As Deftone’s cover of No Ordinary Love plays, I fidget with my fingers on the keyboard, suddenly at a loss for what to do with them and with myself. Life in a Glass House is finished.
At least the rough draft.
Fifty thousand four hundred thirty seven words. There’s a beginning, middle, and end. There’s a real story there, not the beginnings of one, not a promise to finish later when I have another good idea, not the procrastination and delays that have kept every previous attempt in the rougher than rough draft stages, but a proper, complete manuscript.
Of course, it needs months of work. In some ways, writing is the easiest step. Editing, reworking, tweaking, researching, and finally pitching to publishers are stages each fraught with their own unique and unpleasant difficulties.
But it’s done. I wrote a god damned book.
All it took was putting aside almost everything else for the better part of a month.
I won’t say I dedicated the entire month to it. I started four days late, using a piece I had written a year ago for one of my final undergraduate classes. I missed several days throughout november, time I had set aside to ready myself for the flea, then to attend the flea, and then to recover from it. Mary told me it would be impolite to bring my laptop to thanksgiving at my aunt’s, so there went another day. All told, I think I missed a quarter of the allotted thirty days, meaning I wrote my fifty thousand plus words in about three weeks.
LiaGH was supposed to be a short story but both my professor and I knew that it was the beginning of something longer. I’d just never had the chutzpah to write the rest of what I knew would be a novel length story. I was so convinced that anything I’d add would detract from what was already there that I’d written nothing. Now it’s a good first chapter in what I hope is an even better book.
Or it will be, once the rough goes through the editing planer.
I’m grateful for the exercise, but I’m uncertain of whether I’d do another NaNoWriMo. I’m more certain than ever that writing is a solitary endeavor, and that anyone who states something to the opposite is actually looking for buddies with whom to commiserate, not to further his or her writing.
I’ll write more on my NaNoWriMo experience later this week. For now I need some time to collect my thoughts. For as short a time as I’ve had with LiaGH as a novel, I am experiencing a sense of loss at its completion.
Some odd sense of bereavement.
I’m not very good with endings, I think they remind me too much of mortality for me to enjoy them.
So instead, beginnings.
Having spent all of this month writing one piece I’ve decided to dedicate december to many shorter works. I’m calling the exercise “Deconstruction December” and will be raiding my fragments folder to create new works from incomplete elements. I’ll go into it in greater detail once the month has started.
I’m excited to start something new and am excited for the new feeling LiaGH will have when I return to it in january for its first rounds of edits.
I wrote a book!