NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month. The eleventh month of the year, the time where novelists and writers alike madly dash their fingers across keyboards and pencils across paper to write out 50,000 words of artistry.
I have tried two times over the past two years to reach that mark, that 50,000 words. The closest I got? 15,789 words. College makes pleasure writing difficult.
After looking back, though, I realized that I had been going about it all wrong. I looked at the 50,000 like a prize. It is not a prize. Reaching the minimum of 50,000 words is merely a mark of time dedicated. This year, I write for the pleasure of it.
I am using the charts, the countdown, the days of November to mark my progress as I lunge forth in hopes of one day being a published novelist.
This year, I will enjoy the community. I will enjoy sipping coffee at a table of close friends and fellow writers and typing away, laughing at the possible idiocy of my characters, reveling in my love of words.
I vow, with this post, to not pressure myself to reach that 50,000 mark, but to enjoy the craft, the community, and the art of creation.
