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breeden
ursulav

NaNoFiMo Redux

Well, squids and squidlets, it’s nearly November, and that means another Nanowrimo is upon us.

As y’all may recall from past years, I am a fan of Nanowrimo. There are plenty of people who will tell you that what it produces is a bunch of terrible dreadful awful manuscripts hacked together by non-writers who think that because they can type with two fingers, they can produce the Great American Novel, to which I say “Yeah, and how is that different from the OTHER eleven months of the year?”

Bad writing is with us always, we will not escape it in our lifetimes, we must learn not to fear it. Yes, much of Nanowrimo output is crap, but so is much of everything else, and some very good books are writ that might otherwise languish in somebody’s brain forever. So that’s a good thing.

I, however, am too damn busy to start another novel come November, particularly when I have some lovely manuscripts languishing on back burners (The thing with the moths…the evil Little House of the Prairie thing…the thing with the goblins…that Snow White thing…) and when I have books that people have already bought and paid for that they would probably like delivered by deadlines. So once again, this year I am doing NaNoFiMo…National Novel Finishing Month.

My two projects to finish are the Bread Wizard (which is close! So close! I can smell how close it is!) and the script for Dragonbreath 8, working title Dreambreath. If I can get those done, I’ll try to knock down some words on one of the other projects, but those are my two goals for the month. Since art for Fairybreath should be done next week, I will hopefully have at least a month clear for some serious writing. (And who knows, maybe even a little art…)

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.

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See also Terry Pratchett:
The first thing I do when I finish a book is start a new one. This was a course of action suggested, I believe, by the late Douglas Adams, although regrettably he famously failed to follow his own advice. The last few months of a book are taxing. Emails zip back and forth, the overtones of the English word "cacky" are explained to the US editor who soberly agrees that "poop" is no substitute, authors stare at text they've read so often that they've lost all grasp of it as a narrative, and rewrite and tinker and then hit "Send" - and it's gone without even, in these modern times, the therapeutic experience of printing it out. One minute you're a writer, next minute you have written.

And that's the time, just at the point when the warm rosy glow of having finished a book is about to give way to the black pit of postnatal despair at having finished a book, that you start again. It also means you have an excuse for not tidying away your reference books, a consideration not to be lightly cast aside in this office, where books are used as bookmarks for other books.

The next title is not a book yet. It's a possible intro, a possible name, maybe some sketches that could become scenes, a conversation, some newspaper clippings, a few bookmarks in an old history book, perhaps even 10,000 words typed to try things out. You are now back in the game. You are working on a book.

From the Guardian.

Ah, but that is a description of going back to work.

Patterns of behavior wise, "Going back to work" is different from "If I don't work harder I'll never get anything done". Especially if anything actually already done instantly doesn't count.

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