(Inter)National Novel Writing Month. 50 000 words in 30 days.

Hmm.

Art for art’s sake does wonderful things to you. It makes you laugh. It makes you cry. It makes you want to take naps and go places wearing funny pants. Doing something just for the hell of it is a wonderful antidote to all the chores and “must-dos” of daily life. Writing a novel in a month is both exhilarating and stupid, and we would all do well to invite a little more spontaneous stupidity into our lives.

It sounds like a heck of a lot of fun. Insane, yes, but fun.

The other reason we do NaNoWriMo is because the glow from making big, messy art, and watching others make big, messy art, lasts for a long, long time. The act of sustained creation does bizarre, wonderful things to you. It changes the way you read. And changes, a little bit, your sense of self. We like that.

I’d cheerfully throw myself into it, except… well… then I’d have to put aside the Great Canadian Novel for a whole month. And I really don’t want to do that, because as we all know, putting something aside means the likelihood of getting back to it decreases dramatically.

I could always write two novels concurrently, I suppose.

I am insane.

November is such a dreary month, though, with no holidays, dark skies, and chill and damp and depression. Naming it National Novel Writing Month is a great way to make it special. (Even more special that our annual November Sucks party.) I have no commitments in November, no holidays planned… nothng to get in the way.

I’d have to have a really good idea to start off with, before November begins. I’ve kind of had a young adult story kicking around in the back of my mind since I began the Great Canadian Novel, but it’s still nebulous. I’d have a couple of weeks to clarify it, though.

I think what attracts me about this project is that fact that it’s pure personal discipline. You aim for word count; you aim for doing it, pure and simple. No one reads it; no one evaluates it; it’s yours. You do it for the joy of writing. And to stick your tongue out at the omnipresent Internal Editor that criticises your choice of word, your attempts at style and tone.

And, face it; it’s insane. It’s a personal kind of insane, though, not the rifleman-in-the-clock-tower kind of insane. A glorious way to treat your inner child. Let’s write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together says the home page.

This requires serious thought.