Just For the Hell of It

On November 1st thousands of people around the world sit down to begin writing a book.

Actually, I’m pretty sure that folk do that every day of the year. What a thought. Someone, somewhere sat at their computer this morning and began the first line of the first chapter of what might be the next Da Vinci Code. Okay, let’s not start that one again.

Anyhow, November 1st is different to all those other days when random people begin writing random books ( which may or may not become best sellers) because it’s official.

November is National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo as it’s become known. The idea is that over 100,000 writers sign up on nanowrimo.org and begin work on November 1st. They then write like whirling dirvishes until Midnight on November 30th, by which time they will have 50,000 words.

The website is already buzzing with positive slogans and advice. 'Win or lose, you rock for even trying.' The forums are alive with members sharing previous NaNo war stories. In fact if you look closely you soon realise that many posters have done this whole thing not once but several times before.

My cynical other half wonders why they bother. If their previous attempts have proved unsuccessful why are they simply repeating the experience? Doing more of what didn’t work last time isn’t likey to bring results, he argues.

An author mate of mine hates the whole business. She feels the very notion of NaNo devalues writing. The idea that books can be banged out in this way, is, she feels, deluded at best. Learning the craft of writing, she says, takes time. A lot of time.

NaNo says it is for those who have been scared away from writing by the time and effort involved, as that were a bad thing.
This sort of exercise smacks too much of cutting corners, of trying to get to the end result without putting in the hard graft.

I know she’s right...and yet.

There’s something contagious about NaNo. The enthusiasm, the optimism, the sheer joy of writing. There’s no talk of the state of the publishing industry or reductions in author advances, barely a mention of agents and editors. Instead writers ask for opinions on their outlines. They trade characters and story lines – I’ll give you my villain for a sub plot idea.
Yes, some of it is naive. An almost teen-like cleaving to the notion of what writing a book is all about. And yes, I’ll warrant there are some who couldn’t write their way out of a paper bag, let alone put together a story anyone would want to read.

But something still calls to me. The thought that for just one month I can write something for which there is no contract and no deadline looming is terribly appealing. I could write science fiction or bodice ripping historical fiction. I could write a children’s book or the story of a man finding hidden messages in Italian masterpieces...stop it...
You get my point though, the possibilities are endless.

So maybe this year I’ll join all the other hopefuls and spend November writing just for the hell of it. Anyone with me?