I’m doing National Novel Writing Month this year. Participants are supposed to write every day for the purpose of producing a novel by November 30th. I wasn’t at all sure I could write every day for thirty days. I’ve written in more than one blog post about how I think I let things keep me from writing. And a few years ago, I wrote a post titled NaNoWriMo….Nope. In it I talked about some of the frustrations in writing my first novel. (I’m still in revisions on that work.) So I went into the challenge with apprehension. Surprisingly, there’s only one day left after today and I’m still at it! I’ve succeeded in writing every day this month which is huge for me. I’ve managed to write two other blog posts as well!

I’m working on what might or might not end up as a novel. The goal as set out on the NaNoWriMo website is 50k words by the end of the month. I’ll probably end with just over 35k. That doesn’t matter. For me, this challenge is an exercise in process not product.  Its’ been a deeper exploration of the issues I face as a writer that I discussed in the first blog post. So, here’s what I’ve learned since November 1st:

• I’m a good writer. (That’s incredibly difficult for me to write. Lol.)
• I use my family as an excuse for not writing.
• Discipline takes practice. It isn’t an innate ability.
• Practice makes me better at using adverbs, commas and quotation marks.
• There are three themes that run through most of my fictional pieces. The roots of the themes stem from my unresolved difficulties . I heard screenwriter and actress Lena Waithe say the other day that she learned she has emotional wounds that haven’t healed but that she can fly anyway. This challenge has shown me that I feel the same.

I’m going to get back to writing my story now. It’s late in the day and I haven’t worked on it yet. I’ve proven to myself that I don’t have to worry. I’ll get it done. Here’s a little piece of the tale in case you’re curious:

Elaine and Darricka live within walking distance of Elsie, Danny and Margaret. It’s pretty safe for a twelve-year-old girl to walk the four blocks between the homes. The town is small. Elsie told Margaret that she and Elaine had picked the place because it is small, and it sits right between two larger towns that are much more crowded. The whole area is small relative to the city across the bay. Margaret wishes she could visit the city sometime. But she can’t think about that right now. She rounds the corner of Rose Hill Ave., her Auntie’s street. The house is on the actual hill. It’s a small one that Margaret treads up with little trouble. There’s a better view than from her house. She stops for a moment to look out over the trees and houses below. It’s pretty, she thinks. This town doesn’t feel like home though. Margaret can’t look out on this view and point to any connecting experiences she’s had with it. She can’t point out the hospital she was born in. That’s in a different state. She can’t look out and see the church she was christened in. That’s in a different town. The only family she has nearby are her auntie and cousin. There’re no graves of ancestors anywhere near here. Margaret has no idea where those graves are. She shrugs and turns into the walkway leading up to the only house that’s familiar to her in the town.