Nov. 22nd, 2013

scott_sanford: (Daria proofreads)
In the off season, when we are less obsessed with the act of writing and have more time to think about the art of writing, we often think about what we might do, what stories would interest us to read or that we would like, in retrospect, to have written.

Consider an automotive metaphor. Some people enjoy a big loud 4x4, crashing through the mud and underbrush in a grand exaltation of noise and prosthetic testosterone. Others want a luxury model, gliding gracefully from beginning to destination, with no rough machinery or unexpected noises disturbing the beauty of the trip. Still others don't care much for appearances and will quite happily putter along in their Volkswagon Beetles, content to know they'll get there eventually.

Nanowrimo isn't like that.

Nanowrimo is putting on a crash helmet and strapping yourself into a rocket sled pointed vaguely at the finish line. On November first you hit the ignition and, God willing, blast across the New Mexico desert leaving a flaming trail of screaming and broken parts, hoping the thing doesn't come apart on you.

If you're lucky the rocket engine doesn't burn out early or explode halfway through the run, and your carefully planned route doesn't suddenly take off for Utah without consulting you. At the end you coast gently across the finish line, smouldering but intact, thankful to have made it through alive and in one piece.

It's not very practical but it can be a lot of fun.

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