It was approaching #NaNoWriMo2015 time, my twitter feed spammed with the hashtag I was barely familiar with. I'd seen it before. I knew it had to do with writing. I knew it would be something truly cool if I could meet the criteria, whatever it was. But I wasn't sure. So I did what any modern person would do - I googled it! Answer found.
Next, it crept in onto my Facebook page. My sister-in-law, the writer, publicly declared her participation in #NaNoWriMo. Now this I could get behind! You see, she's completed her first book, Shadow of the Sun, and is working on the next in the series, and I am an anxious reader! She left me on the cusp of a fantastic battle, and I'm ready for the fight! Dutifully, I commented on her post, "You can do it!" Her reply?
"YOU can do it too."
Oh.
Gauntlet thrown.
Touche.
Danggit.
Don't you just hate it when other people are right? Yes, I could do it too. And what was stopping me? I've made it somewhat public in the last year or so that I've had this YA novel idea lurking in my head. I dreamed it once and never lost it. That's unusual for me; my dreams tend to disapparate like Rowling's wizards. But once you go public with that sort of thing, it makes it real, true, potentially even possible. And it made me wonder.
It just so happened to be November 1st when I was wondering. A lazy Sunday afternoon filled with an unexpected silence while my own children played down the street. The papers were graded. The sun was hanging on for a slight moment longer. And I wrote. I didn't think about it. I didn't question it. I just opened a google doc before I could stop myself, and I wrote. When I finally looked up, it was dark.
Crazy thing? It came out in verse!
What?!
It didn't rhyme. It's not a traditional poem. But somehow, enough exposure to Ellen Hopkins and the immediacy and layers of her verse combined with Jacqueline Woodson's beautiful, tab-worthy lines, and verse felt comfortable. It moved. It took shape. It poured out of me. That first day, I wrote 890 words. The second day reached 1298 total. Day three 1741. Day four 2007.
I kept going through day ten where I'd penned 4604...and then I stopped.
Day eleven was my daughter's birthday, and the fanfare left me no moment. Day twelve included more roll over festivities. Day thirteen came and went, and that was the end.
I'm heartbroken I didn't complete the month. Yet, on the other hand, I'm thrilled! I actually wrote it down. I wrote my idea and my words. And I know, deep down, I'm not done.
I also know what it feels like to be a writer. And as an English teacher, that is a must. Now I feel the struggle my students feel more than ever. Now I sympathize with the brow-scrunching accompanying the haggle over a word. With the obsessive read and re-read and re-read moves. I get it. I hope it makes me more empathetic and open and encouraging. I hope it makes me better.
I will go back to my story. I WILL. I am kinda missing it right now. Is that what it feels like? I think I like that...
Next, it crept in onto my Facebook page. My sister-in-law, the writer, publicly declared her participation in #NaNoWriMo. Now this I could get behind! You see, she's completed her first book, Shadow of the Sun, and is working on the next in the series, and I am an anxious reader! She left me on the cusp of a fantastic battle, and I'm ready for the fight! Dutifully, I commented on her post, "You can do it!" Her reply?
"YOU can do it too."
Oh.
Gauntlet thrown.
Touche.
Danggit.
Don't you just hate it when other people are right? Yes, I could do it too. And what was stopping me? I've made it somewhat public in the last year or so that I've had this YA novel idea lurking in my head. I dreamed it once and never lost it. That's unusual for me; my dreams tend to disapparate like Rowling's wizards. But once you go public with that sort of thing, it makes it real, true, potentially even possible. And it made me wonder.
It just so happened to be November 1st when I was wondering. A lazy Sunday afternoon filled with an unexpected silence while my own children played down the street. The papers were graded. The sun was hanging on for a slight moment longer. And I wrote. I didn't think about it. I didn't question it. I just opened a google doc before I could stop myself, and I wrote. When I finally looked up, it was dark.
Crazy thing? It came out in verse!
What?!
It didn't rhyme. It's not a traditional poem. But somehow, enough exposure to Ellen Hopkins and the immediacy and layers of her verse combined with Jacqueline Woodson's beautiful, tab-worthy lines, and verse felt comfortable. It moved. It took shape. It poured out of me. That first day, I wrote 890 words. The second day reached 1298 total. Day three 1741. Day four 2007.
I kept going through day ten where I'd penned 4604...and then I stopped.
Day eleven was my daughter's birthday, and the fanfare left me no moment. Day twelve included more roll over festivities. Day thirteen came and went, and that was the end.
I'm heartbroken I didn't complete the month. Yet, on the other hand, I'm thrilled! I actually wrote it down. I wrote my idea and my words. And I know, deep down, I'm not done.
I also know what it feels like to be a writer. And as an English teacher, that is a must. Now I feel the struggle my students feel more than ever. Now I sympathize with the brow-scrunching accompanying the haggle over a word. With the obsessive read and re-read and re-read moves. I get it. I hope it makes me more empathetic and open and encouraging. I hope it makes me better.
I will go back to my story. I WILL. I am kinda missing it right now. Is that what it feels like? I think I like that...
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