Last year at this time I was writing, clipping along at several hundred words a day, a thousand on a good one. NaNoWriMo! Sometimes it actually felt like I was writing a novel. I had a room up on the rim of the Grand Canyon for a week in there, and I would hike around and think about people I knew and then sit down and write.
Not much difference between thinking about these people I knew that actually existed, you know, friends, acquaintances and such, and these people I knew that didn’t exist, really, except in this thing that was growing somehow out of my keyboard.
It may seem strange. I don’t know about you, about what those interactions you have with other human beings that you would call a social life are, but look at it carefully, and maybe you’ll find that it is mostly in your head. Imagined. Well, if this is so, then it is not so much of a leap from there to interaction with humans that are like that in every way, except maybe you won’t find them in a phone book. This social life with the imagined, well, this is where novels come from.
So now you know. It is no longer a mystery to you, then, how to write a book. So go on, do it, what are you waiting for? Go over and sign on for National Novel Writing Month.
I expect that I will be posting chapters. Such as it is, my life will shatter completely were I to drop NaNoWriMo in the middle of it this year. So I will content myself with tinkering, polishing and smoothing, etching away the unnecessary this year. The sidebar will point to chapters as they come. Random order, rough cut.