NaNoWriMo is coming up. In about 2005 I did it the first time and made the 50,000 with the start of a mystery novel I really like. I loved going to the coffee shop to write for a few hours in the evening or writing at home. Loved producing words under time pressure. Loved starting with only a setting and an personally historic bunch of characters, with no conception of a plot or purpose or even genre, and discovering the story as I wrote.
And then, after that first November, I scarcely wrote another word until the next year.
The plan that time was to finish the same novel in November 2006. Instead I moved it along another 25,000 words. I loved the writing. I didn't love having to compete with actual paying writing work that was pressing during the later half of the month.
Another couple of times, I made noises about doing NNWM again and finishing, but never got more than a little bit farther.
In the meantime, I have bursts of inspiration about this story. Sometimes I write them down, with a heading about the title, the word "notes," and the date. Sometimes I let the idea fade unwritten.
The notes are scattered in various notebooks and files, both electronic and paper. The paper files are in the garage. Buried deep along with various other files about story ideas and partial manuscripts and revision notes.
Relatively recently, I had a major new inspiration about the direction of this thing, including which character would win what I'd conceived as a novel-length audition for the title role in a series of mystery novels. I kind of recall writing it down.
Somewhere. Probably in a paper notebook. Maybe the one I've been keeping track of my job efforts in and very recently managed to lose.
A couple of times I have sworn I am going to drag all the pieces of this creature together in one workspace, hook up the wires to the inspiration generator on the roof, kick Igor into action, and bring it finally to full life.
Each time gathering the pieces has been a dissauding burden. Recalling this record of failure of motivation is part of why I've just passively (though not without verbal protest) not really tried to start back into the project despite Candi's anxious clinging to the pieces of my time. It needs a few hours at a time, and it was clear even a fight each night would gain only an hour, if that. Or so it went the few times I gave it a try.
Now I am going to have the time, in big chunks. Not just these next couple of weeks before starting the job, but, after a month of training, a good four hours a day after sending Candi off to work at 8:30 am, with my work beginning at 1:30 pm. A half hour to get to work by bike. A bit more by bus because I have to start earlier to fit the schedules.
So, no excuses.
First task: Gather the scattered thoughts.
Then reread what I've done, as well as the notes for revision. Don't touch a thing until doing this. Accomplish the review by September 29. Do the month of training while the story percolates.
Then blast through the rest during NaNoWriMo.
Now, I have to go to the garage to hunt for notebooks. And stuff that shoulder devil into a locked box and bury him under the debris of life before Candi.
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