The End of NaNoWriMo

I have almost finished writing the very first draft of my NaNo novel. I couldn’t bring myself to finish the journey today. It is almost over, though, only a few ends left to wrap up.

I get to write “The End” for the very first time below a body of work that is longer than anything else I’ve ever done. There is much editing in the future of this story, the first draft is rough and full of holes and there are things I know I want to change already.

But that is the nature of a first draft and I am reasonably pleased with the thing as it is. It could have been much worse, is what I am saying. Not that what I’ve written is any good. Maybe it will be okay, maybe it won’t be.

There are other things I need to write before I return to this one. If anyone feels the need to torture themselves, I can send it to you and to read it unedited. Good luck and please don’t judge my writing skills based on this first draft. Thank you very much.

I’ve started research on my next project. And I can’t wait to get to work. I will start on a plot outline and outlines for each chapter. I already know the thing from start to finish, the bit in the middle is lacking detail, though, so there is much work ahead.

Where I enjoyed my NaNo story and do like it, the one I will work on next is something that I need write. It’ll never leave me alone unless I put pen to paper. That is a surprisingly new sensation. There are other, shorter stories that have come knocking as well.

Today I read this tweet:

 

It sums up pretty well how I get my ideas. I watch. I listen, too. But mostly I observe. And sometimes I dream. I collect information. I collect words. Sometimes whole sentences that write themselves in burning letters across my brain and then I write them down in one of my little notebooks that go everywhere with me.

And eventually it all comes together and I have something to work with.

Unless I wake up one morning, likely a Saturday, I feel like daydreaming before getting up to face the city I live in, and a spark turns into an incandescent flame and something is born of it that is entirely unexpected.

That, too, happens. Both ways work, at least for me. Now I have to work for them to get them written

If I could, I would choose an easier vocation. But I can’t and I really don’t want to.

And I guess there are plenty of you, who feel the same, maybe not about writing, but about something in your life. I’m glad for you and wish you determination.

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