Okay, the fun’s over, people. There’s work to be done here. No laughing at the back, you hear me? I’ll not have any messing while I give this little talk to you all.
I’ve been sick, all right? Not as sick as some, I grant you – but still, I’ve not been at my best. I’ve been a bit shitty, if I’m to be honest. Sneezing, coughing up a lung or two, running a temperature, quietly putting together a broken heart; the kind of stuff all members of the human race go through in life. I’m no different.
But while I’ve been inactive, I’ve felt that I haven’t been me. I thought I was going mad. Franz Kafka wrote, “A writer who doesn’t write is, admittedly, a monster asking for insanity.” Writing, for me, is therapy. Any kind of writing. God, how I miss writing letters to friends and family. It’s all texts and emails nowadays.
But I digress. I am angry at myself for letting things get to this point. I know we’re allowed to be unwell. At some point we’re allowed to indulge in a little bit of “poor me” thinking, too. The trick is to see it for what it is – and get the hell over it. You see what I’m saying here? Writers write, okay?
If you don’t, you’re a fraud. End of story.
In sixteen days’ time, NaNoWriMo kicks off. The thirty days of madness, loved and hated in equal measure by all who’ve taken part in it, is once again upon us. And you know what? I’m going to have another go. Last year I gave up after 13,000 words. Lethargy kicked in and I let it get the better of me. To this day I still get people asking me what happened to the rest of the story. To them I say, I will finish it – but not just yet.
This time around I want to try something new. A friend suggested an outline to me and I liked it so much I decided to take it and throw a different spin on it. For the first time in this writer’s short career, I will attempt to write a comedy adventure. The title of the story is Bucktooth, and if I have my way (and if I do my job properly) it will be a rib-tickling roller-coaster of a ride that homages, of all things, The Blues Brothers and James Bond.
I have a plan, an outline, a list of characters, and a reason to start enjoying my talent again (yes, I believe I have one). 50,000 words over 30 days sounds like a lot, but if I break it down into three sessions (morning, afternoon and evening, 566 words a session), it is more than doable.
Not anyone can do it, but any writer worth his or her salt is duty bound to give it their all. I will, you can bet your life on that.