Yes, another NaNoWriMo post. If you’d like to ignore it, be my guest, I just need to get this off my chest.
Why do I write? There are a lot of reasons, I’m just not sure of all of them. I started young, grade seven or so, when I started writing stories. I think it was to combat the fact that I was in my seventh school in seven years. My father worked on the railway and I moved around a lot so I never had a consistent set of friends. Books were my source of entertainment and the characters in those books friends.
I knew all about those characters: strengths, weaknesses, passions, even ways to get under their skin. I lived life through this characters and experienced the world through these characters. I guess that it is no wonder that when I was old enough to create my own stories I did. I liked being able to send characters that I knew to places that I dreamed about.
Why do I subject myself to writing a work of fiction, 50,000 words or longer, in a single month? I like the challenge, the idea that I have to generate, that I have to continue on even when my brain is saying “what happens next?” Writing, for me, is my form of entertainment. I ditch the phone, the Internet, gaming systems, the television and sit down and write. Pen on paper, fingers on keyboards, it doesn’t matter as the ideas, the pictures in my head, need to be translated into words for someone else.
Therein lies my biggest challenge. I have these little scenes running through my head like a movie, complete with special effects, changing camera angles and sometimes music. My task, my greatest challenge, is to take that visual scene and translate it into words for someone else. I think that is why I have never been completely satisfied with a November novel: it never seems like the movie I have running through my head.
But this year? This year is going to be different. This year I’m going to be happy if the result. And if not, well NaNoWriMo comes around every year so I can try it again.