NaNoWriMo. That’s National Novel Writing Month, for the 2% of people reading this post that are probably my relatives.
Basically, people across the country – and the world – try to write a 50,000 word book during the month of November. Why? Because writing. No, seriously, that’s the answer. In order to write. Together. Yes, it’s a social activity. I’m apparently a gregarious writer, too. I get more done during most NaNos than I do the rest of the year.
Not last year. Last year, I had a new job and a slew of personal problems, including a depressed spouse. Didn’t get shit done during NaNo, haven’t gotten much done since. My writing, since we moved down here, has taken a serious hit. I always had problems with my existential angst where writing was concerned, but my brain went on strike. I signed up, but didn’t really participate.
This year, I have a different problem: no mental energy because I have too much to do.
You see, during the day I work for a telephone book company. I handle government listings assigned to me and do quality checks on other people’s work. When I get home, all I want to do is play Criminal Case and watch Untold Stories of the ER. But I have a second job I do, one I’ve chosen for myself: book editor. Right now, I’m dealing with three anthologies, one (possibly two) novels, and a couple of story collections I haven’t received yet. And I’m waaaaaaayyyy behind.
So, I’m logged into the NaNoWriMo site this year, but I am doing a real rebel mission this year: editing books for print. I’ve already done more words than I normally write during NaNo on my personal fiction. Still isn’t enough. I need to hit 50,000 or better this year, or be killed by other writers. They write horror and mystery stories, too, which means I will suffer greatly and no evidence of whodunit will be left behind.
Wish me luck.