I like to win. Too much. Enough that I often forgo new experiences to avoid failing. In November, I faced that flaw head-on, by challenging myself to participate in National Novel Writing Month.
To write 50,000 words in the span of 30 ordinary days would be difficult enough, but I’m also preparing for next year’s Las Vegas Writers Conference. My mother had emergency spinal surgery this month at a hospital thirty minutes away (in good traffic). And I’m juggling to arrange a workshop on a divisive topic for next February, the challenges of which prove its necessity. Top those with reading goals, essential auditions, and characters from my first story screaming from their neglect. When and where did I suppose I’d complete a new novel amidst all of that? How did I expect to win?
Truth is, I didn’t. But, I tried anyway.
In a perfect world, I would have finished the first draft in November, then spent December revising for January critique groups. By April, the novel would be polished and ready to pitch and, since we’re dreaming here, one of the amazing faculty agents would snatch it up!
I did not live this fantasy. Instead, I trekked back and forth to the west side of town and chatted with my mother in her rehab room for hours. I extinguished conference fires and reinforced foundations for next year. For my planned workshop, I researched, corresponded, and made personal visits when an email wouldn’t do. And in between, I scribbled thoughts on paper, typed notes in email drafts, developed scenes using talk-to-text while driving, and occasionally, holed myself up in my office, clacking computer keys to the yowling protests of neglected cats. On top of those precious moments, at the end of most days, rather than indulge in a much-needed slumber, I’d curl in bed with my phone after a shower poured more ideas than water.
In those truly stolen moments, I didn’t complete my novel. I didn’t come close. But I did reach 20,000 words toward my goal. That’s progress in the right direction, more than if I had not attempted the feat. What’s more, many of my collected notes didn’t make it into my final NaNoWriMo count because I had not yet reached those scenes. When I get back to drafting, they’ll provide a cache of ideas for fleshing out the story.
I may have lost the NaNoWriMo challenge, but I overcame my fear and managed to fail forward. Rather than mourn over my misstep, I’ll claim victory for a good start.
Do you have experience with NaNoWriMo or failing forward? Tell me about it in the comments.
Hey Tonya-
As usual your eloquent and elegant writing has moved me, I have failed forward three times on three different fronts this year- by the way I love “failed forward” it is quite accurate. I failed forward with my book, which is one year old this month and has gone through three iterations- after print and release. I failed forward teaching English, first via online then offline via financial complications. I failed forward launching my Writing Coach practice by endeavoring to be a lone wolf-sometimes you need to run along side a pack. You and I have the pleasure to live damn interesting lives because we embrace the meaning and lessons behind failing forward.
Radiating good vibes your way- Valerie