phew! So I wrote a novel in 30…nay 25 days.
Now I get to go back to the daily grind. For the month of November my beautiful fiancée and I have been writing a novel each to participate in NaNoWriMo. It was great. Every night we sat together in veritable silence, save for the clickety clack of keyboards. Yet it was really great together time. I’m not sure why, but it was. Granted, we’re always together, we’re completely inseparable. No, really, we are seriously bordering on co-dependent… and we like it that way. Ordinarily we relax together by watching a string of episodes of a series we both like. It’s fun, don’t get me wrong, but it feels so pointless now. Suddenly just watching an episode of How I met your mother seems like a fruitless exercise. Even though we interact more when we do (we laugh, we talk about how hideous certain outfits are and stuff like that), it suddenly feels less. When we were writing, there was a goal. We were working together, in silence, but together. We had a common goal, a common objective. She was writing a novel that, once edited, may actually be a published work, I was writing the biggest load of bollocks under the sun. Seriously, I had metrosexual pirates, gay camels, rich boy racers, mermaid warriors and a sympathetic corporate assassin all in one novel. There’s no structure, too many plots, too little character development and a great deal of Gemini style theme hopping. Still, for the sake of completeness, I’ll edit it and have it printed with the complimentary offer to print a copy that I get for finishing. Then I’ll put it in my book shelf and tell people, “I have written a novel.” It won’t be a lie, I’ll have proof.
But that brings me back to where I started the post, what now? Writing a novel was not something I intended to do as a child. At school I hated writing, it was a chore.
My idea to write a novel I blame on David Seven. I attended his kick off party for moral support. After all, I am the official CoffeeBoy of the Tequila Thursday Writers Club (that means I bring the real writers coffee). I say “His” party, because he is the Municipal Liaison for Port Elizabeth, so he gets them – us – organised. While at the kick off party, which in truth was held at a coffee shop, so was only a party by name, since the name party suggests dancing and drinking and games like beer-pong (I’m told the Thank God it’s Over party IS in fact a party), we played a creative mind game. The game just happens to be named because of my antics at the previous years party. As I dropped my 5 plot twists into the hat, David looked me square in the eye and said, “you know that by offering these to everyone else, you commit to taking part, right?” I agreed.
Now to this day, I don’t know if he was serious, but I had given my word anyway. My word is important to me. So I signed up the next day.
That was almost a month ago, and I’m finished. <– That's a brag. Feel free to bow
I got distracted didn't I? Anyway, the point was that while I was writing, I was doing something new and different. That's exciting. I don't do anything new and exciting at work. Well, that's not totally true, there are always new things happening, but they are rarely exciting anymore. This was completely new and "out there". So now that I'm done, I need to find something else new and exciting.
It may sound dof, but I think I'm going to start designing databases now. <– seriously, that's not a joke, I really am.
NaNoWriMo has taught me that Henry Ford's little quote: "If you think you can, or if you think you cannot, you're right." Actually makes sense.
I'm a multi-talented human being and can do just about anything you task me to do.
For heaven's sake, I just wrote a novel.