I Must Be Nuts

If future biographers ever get a hold of my journals (heaven forbid) they would quickly discern a pattern. I make a proclamation, and then several months - or several years - later, I say the same thing again with an amazement as if the idea were totally new. I guess it takes a while for ideas to sink in, even my own.

For example, this month I am one of the participants in National Novel Writing Month. The goal: write a 50,000 word novel in one month. The prize: bragging rights. I tell myself that I will use NaNoWriMo to create a routine where I write each day, and to begin to explore and develop characters and plots. No need for it to be any good, I tell myself. The object is quantity, not quality. I will use this crazy endeavor as a way to get over the fear of starting a novel.

But when I say this to myself, I am lying. What I'm secretly hoping is that I'll write something so brilliant that all I'll need to do is make a few minor edits before sending my manuscript off to a publisher. In a few weeks, when the crappy pages pile up and I'm forced to admit that I'm not so brilliant after all, I'll latch onto my earlier proclamation: "NaNoWriMo is not about writing anything good, it's about learning discipline and developing plot and characters." Eventually, I'll start to believe this. Then I'll write about it in my journal, and congratulate myself that I'm so wise.

Oh well. I wish I could say that I eventually learn, but I don't. I plan on holding a NaNoWriMo2 event with my friend in January, because she can't do it now, and I'm sure I'll be harboring secret dreams of literary fame then as well. Then, around February or March, I'll write in my journal, "You know what I just decided? Writing a novel in a month is about discipline..."