ManicDDaily

Three days and very very few hours until November and Nanowrimo begin and I still haven’t spent a moment mapping out a plan.

Nanowrimo, as you may know, is National Novel Writing Month–a month in which any one of the writing persuasion is justified in caving in to all anti-social, anti-utilitarian, and Auntie-Mame tendencies in order to pound out a novel (or 50,000 words) in thirty days.

Technically, you are not supposed to put a word to paper (okay, screen) prior to 12:01 a.m. November 1.

Planning is allowed, however: outlines, mapping, character sketches, thinking.

(The deadline is self-imposed.  No would actually know if you cleverly converted outlines into written text… a week or so before November 1.)

But here I am.  Not planning anything yet, because, in my ManicDdaily way, I am grappling with personal and professional issues that feel in the instant like matters of crippling importance.  (In fact, it’s probably the feelings that are crippling, the matters less so.)

Enough said.  What do you do when you don’t have a plan for a novel and you really really want to write one anyway?

First of all, be honest.  You say you don’t have a plan, but is there nothing kicking around your cranial closet?  What about an old plan, discarded plan, some plan that seemed at one point impossible to you?

When you come up with that old plan–and seriously, just about everyone has one–think about whether you could commit to it for a month.  More importantly, could you have fun with it?

Don’t pass over a plan because you think it’s stupid or impossible, but only because you are genuinely not interested.  And even then, think twice.  (The novel loves narrative–it really is helpful to have an idea for one.)

If you can’t come up with a plan, you can always try just writing.  Start with a scene, a place, a person, a feeling, relatively random words set down upon the page.  (The human mind’s love of narrative is so strong that a story is likely to take over even when using this method.   Eventually.)

But take care.  This kind of writing (which the Nanowrimo staff calls writing “by the seat of your pants”) can feel emotionally satisfying at its inception (like therapy) but can sometimes bog down (like therapy), especially if it wanders too much into the territory of a roman a clef.

Which brings up another important point.   Whether you are a “pantser” or a planner, try to let go of the angst. There may be a nobility to enduring suffering, but few people want to read pages and pages of how you have endured yours.  Whining tends to be very hard to shape.

Besides, what fun is it avoiding the trials and tribulations of your personal life for a month if you’re going to spend your whole time writing about them?

(The lady doth protest too much, methinks.)