This morning, Mary told me of something called NaNoWriMo, trying several times to pronounce what is, without capitalization, nearly an unpronounceable acronym (though wikipedia has the pronunciation as “na-noh-RY-moh“), before simple telling me it’s a writing thing I should do. On inspection, the website declares that NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month and is a competition cum community initiative cum writing prompt for the purpose of spreading literacy and literary interest throughout the land.
Apparently, it’s been going on for as long as I’ve been working on my first novel. If only I’d known of it then. Or in undergradate school. Or any other of the subsequent sixteen years. I do plan to finish one sometime.
It is that very same tacit declaration that has spurned me on to joining in on the event with my own story. I’m cheating a bit, using one I’d already started, one that needs to be a book rather than a short story, but that I haven’t yet been able to move forward. It hasn’t got an end and the short story aspect comes entirely from its length, it is very much a first chapter.
Had I joined on the first of the month my 4,153 word head start would be more illicit, as it is, I’m actually 847 words short of the third day minimum goal, the daily demand being 1,667. This is apparently not an event for the feint of heart or slow of finger.