So, as many of you  know, November is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, as it is sometimes better known. A lot of people also refer to it as insanity. Foolhardy. Torture. Or, my personal favourite: “The month Mommy disappeared.” (Really, that’s only happened twice, so I don’t know what the big deal is…)

Hands up those who tried their hand at writing 50,000 words in 30 days. Now put your hand down if you made your wordcount. The rest of you, congratulations. You wrote more words this month than you have in any other moth this year, I bet. I know I did, even though I topped out at around 35,000 words. For those that made your 50,000 words, how many of them are publishable? I’m asking, because it I’m curious. The rules of the game are, after all, write. Don’t stop, don’t edit, don’t question.  Just write. Don’t worry about if it’s good or not. I have trouble with that last one.

Why write something you know is crap? This brings me to why I did not make my count this year. Well, part of the reason. It was turning to crap. There was repetition of UST which I know would annoy the hell out of me if I was reading it. Something along the lines of: “Yeah, we know. Phillip is Noble. James is Hurt. They’re boys. They want to fuck. What’s the hold up?” (Ooops. Can I say that here?)

I know what my readers expect. Pages and pages of “we can’t, we shouldn’t it would be wrong“, is just not what they read gay romance for. Guys don’t think like that. I know that. So why continue down that path when I know I’m writing myself into a corner? Because the rules say to.

I’ve never been much of one for arbitrary rules.

Also, it hurts to delete pages and pages of words, so my solution was to not write the words I would later have to delete. Instead, it was time to step back and figure out what the real reasons were for those boys to be holding back from what they both so obviously want.

This lead me to my second reason for stopping before the goal was reached: research.

The bane of my writing career. Hate it. Dropped out of Uni because of it. It’s hard and boring and my attentions span is not conducive to doing it. Did I mention I hate it?

However. Writing is ninety percent work. The ten percent that’s made up of luck and inspiration, that part where the joy is, makes up a lot for the rest. I envy writers who enjoy research. I wish I was one of them.  

But I saw no point in continuing to write about political inheritances, and matriarchal vs. patriarchal societies when I really don’t know much about them, and anyone or his dog might spot the wild improbabilities in the story.

The upshot became another story stalled out at that 30,000 to 40,000 word range where I always loose the will to go on. Another 20,000 words or so, I would have a novel. So why can’t I get there? This has become my most recent quest. Finish a novel. Figure why I can’t, and fix it. I might only do it once, to prove I could, but damnit, I’m going to finish a complete novel. Maybe even sell it…

In the mean time, I keep writing those short stories that keep me entertained and net me enough to pay for an internet connection so I can come on line and moan and groan about my writing woes, or celebrate the little victories. One such: Muses’s Vacation came out today, and I’m very pleased with it… and it occurs to me that the 6,700 words or so of that little ditty might have got me closer to my goal. If only they hadn’t been inspired by a bored muse who wanted to write something a little more…risqué. lol!

(I wonder what it says about the writer when 6,700 words has more sex that the previous 35,000?)

Here’s Muse’s buy link, if you want it.

http://www.loveyoudivine.com/index.php?main_page=document_product_info&cPath=6_62&products_id=594

More important, though, I’d like to hear what reasons you had for participating in NaNo this year, or why you give it a pass. How crazy do you  think all those writers are, anyway?