If you didn’t know the world is halfway through National Novel Writing Month. There are over 303,000 novelists registered on the site. The site gives you the ability to connect with other writers and get “pep talks,” which I hope would include Brian Cox from “Adaptation” screaming at the top of his lungs to tell you how fucking stupid you are. According to the Wikipage “by 2010 over 200,000 people signed up and 2,872,682,109 words were written.”
It would be easy to deride the project, for the last thing the world needs are more shitty novelists. For as Flannery O’Connor famously quipped, “Everywhere I go I’m asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don’t stifle enough of them. There’s many a best-seller that could have been prevented by a good teacher.”
I thought of Novel Writing Month the other day when I finished writing my second book. It ended up 45,000-words in length, which was my goal. It is my second finished novel, though I will say this is where the fun begins. I can’t speak for my fellow writers on the NNWM site—and they are all writers in my eyes—but the rewriting process is the easy part, the part where adding and subtracting separates, as it were, the writers from the hacks.