NaNoWriMo officially ended at midnight last night, but I finished my novel on Friday, and I crossed the 50,000-word mark Tuesday night (Wednesday morning). It ended at 55,197 words.
Today, I printed it all out. With single-spacing, 10 point font, tiny margins, and no page breaks, it worked out to 40 pages. (Formatted like a paperback, it's about 200 pages.) It's amazing what a thrill you get out of a stack of warm paper, knowing that you wrote all 55 thousand of those words, and in only 28 days.
It's really been a life-changing experience, much more so than I had originally thought it would be, maybe even more than for most other participants. Not to belittle their accomplishments. All 21,683 of them are incredible. And the community is one of the abolute best things in the world, especially on twitter.
But I never really liked writing. I've never been bad at it, but I've always kind of looked at English majors and aspiring writers as over-artsy dreamers. Sure, I admired their dreams, but I never understood the allure of writing, so the idea never made sense to me.
This past month, though, has opened my eyes. I have to say this has been the most fun I've had, like, ever. The thrill of creation. And it's even cheaper than crochet and cross-stitch. Especially near the end, when my plot and my characters started to take over every moment of my thoughts. It took on a life of its own for the last 25,000 words or so. It was a real thrill, and something addicting. NaNoWriMo has become a part of me. I don't think I'll ever get over the writing bug.
Yet I just wrote a bunch of sentence fragments.
'K then. I hope some of my dear readers will consider writing their own month-long novel next November. Check it!
Much love,
-Ganchi







