Madness? Maybe.

I am about to undertake something insane. And I need your help.

See, I’m going to write a novel in a month. March, in fact.

No, really.

The other day I was bemoaning for the 1,427,318th time that, while I call myself a writer, I do not actually write. This maddening contradiction has dogged me for years, and as is my usual procedure when I’m feeling particularly down about it, I went in search of something vaguely connected to writing that I could engage in. The important thing about these activities is that under no circumstances should they actually require me to write anything. If I can find a book to read about writing, or one that features someone else’s very good writing, that’s ideal. Finding good soundtrack albums of inspirational music for writing, buying special pens and journals for recording notes, or even engaging in writing preparation activities are all good.

On this track, I found a couple of books that seemed to speak to me where I live. One was Ralph Keyes’ The Courage to Write: How Writers Transcend Fear. This book discusses what keeps people from writing or publishing and the often subconscious fears that destroy our efforts before we’ve even begun. Once I read the following quote—“The trail of literary history is littered with those who fell along the way because the anxiety of trying to write paralyzed their hand. Many nonwriting writers are gifted. The best writers I know teach school and sell real estate. Some still plan to write ‘someday.’ Others have given up altogether. Their block lies not with their ability or skill but with their nerve.”—I knew this book had me in mind. Pastor Dave’s sermon on Sunday about fear of failure and how it paralyzes us only confirmed that there was A Message being hammered into my brain this week (as Devin put it, I was being “bombarded at home”). See? Sometimes reading books actually does help—just not to the exclusion of actual writing.

Because I had also been complaining that I had an easy time with characters and histories but more difficulty with plots, I picked up a second book titled No Plot? No Problem!. Normally this kind of title—which suggests some kind of formula for resolving writing difficulties—would make me toss the thing back on the shelf immediately. The subtitle—A Low-Stress, High-Velocity Guide to Writing a Novel in 30 Days—would have made the book’s prospects even bleaker. But I picked it up and checked it out anyway.

I’m rather glad I did. The author, Chris Baty, is the founder of National Novel Writing Month (fondly, NaNoWriMo), which I had vaguely heard of. Stemming from a strange notion he had in the wild dot-com days of 1999, Baty decided that rather than plot, characters, setting, or skill, what a writer really needed was a solid deadline to produce his work. Since the first draft of a novel is generally bad (as conceded by almost all working writers), he figured there was no reason to tie yourself up in knots over it. Our busy lives, our fears, and our desire to see our first work perfectly realized turns writers into “one day” novelists: “As in, ‘One day, I’d really like to write a novel.’ The problem is that that day never seems to come, and so we’re stuck.” Baty suggests that the one-month deadline produces amazing results, and his witty and entertaining tone convinced me. Once he stated, “A deadline is, simply put, optimism in its most ass-kicking form,” I was sold.

Technically, NaNoWriMo is an event held in November (during which writer's groups form and their website tracks progress; in 2004, they had 42,000 participants and "just shy" of 6,000 successes), but the book is essentially a guide for doing the work on your own during any month. Having had years of preparation, I figure my best chance of actually doing this is just to jump in and do it—otherwise too much time might pass and I might chicken out on the whole process. The goal is quantity, not quality--quality comes later.

Baty stresses the importance of public knowledge of this pledge, in order, as he says, to transform friends and loved ones into “effective agents of guilt and terror.” The idea is that the more I brag about the fact that I will accomplish this goal, the more likely I am to stick with it for fear of the consequences. In this effort, the suggestion is that I let as many humans as possible know of my intentions that they may shame me into the work. We all know I react quite well to shame.

The basic outline calls for the writing of 50,000 words in 30 days. That’s about 1,700 words per day (though I may not write every day; the book suggests taking a day or two off from time to time so you don’t become maddened beyond the reach of redemption). Though that’s only a short novel (don’t you dare call it a novella), it’ll be by far the most work I’ve put out for any project, ever. Even the chapters of my Russian dwarf novel for my graduate thesis were not that long, and it was a disjointed collection of vignettes in a very large font.

So my first call is for you guys to keep me accountable. I know that in some endeavors (such as this blog…) the whole “public accountability” thing has not done the job. I mostly blame that on you—you are far too kind and understanding. I won’t be posting my writing here, both because it may not be ready for public consumption and because I’m not giving it away, but I will pop on each day to let you know if I’ve made that day’s quota. The more comments, taunting, encouragement, and poking me with sticks I can get, the better. Even just letting me know here at the beginning if you’ll be able to participate would help me out.

I’ll even give you a topic. Not only does the project demand public knowledge, it also requires consequences besides me attempting to live down a monumental failure for the rest of my life. Baty makes many suggestions about punishments for incomplete work and rewards for success, but the most applicable for those of us far-flung from one another is what he calls “chore-based betting.” Essentially, I am stating here that I will take on any bizarre and outlandish activity you proscribe as a consequence should I fail. I should state that whatever action you demand should not be life-threatening, harm my family, or cause my bankruptcy, but I trust you will think up punishments more humiliating and difficult than dangerous. If you have any irksome jobs you dislike that can be done long-distance, I’ll take them on.

My second call is for anyone willing to join me. Who amongst you is brave enough to put his or her reputation and sanity on the line to try this out? That is, anyone who particularly wants to write a novel. I know some of you are out there, and the book avers that having others to work and check in with, spurring friendly competition and true empathy rather than just sympathy, can be a lifesaver. Baty also states that having an empty schedule is unimportant—in fact, it may be detrimental, and that the busier you are, the more likely you are to turn to the writing as a release rather than a chore. If you’re interested I’d be delighted to have company (though I very strongly suggest getting the book and/or checking out the NaNoWriMo website). If you can’t make it for March, perhaps we can plan on working together in November (which, if this is successful, I’d like to try as well).

So there you go. I feel vulnerable and kind of crazy just for posting this, but what else can I do? Pastor Dave, among others, defined failure not as running into obstacles during the progress of an action, but not even making the attempt. That’s been me for far too long. I throw myself on God’s providence and trust in Him to bring this about if it’s to be. This isn’t exactly a fleece thrown out there for proof, but an attempt on my part to make a move and see if it’s the right one. Beth once advised me that for God to put the wind in your sails, it’s helpful to actually have them unfurled.

I’m all at sea now. The ship is under weigh.