I wrote a novel. My final, winning word count, achieved today at about 3pm: 51,123. Of course, what I have produced is by no means a polished piece of work. It needs editing, and it needs it bad. Whole sections might be removed... or not. There are definitely huge holes (where did the blanket go? She has it one second, and then in the next she's applying for a job to bake cupcakes? What???) that need filling. But as we wrimos like to say, December is for editing. And as I told one of my writing buddies, all of 2009 is for editing if we so choose. The good part is that there is a beginning, and there's a middle with character and plot development, and there's a definite conclusion that draws a lot of things together - without giving anyone a magical happyland perfect answer to his or her conflict. That's good, right?
So, you like, heard me right? I wrote a freaking novel. And maybe it's tripe. OK, whatever. Tripe gets published every day. *But.* Maybe it's not tripe. Maybe it's a good seed, and with proper pruning and care and watering (read: a shitton of editing and rewriting), it will become a pretty little bonzai - one of the magical ones that even has miniature flowers. Ya think? Hey, anything is possible.
So now that you all know how awesomely fulfilling it is to write a novel in one crazy month, you're all going to join in on NaNoWriMo next year and be my writing buddies, right? Right. Hotness. See you on November First, 2009, 12:01 a.m. I'll bring the espresso.