I'm the kind of writer who will obsessively sit at a computer for twelve hours straight, typing until my hands curl, never stopping to eat, barely stopping to use the bathroom, to race my way towards the finish line, a caffeine-riddled, delirious mess. There have been days my family hasn't even seen me until I emerge from the bedroom/office, a bleary-eyed zombie with half her brain oozing from her ears.
I accept the time it takes to do the task. And I know that the only way I can get things done is by taking that time and just doing the work. None of that has ever, really, been the issue.
What bothers me most about Nano is that people who know nothing about the process hijack it in order to shame writers for employing different tactics to do the very same work. Most of the time the shamers aren’t even novelists, which makes the criticism even more unfair. It really chaps my hide when people who don’t really do anything criticize those brave souls who dare to do anything.
Therefore a necessary chapter in this Nano experiment has to address the expectations we all bring to the table. You need to know what Nano is every bit as much as you need to know what it isn’t.
Like I said yesterday, Nanowrimo has drawn quite a bit of criticism over the years by those who believe that a great book simply cannot be written in a short period of time. It's just impossible. Each precious word we brilliant writers write must be hand-delivered to us from the gods, transcribed with a magical golden pen that only seems to spit out a handful or so perfect words per day, if that.
Per the detractors, the evidence doesn't lie.
“Harper Lee’s entire career was based on one masterpiece, not some prolific churning out of inferior material. One beautiful book is worth so much more than dozens of mediocre ones. What’s WRONG with you?”
Okay, I'm exaggerating (kinda.) But it doesn't matter anyway because like most blanket statements, this ridiculous assumption basically judges all writers and their content in the same way, as if we were all the same, which we’re not. We’re not supposed to be. To create a wealth of interesting, diverse, beautifully individualistic works of art, we all need to be interesting, diverse, beautifully individualistic people. Such assertions always try to color us with the same brush. Like all stereotypes, this is as inaccurate as it is unfair.
The only truth that can be said about a great book is that it is written one word at a time, kind of like every other book that has ever been written… even the bad ones. Some writers are so afraid of writing a bad book that they never write anything at all, which is one of the reasons that Nano exists. You have to be willing to wade through the crap in order to discover the brilliance.
Does this work for every writer? Of course not. It’s not supposed to. This is why I don’t go around telling people that they should do Nano. If they want to, then great. My motto has always been to find what works for you and just go for it, no hesitation - no apology.
Only you get to decide what type of writer you want to be. (And that's a good thing.)
Yes, Harper Lee had one or two books in her soul to publish, which she likely mined thoughtfully to build her brick wall slowly, carefully, to stand the test of time. Or, that's the accepted wisdom, anyway. Because she dared only to publish the one book, clearly it must have been gold from the get-go. Yet oddly, when it first fell into the hands of an editor, it was considered unfit for publication, despite the sparks of brilliance they could see peaking from behind every line.
It’s a romantic notion to believe that she knew every single word was gold as she wrote them, chosen purposefully for that reason. I would imagine that she had no idea her book would go on to win a Pulitzer, regarded as a classic through the ages. She simply had a story to tell and she decided to tell it. Like every other book, even the greats still have to be crafted and molded to turn them into the masterpieces we ultimately revere.
"Well, that's just the point, Ginger. She needed time to process, to cultivate. She couldn't produce a great book quickly. Again. What is WRONG with you?"
Absolutely nothing at all. I understand the difference between writing a book and publishing a book, since I kinda happen to do both. I have never once uploaded a first draft, even in blog posts, which often go through a dozen revisions before I ever publish them for the world to see.
One thing I've noticed: Nobody gives a flying fig how long it takes me to complete a first draft, as long as the end product is good. Nano never promised to give you a polished, publishable draft after 30 days. I think most writers understand this, particularly if we're not new to it. To assume we don't, that we're all somehow new and clueless because we can do it faster, is ridiculous.
The only thing you can expect from Nano is to produce the first draft of a book, which you will learn is done one word at a time, just like any other book. Putting a time limit on the first draft only means that there is a time limit on the first draft. Prolific writers who have more books to write complete this process a little faster than other writers. It doesn’t mean they’re better. It doesn’t mean they’re worse. It just means they feel they can get it done within a specific time frame. That's all.
Who the hell can determine one is better than the other unless they actually read the books once they've been made fit for publication? And if the readers enjoy it… who gets to tell them otherwise?
Yes, it ticks me off. Unfair things usually do.
It’s also unfair to assume just because someone writes a book in 30 days that they’re going to immediately upload said first draft for the masses and contribute to the overwhelming glut of material already available, which grows by the day. This is both short-sighted and ridiculous, and honestly I find it insulting.
They assume, also unfairly, that just because a book is written quickly that it is somehow easier to write than a book that took years to produce, which automatically makes any of us who do it cheaters and hacks who don't fully honor the process. Remember, the process of putting each word on the page is pretty much the same for every single writer. To force or wedge those words out of your soul on a regular basis doesn’t mean it comes any easier for the prolific writer than it does the writer who decides only to write nothing but pure gold from the start – as if there are any writers out there that make that decision.
The thing about brilliance is that it happens like a lightning strike. Have you ever tried to take a photo of a lightning strike? Next time you’re in a thunderstorm, I suggest you give it a shot. Sit there in the safety of your home or car as you wait out both good timing and instinct to capture this elusive photograph. Try to anticipate when it will come. What you’ll find instead is that you’re going to take a lot of “fail” shots way before you “accidentally” land upon the perfect shot, and you wouldn’t catch it at all if you weren’t snapping away all duds.
Show me the person who uploads every single selfie they take, without going through and “editing” the ones that make them look the best.
You really think we treat our books, our babies, any differently?
We’re waiting for the lightning, same as you.
I’ll go you one further. I’ll bet if you attempt to take lightning photos more than once, you’ll get a lot better at anticipating when that strike might actually come, so that you can anticipate how to use your particular camera to capture it.
See, that’s the thing about instinct. It is a skill you can hone through repetition, like muscle memory.
The more you try to capture that lightning strike, the more successful you’ll inevitably be. You master something by doing something, and for writers, this means planting your butt in the seat and writing one little ol’ word after the other. Nano simply provides incentive for writers to do that, so I’m not entirely sure why the process is so derided.
If you want to write a book, and you think you can produce 50,000 words in a month, I say more power to you. I’m not going to stand in your way. A writer writes. I’d much rather you participate in the craziness of Nano and actually produce a book than tell me for years on end about your precious masterpiece that is no closer to done years after you started it. Remember, a writer writes. The only true hacks I've ever seen are the ones who get off on just talking about it.
And I say that generally with no judgment. You do you. Each writer is different so their process is different, and I’m not one to judge the process. Like I already told you, I began my career much in the same way as the critics of Nano did. I waited on perfection to somehow strike. Without having done the hard work to make it so, I expected to be skilled enough to shoot lightning out of my ass somehow – though I never really made a true habit of writing and producing.
I depended on chance so much that I might has well have been playing the lottery. To succeed at anything you have to risk failure. You have to be ready and willing to face plant every once and a while.
I'll give you an example.
In the summer of 1979, when I was nine years old, there was one thing I wanted above all else. I wanted to learn how to ride a bicycle. My sister’s old discarded Schwinn sat in the garage, pretty, purple and unused, which I personally considered a sin. At nine, that bike looked like a ticket to freedom. I had seen all the other kids in the neighborhood cruising around on their bikes, free as little birds to explore, to discover, to be independent.
I wanted this.
Unfortunately for me, there were a couple of barriers in my way. One, my mother had never learned to ride a bike, so she would be unable to teach me. She also worked a full-time job to support the family, so even if she had known how to, it wouldn’t have benefited me much.
Likewise my dad, who was much older than my mom, was retired and on disability, so he wasn’t able to teach me either.
Never one to accept such limitations, I finally took that bike out back to our alley, where I could teach my own darn self how to ride it. I decided at the grand ol’ age of nine that waiting for independence was about the stupidest thing ever. So I didn’t.
I got on that bike and I stayed on until I could figure out how to ride it, without the benefit of training wheels. I don’t remember everything about those training sessions, but I think it’s safe to assume I didn’t just hop on and mosey down the road with the perfect skill that comes only by learning what not to do first. I think it’s fair to say that I fell. A lot.
Funny how I don't remember that part. The one part that we're all afraid of, of failing, of looking like a fool, of being anything less than perfect, doesn't even jog my memory at all. Instead I treated those imperfections like the stair steps they were. I learned from that failure, and by the end of the summer of 1979, I was tooling all over the neighborhood on my sister’s old purple bike, independent, free… successful.
To succeed greatly, you have to be willing to risk greatly. Because of this, there will be many people who will tell you that what you’re doing is insanity, and that you can’t do it, or you shouldn’t. The way I see it, if you really, truly want to do anything, you should do it even if people try to stand in your way. (This, of course, excludes criminal or hurtful behavior.) But if you want to write a book, write the dang book. If you want to capture lightning in a photograph, snap away. Do what they tell you cannot be done, because their bogus rules were meant to be challenged. It’s called human ingenuity, which is the root of all progress. It’s a pretty great thing.
Can you write a book in 30 days? Yes. You can. Should you? YES! You should! Why? Because that is just one more attempt to capture brilliance the same way you photograph lightning. You have to be willing to do the work.
You'll never write a brilliant book unless you're actually writing.
This is what Nano is there to show you. It’s not teaching you how to be a best-selling success; like I told you before, there’s no one can promise you that. It’s teaching you how to be a working writer by producing content and lots of it on a deadline, and that’s a helluva lot harder. One is outside of your control. The other is completely within it. That means there’s nothing stopping you but you.
It’s a scary thing to kick off the training wheels of excuses and accept full responsibility of what you can do. By no coincidence, it’s also the most liberating.
This challenge helps you hone that skill, whether you successfully complete it or not. You’re still learning to place one word after the other. The more you do this, the better at this you will get. It’s inevitable. This is your training ground. This is where you go to grow. This is where, “I want to be a writer,” or “I want to write a book,” turns into, “I freaking am a writer,” and, “Look at this book. I wrote this!”
Again, why people deride the process is beyond me.
Talent can take you far as a writer, but the rubber doesn’t meet the road until you apply skill and sheer will. There’s nothing to it but to do it. As mystical and magical as we writers make the process sound, writing is no different than anything else. You master it by doing it. Not thinking about it. Not wishing for it. Not waiting around for your Muse like a powerless conduit. You can sink a basketball on the first shot, but that doesn’t make you an athlete. To repeat that magic trick, you have to train.
You have to write a lot to learn how to write well. Doing the work, putting in the time, honing your skill, training your mind… these are the things that will make you a writer, and – if we treated writing like any other occupation on planet earth – it would suggest that you’re a damned good one, too. If I’m going to have brain surgery, I’m going to want the one who has had some experience, not just the first guy out of medical school.
Though they will try to tell you otherwise, chasing impossible deadlines doesn’t mean you value the process any less. You treat writing like a job. If you really want to make it your job, that’s a good thing.
It’s a necessary thing.
Now, these critics do have a point about new writers who, excited now that they have actually completed a book, publish books before they’re ready. This phenomenon is not exclusive to Nanowrimo, but they like to use it as a scapegoat regardless. Again, it’s because for some reason, treating writing like a job shades you in the minds of many as a “hack,” or someone who simply wants to get rich quick by publishing a book.
Anyone who thinks you will get rich quick simply by writing a book quick and publishing it even quicker is sadly, sadly mistaken. And deluded.
I'm not here to blow sunshine up your butt. I'll tell you the truth, even if it's not pretty. Of independently published writers, 80% make $1000 annually or less. (Note: that's about the same number of Nanowrimoers who don't complete the task yearly.) Of traditionally published writers, about half make $1000 annually or less. Any “overnight” success stories that you see are always, always, always the exception and not the norm. And of those rare success stories, I would gather very few did so on their very first book.
Not even cracking that list are the ones who did it on the unedited first draft of their first book.
I don’t consider these folks my “competition,” and neither should you. I’m not aiming to hang among the lowest fruit on the tree, which is why honing my skill is so freaking important to me.
This is the true merit of Nano, not some launch pad into instant fame and glory. If that’s what you’re looking for, then Nano is probably not the challenge for you. Suffice it to say, anyone who thinks writing and publishing a bestseller is an “easy way to get rich,” likely won’t be around at the end anyway.
As anyone who has actually participated will tell you, there’s nothing easy about it. Which is kind of the best Nanowrimo lesson of all. A lot of people want to write, as evidenced by the hundreds of thousands of eager participants that sign up for Nanowrimo. But, on average, only around 20% or less of participants actually complete the challenge.
Of those, I would think that the number of starry-eyed newbies and the opportunistic hacks would be exceptionally low in number.
Anyone who thinks Nano teaches you some sort of shortcut to the process has clearly never done it, though I would definitely encourage them to try. Maybe then they wouldn’t rain all over our parade like they had any right to do so.
So it’s Day Two. We’re all a little starry-eyed and optimistic at this point, because the possibilities are endless, which is what I love most about Nanowrimo.
But here’s what you can truly expect for the rest of the month. You’re going to work hard. You’re going to get frustrated. You’re going to run up against all kinds of obstacles to complete the task, the main one being, “Did I really think I could write a book in a month?”
The good news is that you can do it, even if – especially if – it hurts. The bad news is it probably won’t make you rich and famous. You won’t be able to publish your newborn baby on December 1st and be a millionaire by Christmas. In fact, all you’ll really have to show for your November is a completed first draft. This may or may not turn into a published book, which some snobs won't even touch because it's tainted with Nanowrimo anyway.
Spoiler alert: It’s still worth it.
Now let’s do this.
Started First Draft: November 2, 2015 10:00am PST
Completed First draft: November 1, 2015 11:26am PST
Word Count of first draft: 2,701
Completed revisions: November 2, 2015 12:56pm
Updated WC: 3,349/5,111
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