Every year, near Halloween, the spectres and skeptics arise. Crawling out of their hideyholes like a horde of brain-eating zombies, they intone: “Fifty thousand words….I could never write fifty thousand words in a month. I keep meaning to try, but I knooooow I couldn’t do thaaaaat…”
They are certain. They are sure. They are positive. They know. NaNoWriMo would definitely not work for them.
They are possessed by the demons of fear and doubt; by self-sabotage and unwillingness to fail. And what repels demons and zombies? What breaks curses and sends fear flying?
SCIENCE, THAT’S WHAT.
It’s the final five minutes of Scooby Doo. The Big Bad monster of creative doubt is cornered, and your bookselling friend Velma Dinkley, over here in my Municipal Liaison chair, is about to pull off his mask. Is it really true that you can’t write that much?
No. It is not. Newton’s first law tell us that an object in motion tends to stay in motion. Similarly, a writer who’s writing tends to keep writing. In a TED talk, or a long-distance hike, we might call this the crucial one percent: the hardest part of a project is the first step, not the last. Aristotle might say, “Well begun is half done.” Those of us who walk dogs are familiar with the first foot-dragging, reluctant step out into the rain, and the cheerful pickup when we turn toward home. The more you do, the easier it gets. It's true in writing too.
I always ask writers who say they’re afraid: “Well, what else would you do with this time? Netflix? Housework? Facebook?”
50,000 words in a month is 1600 words a day; that’s about six and a half pages. Once you get started, the momentum gathers and you’re off. You might miss some Netflix. You might lose track of Facebook. You might not, gasp-shock-clutch-pearls, do the dishes.
Well. Eat off banana leaves if you have to, but do the math: {1600+1600+1600…} equals what? Your book, at least a first terrible draft, finished and ready for editing. But a day of no writing plus a day of no writing plus a day of no writing, equals what? No writing, no terrible first draft, no book.
When the zombies arrive to eat your brain, think of Newton; think of Velma; think of Aristotle; and think of what you will lose if you try. Perhaps your couch will not acquire the perfect butt-divot quite so quickly.
Then think of what you will gain. Perhaps you will write your book.
One word plus two words plus three words plus five words plus eight words plus thirteen words plus twenty-one words…have faith.
And have science.
See you at our Write-Ins all over Cleveland, and on the website: www.nanowrimo.org.