Why do I subject myself to this horror every year? A whole month of stress and misery forcing myself to crank out as many pages as I can to try to make it to 50,000 words, it’s like some ironic punishment division of hell. Sure, I loved writing when I started, but now I’m ready to pump myself full of whatever drugs I can to burn that part of my brain and just stare at walls the rest of my life. Catatonic stupors don’t keep me up ‘til four in the morning.
That said, National Novel Writing Month really is a fantastic event that gives new writers the opportunity to experience the one dreaded thing every writer loves and fears: the deadline. Without them, no novel would ever be finished, and every writer in the world would have intimate knowledge of the fictional lives of the characters of their "stories" in immaculately clean houses, their word processor running on their computer screen displaying a white page for all eternity. The deadline drives us on, it compels us to write when we have no clue what’s going to happen next, and by gum it puts words on the page. Sometimes that’s all it takes to start at the beginning and get to the end.
I managed to get to 50,000 words at the eleventh hour, and all I get for it is not being ridiculed by my friends. That’s good enough for me. My hat goes off to you, NaNoWriMo, and not just because I’m finally going to take a shower. It goes off to you because you give us a reason to write, even if that reason is totally fake.
Oh, and, uh, buy my book.