So it turns out I can write 50,000 words in a month. In the end, it wasn't my best month hygienically-speaking, but novel-writing-wise, I kicked some serious word count arse. The strange thing is that a year ago, I didn't even know I wanted to be a novelist and here I am 12 months and one-and-a-half books later wondering what I used to do with all the free time my brain used to have. At the very least, my hair was probably a lot cleaner.I think the way I write probably defeats the purpose of National Novel Writing Month, the goal of which is to write with "literary abandon." Three times I attended local write-ins and was utterly shocked to see how fast my fellow writers were slamming out word count. 1300 words in a half hour? NOT ON MY BEST DAY. I am definitely a slow-and-steady-wins-the-race type and never once missed my daily deadline of 1,666 words. I also hate to admit it, but I was CONSTANTLY editing what I'd written, which is pretty much against nanowrimo rules. But the end result is roughly half a manuscript that I'll some day be very proud of (after many, MANY revisions).
I realize I stopped sharing it here two weeks ago, but that was mostly because anything I shared after that point would've A) given my plot away (and why read a book if you already know what happens?) and/or B) been way too juicy for ye olde blog. But I'll leave you with a tiny taste of my protagonist, Leah, and a scene that takes place after her brother (Adam) finds her and her new beau (Colin) in their underpants:
“So I’m rattling yer sister’s kidneys, what do you care?” Colin asked. “Just let it be.”
“She’s our SISTER, Colin.” Adam pinched his face in disgust.“She’s not MY sister,” Colin insisted.
I was just trying to keep my mouth shut so I wouldn’t say anything I’d regret, but host-sister and SISTER-sister were not even remotely the same thing.
“And if you have it of mind to let your father in on our little secret, then I can think of a few skeletons ye might not like to have jumping out of your own closet, aye? The first skeleton I remember went by the name of Guillermo and used to mow your parent’s grass each week on Tuesdays.”I pursed my lips to stop myself from laughing out loud. It didn’t help.
“Guillermo? That old guy with the neon sunglasses? God, Adam, I thought you had higher standards.”“You’re one to talk, Lee,” he said, nudging his head in Colin’s direction. “Look what you dragged home.”
“Will you two just punch each other and get it over with so I can go back to watching Russell Crowe?” I plopped myself down in the middle of the couch and turned Gladiator back on. I was still too exhausted to keep myself upright for more than five minutes at a time.
“I don’t hit girls,” Colin said. He sat down next to me and crossed his feet on top of the coffee table.“Mmm! Did you say Russell Crowe?” Adam's eyes flitted to the TV screen. He sat down on my opposite flank and I shot him a look that said I’d kill him if he spoke another word. Fortunately, for his sake and mine, he didn’t.