In short, NaNoWriMo is a writing competition that takes place in the month of November and if you complete a novel containing 50,000 words in 30 days you have the opportunity to win a money prize and recognition for your skill.
Immediately, my brain went to her favorite spot, a waterfall. Ideas and characters and plots and conflicts and settings came splashing down in blissful chaos and my brain began to swim under the falls and admire the beauty of the flow from the top of the cliff to the bottom of the river. My brain took plenty of pictures and I tried to place myself there, to collect the grace. My idea came quick, I cannot recall which image my brain hung up in her room, but it had a rainbow. That day, I skipped lunch and attempted to continue my outline during Social Studies, but it was still cloudy in the rest of the school. I would wake up before the sun did every morning and forced myself to write around a thousand words before I would have to drag myself into school. I would have my story opened in the background in every class that we used laptops in. I would stay up at night after all the birds went to sleep and the crickets started their symphony. I fell behind. By the middle of the month, I was only about half completed with my novel and I still would have to revise and edit and reread and revise and edit and reread and revise and edit and reread and I had to complete this goal. This milestone was like reaching the top of Mount Everest and feeling the wind cold against your face and your body is warm from the shock of how alluring the peace and solitude is.
Just under one thousand people have ever attempted the hike to the top of the world. In that thousand, only five hundred reach the top. I'm not an adventurer. I did not anticipate the hardships I would face before the picture-worthy view. 50,000 didn't seem too ambitious until I started my journey. Until I came to my first frozen slumber. Until my words became ice and my keyboard was the hand rasp shaping the white background into art. So many chapters melted.
YOU ARE READING
Ineffable
PuisiA book of poetry by an amateur who is trying to get back into writing novels like I used to. This story will never be completed because this holds the words I needed to get out and will always be my poetic diary. Ignore my annotations, I want this t...