On the basis of having written two thousand five hundred words and better for yesterdayʼs post, half in commentary defense on Thursday against just the kind of (deliberately concealed) intolerance I was writing about on the recent series of posts, I will (try to) keep this one short.
To begin (and pretty much it will be the end as well), I have made a Halloween resolution…
I have signed up for NaNoWriMo, which is evidently a very well known acronym among unpublished writers — the National Novel Writing Month. I had seen it in references on some other blogs and research I did a year back as I tried to get started pretending to be a maybe-writer. But I didnʼt investigate this scheme to motivate amateur writers to slash out 50,000 words (which they say is a 175-page novel) in the month of November. (I only just learned those details last week, by the way.)
Then, toward the end of March, I found Scrivener (the wonderful word-processing/writing program I am using all the time for everything I write nowadays), and just last week Literature & Latte released a preview short-term freebie version of Scrivener 2 especially labeled for NaNoWriMo writers to use (offering half price on the full update/release if you make your 50,000 words in November). I really like this program (now going to be available for Windozers, too), and the newer version seems slicker and cooler (and puts font choice and size controls in the toolbar the the top, instead of buried a couple of levels/windows down on a menu). And the preview version expires with Novemberʼs end.
So I visited the NaNoWriMo website and signed myself up (mostly to find out what it was all about). I somehow doubt I will spew 50,000 words in November alone (especially on a wholly new project), but I will try. I had been wanting to finish writing my “No Public Options!” satire on a post-2010-election America in which Big Business has claimed control of everything except government (which they leave to Christian Right totalitarian theocrats). But now…
I am instead, while out running in the mornings, calculating my time-travel-tale-turned-planetary-romance. If I just forget how much I may be (unconsciously or not) ripping off from Burroughs and Vance and just write write write write write… I might be able to churn out all those words and win a half-off nonexpiring Scrivener 2 in thirty days. (And pigs will fly for certain, as Janet has plenty of daily drudgery tasks she wants me to actually work on, too. And I do have a conscious commitment to put up 356 days of blog posts this year, as well…)
The posts may just get shorter (me not having exactly held myself down to a thousand words each day anyway), and you may have to suffer a few that are merely pieces of the NaNoWriMo novel-in-progress (but then, that probably beats my old semi-poetry, anyway).
Th — th — thatʼs all for now, folks (having put up over-a-thousand-words-a-day in First Amendment ponderings this week already, not to mention those 1500 words of comments to Daniel on Thursday). I plan to talk about Picasso on Monday.
“Procrastilassitude” — sometimes I amuse and amaze myself. Sometimes.