All last month, I participated in NaNoWriMo, a challenge where writers attempt to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. I used NaNoWriMo to jumpstart writing the second draft of Piano Man, a novel I had finished writing the first draft of the past summer. I planned everything out: I made a list of everything I wanted to fix, I mapped out my daily word goals based on how busy I would be each day, I started outlining chapters, the whole nine yards. When November 1st rolled around, I was ready. I was committed to writing like the wind and actually write all fifty thousand words this time.
The first two days were beyond productive. I wrote over two thousand words each day, at least eight hundred words beyond my established goals. I felt great about the whole thing. I remember thinking, “Hey, maybe I actually will hit 50k this time.”
Then Day 3 hit.
It was a Friday. I knew that once I finished classes for the day, I had hours upon hours to write. It was more than enough time to hit my goal for the day and stay ahead of schedule. And that was my problem.
Although trying to write a novel in month while being a full-time engineering student is difficult, the pressure I put on myself to write during my limited amount of free time made me actually write. Remove that pressure, and it was difficult to convince myself that writing was more important than scrolling through my Twitter feed for the eighth time that hour. Over the years that I’ve been a writer, I’ve realized that my writing is best when there are other things I should be doing. I’m a self-proclaimed procrastinator, and I think part of the reason that I write so much is because of that fact. I use writing to procrastinate my other obligations, and when writing begins to feel like an obligation, I then switch back to those obligations. Some of the best writing I’ve done in this lifetime has been late at night in the middle of the semester, when I really should be doing homework or sleeping or doing literally anything but typing away in my dark dorm room, the blue light from my computer washing over my tired face. In fact, as I write this article, I am trying not to think about all the homework I still need to do and the laundry I still need to fold.
I slowly recovered from my subpar weekend word count and had nearly caught up to my plan by Thursday of the following week. A bout of the infamous “Ada Plague” had struck campus, but I was only feeling the smallest of effects from the unnamed illness that had struck my fellow Polar Bears. That is, until I got out of bed Friday morning and nearly tumbled to the floor on my way to the bathroom. I resigned to sending out a cookie-cutter email to all my professors saying I wouldn’t be in class before getting back in bed and sleeping for four more hours. After a trip to the doctor, who told me I most likely had a virus whose symptoms could stick around for anywhere from five days to two weeks, I wrote nothing and went to bed obnoxiously early that night. In the past, sick days had been perfect for writing at least twice more than I usually do. But this virus had me wiped out by three in the afternoon without fail. And maybe that’s just me making excuses, but I know there was one day I wrote four words because trying to think of what else to write made my head feel like it was about to explode.
The week where I felt the sickest gave me three thousand words at the most. The next week, though, was Thanksgiving Break. Part of me thought I could use that week to catch up. But the other part of me, my Realist half, knew I was less-than-productive when I was at home without time-dependent responsibilities. And once again, my Realist half was right. I did my best to, at the very least, open my Word document every day. But that Friday of break was the start of one of the last Harry Potter weekends on Freeform, and for three days, you could say that my priorities were misplaced. I’m human. And when you’re human, you sometimes let movie marathons take precedence over real responsibilities. And besides, they played Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix instead of skipping over it like usual.
As November and NaNoWriMo came to a close, I knew I would not hit fifty thousand. There was no way, not without becoming a hermit and only sleeping for four hours a night (And even then, I’d probably still be cutting it close). So I made a new goal for myself: twenty-four thousand. NaNoWriMo was something I had wanted to win since I was a freshman in high school. When I tried in 2016, I wrote twelve thousand words, tops. If I could double that this year, I knew I would be content. And at 11:59 pm November 30th, I validated my word count on the NaNoWriMo website at 24,576 words.
No one talks about hard it is to write in addition to other commitments, like work and school. As I mentioned earlier, I’m a full-time engineering student trying to write a novel in my spare time. November is a crazy month to undertake something like NaNoWriMo, and to even try is an achievement. I could feel absolutely awful about my word count being so far away from 50,000. And a small part of me wants to be disappointed in myself. But you know what? I wrote so much last month, especially considering I haven’t been the least bit regimented in my writing since I finished my first draft back in July. I am proud of what I accomplished, even if I didn’t “win”. To me, sitting down and writing the story I was destined to tell is victory enough.
This year hasn’t discouraged me from giving NaNoWriMo another shot. If anything, it’s only going to motivate me further. NaNoWriMo 2018 better get ready, because I’m coming at it full-force. I’m winning next year. I’ll write 50,000 words, and then I’ll write some more. Just watch me.
