Love NaNoWriMo

This is Why I Love You, Writer

Even though there’s still four whole days left of NaNoWriMo, this is the last Friday. And on Fridays I write about love, so this is my last chance to tell you why I love you.

I do. I don’t care if you’re 20 words or 65,354 words into your NaNoWriMo journey right now. I frikkin’ love you, because you thought – at some point – that this was a neat idea.

Somewhere along the line you said Hey. You know, I bet it would be neat if I wrote 50,000 words in a month.

You may have completely overestimated your ability to do that. You may have completely underestimated it. You may still be right in the middle of it, thinking there’s no way I’ll be able to write 20,000 more words in four days. (by the way, that’s totally doable. Hard, but totally doable.).

I don’t care about that. I just love that somewhere inside of you was the desire to do it. And here’s why: in this world – especially lately, it seems – a lot of people seem to be choosing the destructive path. They go ahead and make that obnoxious comment online. They let scarcity – the fear of not having enough – govern their reactions to others in need. They sometimes even take arms against others. Buddha says to cultivate compassion towards these people, but sometimes I find that pretty hard.

Then there are the vast majority of people who simply do nothing new. There’s nothing wrong with that; stability can be a good thing, and if someone is happy with their routine – be it exercise, TV, gaming, whatever – that’s cool. I have nothing against that idea. I usually manage that “compassion” thing pretty easily – when I’m not indulging in “envy” when my own work becomes too busy.

But you, writer, I love.

You decided to create something new. You decided to become a conduit for the Muse. You took the words out of your head and put them out there for…whoever. It doesn’t matter. They exist. You chose the Artist’s Way, letting yourself be vulnerable to self-doubt, procrastination, distraction, and even that horrible monster The Critic, whose most vicious incarnation you can never escape because it lives in your head.

On November 1 you were brave. You chose this act, the act of writing, and you’ve spent a month with that idea. I can write. I can become an author.

You were right, on both counts. I just wanted to let you know, during the last three days of this challenging month:

I love you.

 

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