Novels Are For Reading, Not For Writing

In some circles (and by “some circles,” I mean “Loserville”), many aspiring writers use the month of November as an impetus to write a novel. This group  has declared the month of November “National Novel Writing Month” (Christ, saying that makes me want to punch myself in the mouth), or its oddly uncreative moniker, “NaNoWriMo”.

This nickname is stupid. It reflects the sheer laziness of today’s nicknamers. Taking the first few letters of each word in the name, then combining them to make an awkward mouthful? I expect terrible, lazy nicknames from sportswriters and celebrity journalists (for example, A-Rod and J-Lo, respectively). Come on. You people are supposed to be aspiring novelists, part of the creative class, full of ideas! Surely you can think of something better than “NaNoWriMo”. Christ, typing it makes me want to punch myself in the fingers. I don’t go around calling myself “EvSer”. Not yet, anyway.

What name do I suggest? I can’t say. I’m a blogger, dammit, not a novelist. And you’ve seen my output on this thing over the last couple months. I’ve treated Blog! like a deadbeat dad treats his kids. If I can’t bring myself to write 500-700 words every few days or so, what makes you think I’m going to crank out 50,000 words in 30 days?

But wait a minute. I’ve been in a writing/creative slump for the past few months. Maybe this NaNoWriMo thing is exactly what I need to get back on track! Alright, nerds, I’m in!

Now to think about my novel. I want to think about my protagonist first. He or she…no, it’s going to be a he. He is going to be a total badass, doing badass stuff, badassily. I can totally get into this character, and everyone else will too. My protagonist will only be doing badass things, like not writing a novel in a month. He is also a multi-billionaire ninja detective who fights crime similarly to Batman but is definitely not Batman, not in the least. But maybe that’s a little too extreme for the first novel. I have to hold some of the good stuff back for the second novel.

Let’s just start writing. The plot and characters will come as my fingers move across the keyboard. Let’s begin:

“It was a dark and stormy night.”

Wait, don’t write that. That’s such a hackneyed, cliché thing to write. That’s how the worst writers always start. You’re not like that. You’re a winner. You’re a winning writer. You’re Hunter S. Thompson, William Gibson, Chuck Palahniuk, and Jack Kerouac combined in one beautiful, terrible wordsmithing package. You don’t start off novels like that. You must–no, the only thing you’re capable of–is making the opening line of your novel the most mind-blowing sentence that anyone has ever read in the history of reading. Go on, Evan. Make it happen.

“It was a black and blustery evening.”

Hell yes. Now we’re getting somewhere.

Phew, all of the brilliance pouring forth from my giant brain on to the typewritten page is making me tired, but I think this is a good start. How many words was that? WHAT? ONLY SEVEN? I have to think of 49,993 more of those things? Eff that noise. Novels are for reading, not for writing. Get a life, dorks.

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