Those excuses were put to rest this year and I decided to try, at least. Once I started, I realized just how much fun this would be.
For those of you who don't know, in NanoWrimo, you try to write 50,00 words in 30 days. In November. It's a genius idea and it really motivates you to let go and just write.
As I shared in my last post, I'm a perfectionist when it comes to writing. Or...about anything. Except cleaning my room. But during Nano, I've learned to shut off the internal editor, and not think about how lame that blurb of dialogue was, or how many times I used the word "look" in a paragraph. (My record is 5. In 6 sentences. Very, very sad, but I have learned not to care while writing a rough draft.)
It's a challenge. Here are my stats:
|I know today's is low, but I haven't started writing yet today :P|
Against my better judgement, here's a snippet from my writing. Not the best, but hey, it is a rough draft.
I'd have to conform to their standards. I'd have to pretend to admire the ways they treat normal citizens.
A group of soldiers walk down the street, pushing people out of their way and shooting anyone who objected. It doesn’t surprise me. I've seen it my entire life. Those men, foolishly drawn in by the idea of glory and riches, think that they are better than anyone and everyone.
I'm taken off the train and escorted through the chaotic streets. The military men “protecting” me, from what I do not know, are shoving people away, since I must be so important. It makes me sick.
A mother drops her bags of hard-earned food as they shove her aside, and she doesn’t move, but bends down to pick them up. They yell at her, but she doesn’t run off, as most would. While holding her young child’s hand, she tries frantically to scoop up her groceries. She can't afford to leave them. Finally, one of the men kicks her to the ground and shoots her in the head, right in front of her little boy.
My hands clench into fists and I look over my shoulder at her, my face contorted in an expression of horror and outrage. Her child is screaming, calling his mother’s name. They murdered her, in cold blood, simply because she stopped to pick up fallen groceries. What has the world come to?
It's a Dystopian story, currently untitled, but I'm hoping a title will present itself to me during the writing process :)
Oh, and to anyone also doing NanoWrimo, good luck and have fun!