Tag Archives: nanowrimo

Post #21: Where My Boys At?

An aspect of my NANOWRIMO experience not yet chronicled here is the amazing group of students at the high school where I teach who also took on the 50,000.  A few reached their goal.  Many came along for the ride and produced a substantial amount of writing.  They thrilled and amazed me throughout the month, with their passion and zany enthusiasm, and pushed my own work to dizzying production heights.

Their awesomeness is without question.  I salute them.  Though I was struck during November and continue to be in reflection by the fact that there was not a single male among them.  One boy came to our first meeting, though never re-emerged.  A colleague of mine brought NANOWRIMO to her classroom in which there are guys, but as far as I could tell, no male students took the plunge independently.  And if they did, they weren’t coming to our meetings or must have escaped my notice.

I won’t pretend I was completely surprised.   And yet even that lack of surprise is surprising.  Why, I wonder, did it make so much sense to me that only girls would take such a thing on by choice?  Even among the four colleagues of mine who embarked on the journey, I was the only male.  Did it say anything about my own assumptions about gender, and if it did, did the evidence before me not bear it out in some revealing way?

The “I’m a writer!” pronouncement that comes with doing NANOWRIOMO is a bold one, nakedly artistic and daring, even if one has never written a word in her life up to then.  It’s the kind of gesture to which teenage males, in my experience, are particularly averse.   Once you claim to be doing something like Nanowriomo, you are branded in a way.  True, it’s not more of a brand than joining the soccer team or accepting a part in the musical, but a brand all the same.  And in a brand conscious culture, teenagers are the most impressionable of all.  And while the brand of “artist” in the world at large may be admirable in most circles, in high school, it’s not so clear cut.  By the way, this is not to imply that boys are not artistic or that they don’t write or don’t want to write.  I believe quite the opposite is true.  But how that urge gets expressed, and how public that expression is, well, that’s a different thing entirely.

I noticed something similiar last year when I was the coordinator for Poetry Out Loud, a recitation program in which students memorize, then master the reading of a poem.  Though our school champion, and the national champion, were male, only 18 of the 52 state champions in D.C. were male and of the ten students who participated in our own school competition only 2 or 3 (I can’t recall exactly) were male.

Admittedly, these are small data sets, but I’m done thinking any of this is a coincidence.

When it comes to the arts, are we encouraging boys the same way we’re encouraging girls?  Confidence is at play here, as is maturity–teenage girls have more of both–but so is the overall perception of the arts, which is largely a function of how the arts have been framed, or I might even say, “sold,” to the person in question.  Our culture sells.  Better than anything, it sells.  Am I selling my own sons soccer and trucks and guns more than I’m selling them writing and drawing and acting?  Are my neighbors?  My students’ parents?

What sorts of boys and girls does our culture nurture and create?  In a culture in which youth are being marketed to from the minute they get up in the morning until they sign off Facebook around two A.M. and come to school on five hours of sleep, they are being sold to.  Urged toward thoughts and positions and identities.  I think here of video games.  I think here of sports.  Girls play video games.  Girls play sports.  But when I consider how these things are presented in the culture, it’s hard not to see a male filter at work.  Can that filter be so strong?  So persuasive?

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Post #18: Finish Lines

As I wrote my 50,000th word this month I was at a coffee shop alone.  I’d gone in a few thousand short of my goal, ordered coffee and a peanut butter cookie, then set to work, vowing not to leave until I’d finished.  I didn’t.  A thrill went through me as I checked the word count.  50,007.  I looked around.  No one looked back.  I smiled.  No one seemed to notice.  I looked back at my computer.  It gave no notice, no indication of what I’d accomplished, of what it had been a part of.   No secret hand emerged to high-five me or pat me on the back.  The scenery remained unchanged.  People coming, people going.

I was listening to Andrew Bird’s Noble Beast.

Part of me wanted to strut to the nearest table, interrupt whoever was sitting there, and say, “you don’t know me, but I just wrote 50,000 words in November.  Now, what do you think about that!”

But I didn’t.

Because the truth is that, well, it wasn’t exactly anti-climactic, really, but…OK, yes it was.  Only a little, but still.

Finish lines, I’m finding, come in all shapes and sizes.  Each school year finishes in a summer, with more time to write and more time with my kids, with longer days and extra sunshine.  As a parent of young children, each evening finishes with a quiet house and a cold beer and toys dotting the living room floor.  Each year finishes with champagne and resolutions.  I hiked the Grand Canyon rim to rim in a single day once, and that finish line was dusty and sweaty and achingly satisfying.

But the finish line for NANOWRIMO?  Well, it looked kind of like the starting line.  A blank page.  Waiting to be filled.

No finish has ever looked quite so similar to the start to me.  And here my hat goes off to NASCAR drivers.  Jesus, those people must be haunted by the feeling that they’re driving and driving and never going anywhere!

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m damn proud of what I accomplished.  I’m not the sort who can’t put his feet up and tip his cap to himself.  I set my mind to something, got to work, tried not to complain or get distracted or make my wife too miserable, and did what I’d set out to do and I like to think I earned the small measure of pride I felt and still feel.  And much love here to the folks who created and maintain NANOWRIMO.  Initially skeptical, I’ve emerged a believer and would encourage anyone to try it for themselves.

But for me, finishing NANOWRIMO, well, I feel like the joke is on me a little bit because I finished, but I’m anything but done.

First off, Blue Dot isn’t even over yet.  I’ve still got, I’m thinking, 7,000-10,000 left before I can put a THE END on this very, very, very rough draft.  And then comes the real work of revision, which, honestly, I’m greatly looking forward to but which is its own kind of marathon, so different from the sprint I’ve just been engaged in.  That’s a trick that NANOWRIMO plays on you, by the way.  It looks like a marathon, but it’s actually a very long sprint.  A marathon is about pacing yourself, but NANOWRIMO felt more like I was always in a hurry, trying to get to the next turn.  It’s a writing high that way, and sometimes you’re flying along in disbelief of your own pace and stride and how goddamn great the wind feels in your hair.   The rest of the time, you’re just trying not to trip and send yourself flying into the grass.

Sure, I want to celebrate, to soak up the moment.  Put my 50,007 in lights, take it out to dinner, show it off a little bit and make the neighbors jealous.  But honestly, none of that feels quite right.  Because the truth is that I kind of just want to get back to work.  Is that okay?

Post #17: Crawling Through the Nearest Window

Doing National Novel Writing Month is exhilarating.  I think this is mostly because I’ve never written, outside of education, for a capital “D” Deadline and the need to complete X quantity by Y date is a utilitarian sort of enterprise that’s added a different timbre to this writing experience than others whose end point hinges on a self-imposed deadline.

I’ve decided that NANOWRIMO is more about stamina than it is about creativity.  Not to shit on creativity.  Not at all.  But the truth is that the writers who have the best chance of starting and finishing a task like NANOWRIMO are those not necessarily with the keenest imaginations, but with the deepest well of endurance.  Those who can follow that sage piece of writing advice that I sometimes think is the only truly useful one: ass in chair.

Writing on a deadline makes you solve problems quickly.  My analogy is that when your story runs into a wall, find and crawl through the nearest window. Can’t find a window?  Tough.  Invent one.  I’m writing a sci-fi/horror mash-up because it sounded like a novel (pun so very much intended) change to my usual subject matter (realistic literary fiction) that would breathe enough fresh wind into my sails to make it to the finish line.  What I failed to realize is that genre writing is a lot harder than I thought it was.

Of course, all kinds of writing are difficult in their own way, but what I’m talking about is closer to the necessity in genre to respect the beginning-middle-end story structure.  I’m not writing a book about an existential crisis that doesn’t need to have an ending to be considered successful.  The plot is front and center this time out and the plot needs to, perhaps above all things, make sense to the reader.  And not sense as in “real,” but sense as in “consistent” and “logical.”  There’s a difference.

Consider The Catcher in the Rye.  In Salinger’s classic, one need not believe that the things that Holden does are the only things that could have happened.  For instance, after Holden’s conversation with the nuns in the diner, we don’t feel the need to make the meet-up logical or the basis to judge what happens next.  It may affect the next action, but it doesn’t have to.  Nor does the book have to really go anywhere, to end up someplace in order to be a great book, which is, of course, why it doesn’t.  For Christ’s Sake, the book’s final image is a kid on a merry go round!  In many ways this is exactly what makes a book like Catcher so great and so lasting–it prizes emotion and character above action.  And, quite frankly, character is more interesting.

But it all depends on how you look at it.  Seen through certain eyes, too large an emphasis on character could be a liability.  Most people I know who don’t like Catcher don’t like it because they don’t like Holden, not because “nothing happens.”   And if they don’t like it because nothing happens, well, they should probably put down Salinger and read Blue Dot, my NANOWRIMO book.  Because, let me tell you, all kinds of things are “happening” in my book.

But, of course, making things happen is its own kind of problem.  One problem being that the “happenings” have different rules in a plot driven piece than in a character driven piece.  Not dramatically different, but different all the same.  In genre, the cause and effect sequence needs to be cleaner, leaner, and ultimately, more satisfying to the reader.  After all, that’s what you’re selling them.  No one wants to buy tickets to the circus only to find, after the lights have dimmed and the curtains have closed, that they’re actually at an antique show.  It’s false advertising.  In filmic parlance, you might compare the ending of Die Hard to the ending of the last season of The Sopranos.  If Die Hard had ended with a long, slow fade out on the bloodied face of John Mclaine before his final show down with Hans and his reunion with his wife, and we were given no closure, no sense that the good guy had prevailed or that the estranged couple had re-united, myself, and a lot of other late 80’s Bruce Willis fans, would have wanted their money back.  The Sopranos could get away with such an ambiguous ending because the show was always more about Tony than it was about what Tony was doing.  Die Hard is about a guy too, but for that story to make sense to us, that guy needs to always be doing things that lead places.

I guess what I’m saying is that I choose a genre piece for NANOWRIMO because I thought it would liberating, and perhaps easier, to write.  But I’m realizing now this was a false assumption.  Genre isn’t harder, but it sure as hell isn’t much easier.  Which leads back to the earlier point that all kinds of writing are hard.

A problem for me is that I’m not used to writing plots that need to add up so neatly and my characters keep trying to stop my story and let themselves come front and center.  Part of me feels like they’re stalling because they don’t know what to do next.  I’m on track to finish my book on time, or at least get to 50,000 words on time, but right now the ending keeps getting further away.  And the further away it gets, the more I’m getting the feeling that Blue Dot may just be the world’s first alien invasion story that ends with a kid on a merry go round.

Post #13: Blue Dot

Blue Dot is the presumptive title of the Sci-Fi/Horror novel I’ve started for National Novel Writing Month.  As a writer of mostly literary fiction, I decided if I was going to go for broke with nanowrimo and do a novel in a month, I might as well go all out and do something wild, which has me tap dancing in genres that I know nothing about.  I’m having a blast though.  So far flying saucers have appeared over Lake Michigan, a drunken and sexually depraved ex-husband has appeared to complicate matters, and a mother is desperate to get on the road with her nine year old diabetic son before all hell breaks loose.  I can feel some blood is going to be spilled.  Props for the tone and genre are definitely due to Joe Hill, whose novel Horns I’ve been listening to on audiobook for the past month on my walk to and from work.  Horns is an out there genre bending kind of horror novel that I’ve most enjoyed.  Joe Hill is a hell of a writer.  It’s also extremely vulgar but has a very big heart at the center of it, and that juxtaposition is kind of what I’m after with Blue Dot.

More later on why it’s called Blue Dot.  It’ll all make sense.  I swear.

Post #7: National Novel Writing Month

I’m considering trying out National Novel Writing Month in November.  The goal is to produce 50,000 words in a month.  Only about 15% of those who try finish.  I’m excited about it, but for reasons I can’t quite articulate, though they’ve already had me called a snob once (and counting), I’m dubious as well.   Part of me loves the challenge, wants to see what would come out on such a tight deadline.  And to see if I could finish.  Yet,  I can’t shake the thought that there’s something kind of South Beach Diet about all this too.  Try writing and you won’t believe the results!

Maybe I am a snob.

But then I take a step back and ask myself: what can be wrong with anything whose sole purpose for being is to put people’s asses in chairs writing a lot?

Myself answers: nothing, you idiot.

I kind of like what this guy has to say about it:  http://vimeo.com/7564037

Learn more at National Novel Writing Month’s Homebase: http://www.nanowrimo.org/