Is this a final decision? Eh, maybe. There’s no saying I won’t lose my nerve and hop on the NaNo train in the next few days, or maybe do an end run and take a flying leap halfway or later through, but for now, I’m doing my own thing in November. That decision came last night, in the middle of my first meeting with an eclectic group of local writers, all talented, articulate and entertaining people. We’re still in the getting to know each other phase, and of course the question of NaNo came up. One gentleman asked if I was participating, and without thinking about my answer first, I said “not this year.”
What it came down to was that wordcount bugaboo. I don’t count my daily words at present, and I don’t find that a lack. What I do see is more pages in the document when I power down for the night than there where when I started, and I’m good with that. I’m filling notebooks, emptying pens, and transcribing most of that on my external keyboard, and I’m loving what I’m doing. I’m not bashing my head against the keyboard (maybe said bashing is why the laptop’s keyboard gave up the ghost before the rest of the machine; I don’t know, but I can’t discount it.)
Knowing what works best for me at this time is the mature, responsible thing to do for my writing, (and, honestly, a whole lot of fun) but that doesn’t mean I can’t adapt the things I do love about NaNo to my own use. In that vein, I’m going Rogue. I’ll be posting here about my writing progress during November, not with word count (but at the end, maybe, just for kicks) but what works for me. Scenes, characters, those unexpected turns stories take when we the writers aren’t looking.
What matters most to me this upcoming month is that I dive into both existing and new projects fully focused on what counts most for me; the story. Not to say NaNo ignores story for words, because that’s not the case. I had a lovely time in Camp NaNo this spring, and won then, and I’m proud of it.
Why does it matter to me so much if I’m doing NaNo at any given session? If I haven’t babbled it out by now, it may not have an explanation. I do love the community, but y’know what? Writers exist all over the place. One of the gents in group last night made a comment that there are thousands of writers in one city alone, and he’s right. There’s a great group of gals (and guys) in my local RWA chapter, I have writer friends scattered all over the globe, all as close as my email or an IM window, and unless write-ins come complete with bouncers demanding the password, there’s no saying I can’t plop myself and my notebook down at a write in, and keep my eyes on my own paper. Or talk to my neighbor. Or whatever. Because what matters is that the story gets written.
The journey from “once upon a time” to “and they all lived happily ever after” can take many paths, and no one is more “real” than any other. What is real is what gets the story from my head onto the page, and eventually into the heads and hopefully hearts of readers. Do I know exactly what going Rogue means for me this particular November? Not entirely, but I’ll figure it out as I go, and I’ll be sure to blabber about it here.