Volume 5, Number 46  Monday, December 6, 2004

Prince Valiant

Maybe I got cocky.

Maybe I figured, "Hey, I've been a winner two years running -- I should be a winner this time too, no problem." If that's what I was figuring -- and if I was figuring that, it was a subconscious figuration, but in retrospect I think I figured it nonetheless -- I figured wrong.

Friends, readers, relatives, today I stand before you like a deposed college football coach at his final press conference and say to you that I failed. While I may have enjoyed success in previous campaigns, this year my team vastly underperformed. We showed flashes of brilliance at times, undoubtedly, but to win at this level, you've got to be consistent. There simply is no reason this team shouldn't be bowl eligible, yet here we are on the third of December, and the fact is, we are not bowl eligible. As the coach, I take full responsibility for this failure.

If you haven't figured it out by now, we are not NaNoWriMo winners in 2004.

Oh, sure, it was a valiant effort. After all, we (and when I say we, I mean the royal 'we,' of course, which means me, but I know you were there with me in spirit, and some of you even contributed ideas, disturbing though some of them may have been) still wrote north of 30,000 words in those 30 days -- 31,688 to be exact, in 24 chapters over 75 pages -- which is a good month by almost any standard. But the problem is, it's not a good month by November standards. At least, not good enough.

Looking back now, November seemed to go on forever, didn't it? Remember that whole election deal, way back on November 2nd? Doesn't that seem like about three years ago now? Well, I double checked the calendar, and it wasn't -- it was just 31 days ago.

Now, I don't know where you were this month -- maybe you were in Miami, livin' la vida loca beachside by day and getting blind drunk and hooking up with total strangers by night (and we know who you sick puppies are -- you have the tans to show for it) -- but where I was, in St. Louis and Philadelphia, it was one dreary, wet, depressing day after another. The best weather I experienced the whole month was the weekend I spent in Minneapolis, and when Minnesota in November is the best you can do, you know you've had a rough month. Seemed like no matter where I was, it rained like it was April, and thanks to the end of Daylight Savings Time, it was dark like it was December. Except in Minneapolis, of course. There it was just cold.

But no matter how uninspiring a month it may have been, let's be honest -- these are just excuses. And when you get an encouraging email that final day of the month that urges you "to push once more" because "we're all counting on you;" when you get voice mails the day after the last day from friends who are eager to congratulate you and find out how the novel went and you're just glad you missed the call because you wouldn't have to share the bad news, well, those excuses count for very little. In fact, they make you feel pretty lame for even thinking about them.

But then you get an email from Chris Baty, the founder of NaNoWriMo, who tells you what a great month it's been, and reminds you that "There's a tremendous payoff in getting in over our heads. In spending thirty days sleeping too little and writing too much, and watching, delighted, as our imaginations haul their weird and wonderful treasures into the bright light of day."

And you know that he's right, because you know your imagination definitely did haul some awfully weird and strangely wonderful stuff into the bright light of day -- like a Hasselhoffian Krautrock band named 6-Legged Mark Twain MethLab, for example. Or a revolution-inspiring artist with a predilection for American impressionists whose canvases are the dirty trailers of 18-wheelers. Or the very notion of soy bombs -- Weapons of Moderate Destruction -- blowing up all the self-serve car washes in Mexico, Missouri. You just don't make that sort of stuff up in a normal month. You make that sort of stuff up when you're trying to write a 50,000-word novel in a month.

And you know what? "It's a heroic endeavor whether you ended up writing 10,000 or 100,000 words," Chris said, "and I hope that everyone, regardless of final word-count, realizes what a brave and inspiring thing they've accomplished this month."

Well, reading that made me feel much better right there.

And so did the sunshine. The last few days of November, at least here in St. Louis, were downright poopy. It was dark, cold and wet, and I didn't want to get out of bed, let alone write a novel. And when I finally consolidated everything and tallied my word count on the morning of the 30th to prepare for my final push (I had been writing the three different plot lines in separate documents, hoping that I could trick myself into increased word production that way), I saw that I'd barely cracked 30,000, and got depressed. If I had absolutely nothing else to do that day, maybe I could've knocked out 20K in a day, but sadly, my schedule was packed, and I couldn't play hooky all day long. In other words, I knew it wasn't happening. I spent most of Tuesday hoping nobody would ask me about the novel.

But Wednesday morning, a new month began, and almost as if the stratosphere was delivering a message, it was sunny and clear and brisk, and after a month of dreariness, suddenly promise was in the air. I didn't feel quite so much like a failure. I started to believe in myself again.

Several times throughout November, as I struggled to find the time, energy and mental focus to just sit down and write, I decided that 2004 would be my final NaNoWriMo, at least for a while. I felt burnt out, tired and exhausted and unsure whether I still had the motivation anymore. I wanted to know how this goofy story ended, but I wasn't sure I had what it took to be the one to figure it out. I kept hoping small gnomes would hop up onto my keyboard and work out some of the more confusing, convoluted aspects of the plot while I slept.

This did not happen.

But as I basked in the sun Wednesday, I realized maybe there was a future for me as a speed novelist. I realized that I already had an idea for the next one -- Mexico, 65265, as you may recall -- but that even more than that, I craved redemption. I wanted one more opportunity to prove myself. And then I started thinking up plot twists.

I know NaNo 2005 is still 11 months away, and maybe I'll regain my sanity by then. But in the meantime, I'll work on finishing this novel, even though the month is over. Because I really want to know who's going to headline the Children of the Soy Music Festival. I mean, don't you?

Now, before I leave you this week, I'm going to share a few other tidbits, in no particular order:

Every year, the good people at NaNoWriMo ask for donations to keep the whole ludicrous operation running, as they have no advertisers or entry fees. Thanks to the contributions they've received so far, they've paid off their 2004 expenses and set aside funds to improve things for next year.

But also, they've raised over $6,500 for their Cambodian Libraries program. As Chris explains, "Through this partnership with Room to Read, I had originally hoped to gather enough money to establish one or two libraries for kids in Cambodian villages. We've now raised enough to fund three libraries, and we're halfway to a fourth. Ka-pow! Take that, realistic accountants of the world!"

Though it's caused me some pain, NaNo has caused me mostly joy, so as in previous years, I gave a few bucks to the cause. If you'd like to, too, just click here.

My brother, inspired by the notion of writing a novel in a month but not having particular novelistic aspirations, took on a challenge of his own that fit better with his particular artistic preferences -- to record 30 songs in 30 days. And, I'm happy to report that he succeeded, recording 21 original songs and 9 covers, including Neil Diamond's "Solitary Man." He doesn't have any of the songs up on his website (which you should check out, just on principle, here) at the moment, but maybe if you go there and pressure him, he'll post a few. By the way, don't be confused -- my brother's artist persona calls itself Fishstick.

In other good news that's a follow up to sad news from the last column, two Mexico, Missouri, teenagers were arrested and charged with the robbery and murder of Gus Karellas, the owner of the G & D Steakhouse. They were taken into custody and are being held without bond at the Audrain County Jail (that's where Emo's locked up, too). For the full story, click here.

Speaking of the novel, and Emo, it would take too long to try to explain all that's happened since I last updated you, and unfortunately, I can't tell you how it all works out, either. At least not yet. But if you'd like to read the 30,000-plus words I did write, they're all up on the site here.

And lastly, some words of gratitude. Thanks again to all those who contributed to the novel. Your ideas and suggestions were alternately inspiring and frightening. Here's that illustrious list:

Susan Banashek, Dorothy Gregg, Katy Homar, Ben Kaplan, Rachel Keech, Steve Jones, Valerie Lasko, Nicole Leapley, Braden Levit, Lance Moen, Gary O'Brien, Scott Ratinoff, Frank Sanders, Brian Schultz, David Skiba, Kyle Wagner, Conrad Warmbold, Bill Watson.

And thanks to all of you, dear readers, for indulging me this month. You're all beautiful people.

(1,710 words. Too bad I can't save them for next year . . .)