I managed to finish NaNoWriMo by November 24th, but two weeks later my muse is still a withered husk lying crumpled in the far corner. I had an easier time of it this year compared to last, due in large part to pacing myself more and a wonderfully supportive writing group, but it was still far from easy.
Thanks to NaNo and the Lawrence writers, however, I’m slowly beginning to understand what it means to be a writer. I’ve never been the type of person who had to write. I feel like a bit of a hack to admit it, but I have none of the overflowing passion that flings me from my bed to my keyboard every day like I’ve read in so many author interviews. I wish that I did.
I love stories and I’ve always gotten great enjoyment from writing, but I also used to wait until my muse was fit to burst before I did anything and then rode the wave for however long it lasted. I could go months and even years between writing stints that way.
It wasn’t until early last year that I became serious about writing and I’ve found that, while still great fun, it’s also a lot of bloody work. NaNo just compresses that workload into 30 days. Even without the frantic pace, it takes continuous effort to push back distractions, sit down every night, and really write.
I’m writing this now, with no inspiration and dead tired after a long shift at work, as a testament to that. Thanks to NaNo and thanks to the Lawrence writers who have helped me learn what real writing takes.
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