The Marathon is a week away, and I officially signed up today (after some prodding). If you remember (and if you read this, I’m sure you do remember, seeing as there are only three of you), the Marathon is my overly clever name for Nanowrimo, or the National Novel Writing Month, during which valiant and foolish souls try to turn their dreams of writing a novel into a concrete work of 50,000 words (including some semblance of a story with an ending). The month: November, probably because it fits in nicely with the whole NaNoWriMo lettering.

My last year’s effort is there for everyone to read and ridicule. The Pink Sweater was an amazing effort, and while it was worse than I had expected, I did finish. It weighed in at a hefty (and winning) 50,049 words, and I birthed it on November 23, 2004, with the painful delivery beginning on the late afternoon of November 1. I glanced through a few of the pages as I set up the links, and while the story and plot are god awful, there is some decent writing hidden in the draft. (And, yes, I’m saying that to booster my confidence for this year’s Marathon.)

Last year was not a complete waste. Thanks to my efforts, I go into this year’s Marathon wiser in that I know (besides nothing) that while 50,000 words is surprisingly a lot words, it’s not nearly as hard as it sounds (or I dreaded). Writing words turns out to be generally easy: it only takes dedication. Now, writing good words, that’s a completely different potato (stuffed with cheese). In preparation for the 2004 Marathon, about this time last year, I pounded out two-page short stories and musings as a way to build up to writing 2,000 words each day. This year, I didn’t do that. It wasn’t because I thought it hurt my writing (actually, it probably neither hurt nor helped), but because I’ve been concentrating on Doolies and my wedding website for the last couple of weeks. It’s almost done (I know I keep saying that), and I’ll post it before the first of next month to clear my head to focus on other important things.

My planning for last year’s story was rather haphazard. I did work the clever twists and plot elements before I started, but I didn’t do much thinking about plot or character. This year I’ve done little better. Up through this past weekend, in fact, I had done much worse. I had no ideas, relying on a few science fiction story ideas that sprouted during unrelated writing exercises. This past weekend, though, things changed. As I walked between the Castle and my local restaurants, ideas started flitting through my head. The germ of the ideas lay in my purchase of Robert Jordan’s latest The Wheel of Time book, the 11th book in his 12-book epic fantasy series. As I embarrassingly told my Marathon cohort by mail this morning, high fantasy novels are my inspiration for wanting to write. It was when I first started reading fantasy novels (David Eddings’s The Belgariad in particular), that I began dreaming of writing. Imagine the life, I thought to myself, of dreaming up adventures and heroes, and making a living at it! Of course, the living part never happened, but I still share the dream of writing epic fantasy with the young David.

With that in mind, I picked the fantasy genre to write this year’s Marathon entry. And, yes Doolies, you did make that suggestion many months ago—it just takes my brain a while to process it, and my heart time to accept it. (Although I keep using words like entry and contest, the Marathon is not a contest in that there’s nothing to win—there are no prizes for first to finish, or longest or best-written novel. This is a self-indulgent contest, where winning means you’ve accomplished a goal you set for yourself and of which the community supported you in achieving.) I won’t go into the details of my planned story since I wouldn’t want to be tempted to begin writing (and I’m not sure the ideas are in a sufficient state to share). I have sketched some of the characters and happenings, and I even named a few of the characters.

Of course, with all this sketching and planning, there is a good chance that next Tuesday (that’s the first of the month), when I pop open the computer to write my first line, I’ll freak out. Similar to the first day of the Marathon last year, when I stared at the blank screen and almost screamed with how utterly unprepared I was to begin that year’s story, which almost resulted in me ditching the story idea, the Marathon, and my own sanity. I took to wrestling with my demons and forced myself to start.

I had never thought about it in this way, but as I was reading the remnants of the first day’s work last year, I came upon this telling ending, where I threw out my fears and hopes of that first day:

“Do you think everything will turn out? What I’m trying to ask is: do you think I did the right thing?”

Lenny looked at her strangely. He didn’t know how to answer or what she was talking about. He felt a warm sensation in his chest and was overwhelmed by a feeling of sadness. He wasn’t sure why he was sad, but he thought it might have something to do with his aunt’s aging, or, more unexpectedly, something to do with the sweater. “I can’t say, but it’s too late to change it now,” Lenny said. It was not the reassuring statement he had planned, but he knew it for the truth.

Once you dive in, you’re in it for the good or the bad. I’m hoping this year’s good is better than last year’s bad. But if not, at least I’ll write 50,000 crappy words, adding yet another useless notch to my scarred belt.