Around this time last year in my quest to complete NaNoWriMo, I was not doing so well. My story kind of died around 25,000 words, and even with all the stuffing I could give it, it never went beyond 34,000 words. It was a disappointing experience, though I learned plenty from it.
Today, I passed 34,000 and have gone well beyond that as well. As I’ve mentioned before, this story has legs, and I think it might just be destined for greater things.
Yet, I cannot ignore that, even with the potential for success, the real goal of NaNoWriMo isn’t so much about putting 50,000 words to a page as it is about writing at all. My first abortive attempt in 2007, my goal-short attempt in 2009, and my likely successful attempt on 2010 all share one thing in common: I was writing.
If I had my way, I would try to convince everyone to write too. Maybe not fiction, maybe not even 50,000 words in a month, but one of my dreams is a society that writes, people who exercise that part of their brain, a civilization that leaves a part of itself behind in the value of the written word.
That may be an impossible and, perhaps, haughty goal, but I think not.
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