
The reason is simple and concise. Self-betterment. Things are easier to do if you are doing them with 250,000 other people. Ever played tug of war? For me, 75% of the effort of writing comes in sitting down. If I can bring myself to the seat, I can lob out 1,000 words in a half-hour. I would argue that practice does not make perfect, but practicing makes you a hell of a lot better at practicing.
So how does one prepare for such an event? I believe there is need for both mental and physical preparation for NaNoWriMo, one hundred vocabulary words per day, one hundred walk breaks from your computer in between sessions. What can one tell oneself, that somehow, amidst a continuous stream of social-networking and obligatory distractions, they will produce a comprehensive, commendable, conclusive novel within the span of 30 short days?
For a regular person, such a challenge would be insurmountable. People complain about having to write 1000, 500, even 300 words for papers every day at school. Now, on top of those little essays and infantilizing research papers, try fitting a 50,000 word novel (yes, you have to THINK about what you are writing) into your schedule. No NaNoWriMo is not for the faint of heart. It is not for the fair-weather authors, the false poets, or those freeloading Script Frenziers. That is what makes it great.
Hopefully, we will all be able to wipe the sweat from our brows, take a nice gulp of that cold, disgusting coffee and churn out a few more chapters than we wanted to that night. And if that horror of horrors, writer's block, pulls a fast one on us, we will be able to brave out the night until those plot connectors are waiting for us there in the morning. People say life is short. Well, people never did NaNoWriMo.