Friday, November 5, 2010

I Think I Can, I Think I Can... But I Probably Can't... But Maybe I Might?

Have you ever heard of NaNoWriMo?  It's National Novel Writing Month.  Basically, a whole bunch of people say, "Yes! I totally can write a 50,000 word novel in just one month!"  And, according to the accumulated word count on the NaNoWriMo home page, apparently lots of people really do.  So why is that when I decide, "Oh yes, I totally can write a 50,000 word novel in just one month!" I usually just end up spending a couple of hours staring at a blank Word document?

It's not like I have no ideas-- I generally come up with a new story idea once a day.  It's just the way my mind works.  And it's not like I've never written anything before-- just ask my 4th grade teacher. No lie, I probably spent more time writing stories than paying any attention at all to what was going on in class from 3rd-6th grades.  But 4th grade was definitely my peak.  (Side note: I probably should have been diagnosed with ADD or something similar around this time.  But this was almost 20 years ago [that was just painful to type!], and that label wasn't something thrown around as often as it is now.  It took me until the final semester of my senior year of high school to realize that if writing and doodling during classes was what it took to keep my mind engaged, perhaps those efforts would be best channeled into trying to write down everything the teacher said.  I'm a champion note-taker these days.  But that was one steep learning curve.)

So why can't I sit down and write 50,000 words in 30 days?  12,500 words a week?  1,667 words a day?  It's not like I don't speak that many words in the same amount of time.  I have at least one plot and a hundred characters fighting for space in my head at any given time (it's really no wonder I have such a short attention span-- you would too, if you had that many people in your head).  All I've ever wanted to be is a writer.  There is no place in my life that I can remember not wanting to be a writer (except when I was really little and wanted to be a ballerina despite my complete and total lack of grace, and when I was around seven and wanted to be a professional baseball player) "when I grew up."  But wanting to be a writer isn't practical.  I am well aware of that.  "Oh, well what's your back-up plan?" was the most common reply I got when I told people what I wanted to do.  And sure, that question makes sense.  It's certainly not like everyone who ever decides to be a writer actually makes a living doing that.  But when you're young, what you hear in that question is: You're probably not good enough.  What do you really want to be when you grow up?  I never had an answer.  I wasted a year (and an ungodly amount of money) in college immediately after high school because I picked the first "practical" profession I could think of.  I'm still in school, chipping away at a "practical" degree when all I really, really want out of life is to share the people, places, and plots in my head with the world at large.

But... what if I'm actually not good enough?  What if I do spit out 50,000 words by the end of the month only to realize that they suck?  Is staring at a blank computer screen at least better than that?  I can't decide.  But I drafted a few paragraphs to a story I've had in my head for a couple of weeks while I was in the shower last night (for some reason, my best thinking happens there).  And I'm tempted-- mightily tempted-- to let them see the light of day.  Maybe.

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