So, that’s it. 29 days. 50,127 words. I finished both NaNoWriMo and my novel on the subway last night, surrounded by people who could care less and who had no idea why I was taking a picture of my computer screen with my cell phone the moment I hit 50,000.
It was all very anticlimactic.
This is just the beginning, really. Now, I have some options:
- Start editing. I hit the end of the story, but most publishers will tell you that 50,000 words does not a novel make, so I have anywhere from 20,000 to 40,000 words to add before its something that could, potentially, in some weird, dream-like future, sell.
- Shelve it. I’m not so confident in the plot anyway. Never was. I didn’t really like the story I was writing right from about, oh, the 5th page. It seemed cliched and slow moving. So, maybe writing it was merely an exercise in submerging myself in written creativity again. And maybe it’s time to move on to December’s 50,000 words.
- Start over. With this book. Go back to the beginning. Jot down ideas, create character profiles, brainstorm for a couple weeks, pull out the important plot points and rearrange them, change them. Get a proper outline going, a proper idea. And then, rewrite it from scratch.
- Take a break. It’s good to step away from ones writing every so often, right? Perhaps I should just enjoy Christmas without putting pressure on myself to write. There are obvious problems with this option, but it’s a tempting one.
- Quit. Declare myself not a writer. Declare the magic gone. Declare whatever talent I thought I had as a child mistaken. Bury the words I’ve written. Never look at them again.