NaNoNoMo
Posted on November 30th, 2024 in braindump
Hands up, who “won” NaNoWriMo this year? Heehee. Oh, I’m sorry, I just love this joke, so much – and I’ll be honest with you, I didn’t actually get that it was a joke until a couple of years back. Seriously, I was one of those people who cringed and tsked every time someone posted their exciting wordcount, and I was quick to list the unhealthy habits and ideals the “competition” encouraged. And then one day I actually took a look at the site, and it is dripping with so much delicious irony that I finally caught on.
It is just not often that you see a work of satire so brilliantly crafted, and so delicately balanced that an audience continues to participate in the joke year after year after year.
Some of you think I’m being sarcastic, but I’m really not. You don’t even have to take my word for it. Here, I’ll cut and paste directly from the NaNo site.
Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over painstaking craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved.
So. Delicious. And since the post-modernists aren’t usually self-aware enough to pull off a statement of intent like that, I realized I had to be looking at the sly wink of a cunning trickster. Or, rather, tricksterS, as I’d soon find out.
It took about a year of asking the right questions and proving my trustworthiness (hah!) through complicated trading games and moonlit ritualistic sacrifices to get to the origins of NaNo. Which is silly, because all I probably needed to do was ask one of my friends – but I really can’t deny my fondness for the occasional complicated ritual sacrifice. What I’m about to reveal to you will very likely get me a stern talking-to by hooded assassins, but I assure you, it’s worth it.
The truth must out.
You see, back in 1998, the internet was a wild-wild-West of untamed AOL accounts and blinking Geocities pages. A handful of professional writers had made their way online, thinking perhaps this new land of connectivity would serve them well for networking, but those foolish enough to have left their email addresses public soon found themselves inundated by misspelled and confusing mails from fans and mental patients alike. The common threads running through many of the more whining or angry letters were some variation of the following: “I want to write novels. Will you read my novel? I should be writing novels instead of you but I don’t have the time that you do because I am very busy. I hated your last novel and I would have written a much better one if they’d paid me what they paid you. Novels are just words, and I can make words, so how come you’re famous and I’m working at a gas-station outside Alameda?”
That last may sound a bit specific, but there really were a lot of gas stations outside Alameda in ‘98.
Anyway, it was weird and more than a little creepy, you know? These were folks that were used to death-threats when they slowed between volumes, but this was an entirely new sort of entitled crazy. The authors asked their friends in the medical and machining professions if they were getting the same sorts of whines and sniffles: were people saying they’d be great doctors if they only had the time but they were stuck instead with a useless degree in advance basket-weaving? But no – it seemed to be a writing-specific phenomenon.
And something needed to be done.
Here the history gets a little hazy – I’m uncertain if the first NaNoWriMo (allegedly held in the summer of 1999 in the Bay Area) is a bit of invented history to add to the perceived authenticity of the hoax, or if the shady shadowy cabal of those early internet pioneer writers (if you’ve assumed they were mostly SF writers, then you’ve got good instincts, because those guys are pretty mean) just rightly assumed that the Bay Area was going to drive internet memesites for the next decade, and talked some poor suckers into beta-testing the joke. All I know is that the premise of the confidence game was simple and brilliant, with a fantastic payout: If all the folks that would be sending them annoying emails were otherwise occupied writing miles and miles of absolute crap in an invented competition with no cash reward, that’d be a month of peace and quiet for the real writers to get some work done.
And it worked better than they could have dreamed.
As LiveJournal rose in popularity, the folks with a whole lot of nothing to say quickly circled their wagons and word of the competition spread like frontier herpes. Soon there were entire easily-avoidable communities of folks exchanging tips and tricks to make it through the month of pointless distraction. And as more pro writers found their way online, they were quietly briefed on the con so that they could endorse the month and further the con with a cheerful “Good Luck, Everyone!” before settling into their own month of relative peace. Of course, there was the tiny unforeseen side-effect of a few annoying word-count widgets and twitters, but those are easily blocked and forgotten.
But it gets better, as all the best jokes do: Although the original intent was simply a stealth-variation of the classic “if you think you’re so clever, then you give it a try. Test your strength, win your girl a bear!”— well, it turns out that the crippling defeat of failing to spew out 50K in a month causes some people to be so embarrassed that they actually stop talking about wanting to be a writer until the next October! And even some of the “winners” are so caught up in attempting to edit what essentially comes down to a brick of Lorem Ipsum that they’re out of the blog and email circuit for months, too.
It truly has become a gift horse that keeps on giving.
But, look. I’ve been so on about creativity and Making Things that I cannot, in good conscience, fail to at least give you the chance to right your course. And I haaaaate that, because NaNo is so funny, and I’d really rather just keep laughing at… sigh. No, I’ve got to stick to my intent, here. Stupid intent. You’d better be worth it.
So, okay, fine, you’ve been had by (perhaps the greatest, at least for November) bit of farce on the net. And now you’ve got fifty words, or 50K, of absolute crap — and you’re either feeling completely dejected because it sounded so easy to finish, or completely overwhelmed because you did finish… but it doesn’t look so much like a novel and you’re afraid that means there’s going to be even more work and no one said anything about any more work. But, really, it’s all going to be all right. I mean, first off, you gave me a good laugh, and that’s a worthy result right there.
But, ahem, right, helpful: you did, at least, crack open that word-processing program and start something. And whether you got 50K words in or fifty, you did have An Idea, right? That’s good. We’ve talked about this: that’s your start. However far you got, the simplest way to finish (and, again, really, those of you with 50K are a waaaays away from finished. Seriously. Is that middle section even a real language? Or were you so hopped up on sleep dep and caffeine at that point that you were just smacking keys with your face? Yeah, thought so), the only way to finish, in fact, is not to stop now that November is (almost) over.
Oh my god, I know, but you’ve just got to keep going.
Yes, even with the holidays coming up. Oh, I know it’s impossible to find spare time in December, but you’re just going to have to do it anyway. If you can’t or won’t, or if you think I just made all this up, then you’re a hilarious example that proves their and my point. Because guess what writers do? They write. Every day. Even on national holidays. And when they finish writing one thing, they start on the next, or they’re already halfway into it. And then they write some more. If you do that, and only if you do that, then you’ll get there too,
And it’s not as glamorous as it sounds, and it doesn’t sound very glamorous, no. But if it’s what you are, then you already know you haven’t got a choice in the matter.
But again, you know, I’m sure you’re right if you think this has all been a work of fiction. Absolutely. I’ll see you next year when you start NaNoWriMo 2024.
(Hahaha.)
Not entirely related, but speaking of long-running-or-soon-to-be jokes on the internet: Warren’s and my TOTW just went live. And, oh, this week’s made me grin. Go take a look.