This post is a part of my Reflections on Nanowrimo series.
Each November writers around the globe take on the challenge to write 50 thousand words in 30 days. It was a pretty big step for me and I would like to share some of that with you.
Week two opened on a high note. I had jumped out ahead on my word count thanks to a very quiet weekend on the home front. I was on a bit of a roll and it felt pretty terrific, but week two was when I would have to reconcile the true nature of writing a novel in 30 days meant in my world.
I have a family and a life that existed in a world where writing was not a consideration for a very long time. It was not something I had to make space for in my day or anyone else’s day. It did not exist.
I love to read, so that took up space in my day. It is a priority and when my husband would walk into the room and I was with a book, he would take a moment to consider whether or not he would interrupt me. Writing was given no such deference and until it became a near obsession during the month of November, it was not afforded that level of consideration.
Week two was a new incline, and a steep one, in my writing learning curve. The challenge was how to write at home and not alienate your family. I must admit that I did not learn this lesson very well right away. One might say, that I have yet to figure it out.
I had gotten into the practice of writing on the bus and train – commuter family interaction break aside of course, but the challenge was to keep up the pace once I got home and the usual distractions of home set in. What was for dinner? What was on television? And who is this guy? And why won’t he stop talking to me?
In week two, and honestly for the rest of the month of November, I barricaded myself in the den and wrote from the moment I came home from work until my eyes were dry and weary and I hit the hay.
And so it went for the second week of Nanowrimo. I was not very good at the balancing act, but at the time the only thing I was concerned with was writing and I can admit that I was being a terrible friend, daughter and wife.
But who was paying any attention to that? All that mattered (at the time) was that in those next seven days I added 16 thousand more words to my novel.
I would talk to my husband again on the 30th and that would be fine right?
(Don’t worry, it all works out – but we can talk about that next week)