You read that right. I’m actually writing a novel. We’re a little over 1,200 words in. The goal is to have 50,000 words by the end of November, as part of the challenge from NaNoWriMo. Beyond the challenge, but I have no delusions of grandeur, y’all. I won’t finish. But I’m headed in that direction. All those italics mean 1) I love italics; 2) I’m super excited; and 3) finishing by the end of November isn’t necessarily the goal.
More on Point 3. I’ve had the desire to write a novel since I was 13 years old, when, during one summer vacation, I began a novel about three girls who go on a road trip. I’ve had the desire to write a novel since I was 16 years old, when I began a novel fictionalizing the antics of two pretty memorable boys that were in a few of my classes in high school. I’ve had three solid novel ideas roaming around my head for a million years. You get my drift. The novel has always been the thing. But the novel always ended up on the back burner. Too busy, too in love with writing my short stories, too this and too that. In fact, it was almost like the novel was the pinnacle of my life as a writer, and I wasn’t quite ready to go there yet. Nevertheless, that was the past. We writin’ a novel!
Plot? Theme? What’s it all about, Alfie? I will remain quiet on all that. But I may post some chapters on here as I go. We’ll see. I will say that the whole “write what you know” adage is quite a concept when you actually do it. Sure, aspects of my life and my experience permeate my fiction (it’s all me, really, in some way), but this particular experience is different somehow. It’s almost more authentic, if that makes any sense.
Which one of you have written a novel? Tell me about the experience, please and thank you!