NaNoWriMo 2013

NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month. Thirty days and nights of literary abandon.

If you haven't encountered this phenomenon before, it is the challenge of writing 50,000 words in the month of November. Every year hundreds of thousands of writers commit to this challenge; in 2012, over 341,000 people from 586 regions on 6 continents, participated. NaNoWriMo has resulted in the publication of many well-known novels in the past, including Flowers of Baghdad by Bruce Lyman, The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, and Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen.

And tomorrow, the 2013 NaNoWriMo will begin.

I was first turned on to NaNoWriMo in 2009 by a writing pal, Aaron. I attempted it the following year (and also in 2011) but have never been successful. This year I am determined, I am committed, and I'm taking it seriously.

I have spent much of October working towards my NaNovel: outlining, researching, and world-building. (That, and generally stalking other participants on the NaNoWriMo forums.) I'm working on a story that I've been dying to tell for years. It's soft science fiction, set (mostly) in the Andromeda Galaxy. All being well, this will be the first in a trilogy and part one (currently titled Into the Light) will involve mystery, intrigue and a couple of generous tablespoons of action.

In addition to the planning element, part of my NaNoPrep has involved getting my tools together and working out where to write. Having had such a positive experience with hand writing in my diary, I decided (foolishly, perhaps?) to hand write my NaNovel. I have realised that the computer kills creativity. I have had more success writing creatively by hand in the past ten months, than writing on the computer in the last ten years so I've treated myself to a couple of new fountain pens, I've stocked up on Stabilo 88s (a long-standing favourite ink pen) and I have prepared the notebooks and notepads I'll write in. I've also put together a folder, which I'll discuss in a later post, for notes, research and inspiration.

A couple of weeks ago, I also managed to create a little space at home where I can write in peace. This is something I have never had before and something I didn't expect to have this year either, but I had a brain-wave and a few hours later, with upstairs completely reorganised, there it was. It's still a work in progress in this photo (a little bit different now), but you get the gist.

So how do you fancy coming with me? This is an adventure that is as easily accessible to the novice as the professional, that doesn't require you to be in amazing physical shape and, doesn't require any special equipment (not even climbing gear). All you need is paper & pen (or equivalent). NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow but it isn't too late to join. Sign up at NaNoWriMo.org and get your thinking cap on. Not got any idea what to write? It doesn't really matter because you can write anything that your brain can imagine. Go for it! And if you don't want to join, I'll be blogging periodically with my successes and failures (hopefully more of the former) so you can track my progress.

This is my year. Maybe it's your year too.

Good luck to all the NaNoWriMos.

Beach

The following was written as part of an Open University exercise in genre. It's written in response to David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, which uses several different genres and styles to tell six separate stories. This is therefore an exercise in genre. My intention was to mix science fiction with a biographical narrative. I wanted to use an imagined colloquialism because I thought it would strengthen the character's voice. It also seemed reasonable that, in a post-apocalypse where there are significantly fewer people, that speech might devolve slightly.

* * *

They call me Beach. I' been walkin' these shores forever an' I'll keep walkin' 'em 'till I'm dead. When The Flash came I were an infant. I don't 'member it but I been told. The Flash kilt near everyone. Them as survived did by hidin' in holes unnerground. Some died soon after 'cause of the radiation. It burned up their insides. Ma Momma, she lived near on four years. I can just about 'member her: Hair thin, hands and face like paper, but her eyes were the greenest I' ever seen. That's why I like the shore. The water's green an' deep like ma Momma's eyes.

Anyways, after a few years only a couple o' dozen o' us was left. People had to drink what water they could find and eat whatever food they found. Them as knows things says it's all contaminated and it's what done in most o' the survivors. But there's some, like me, what are immune or somethin'. We can walk about up top an' it's OK. Them as knows things says we're evolved. I don't know about that; I'm just a seeker. I come up top an' see what's what. Sometimes I find innerestin' stuff washed up, but mostly I like to see the sky. An' the sea, green like ma Momma's eyes.

* * *

I'm not sure how successful I consider this as an exercise, but I rather enjoyed writing in such a distinctive voice. I like Beach. He's like a grown up child. I imagine him being very good at some things, like survival, but lacking in any kind of greater knowledge. I think there's a sense of loneliness to this little piece and also a sense of longing. I like the idea that Beach is returning to the shore because it reminds him of his mother and I think that creates a sense that he's longing for emotional connection to other people. When he returns, day after day, to the shore looking for 'innerestin' stuff', he's actually looking for his mother, or at least someone he can connect with. In that sense, I think maybe it's reasonably successful.

I'm not sure where this would go as a story though; it's all a bit Cast Away at the moment and liable to be very dull.