Farewell to NaMeaNoWriMo
NaMeaNoWriMo ended not with a bang, but with a whimper. I was seduced away from my creative commitments by a big ol' burger and a range of elaborately girly cocktails. In my defense, they had umbrellas. Oh, the humanity.
But that heroic failure aside, I'm pleased with how it's played out. I've mostly written, most days this month, mostly in full sentences with mostly appropriate punctuation. I've explored a select few of the issues loitering in my subconscious. Some of you have been kind enough to read me, and even share your thoughts. And I didn't spend the hours I usually spend on each entry.
I used to think that my writing would change the world, ha ha ha. My main aim now is to prevent the creeping rot of a thousand student essays from polluting my love of the written word. And sure, being read and enjoyed is a fine bonus.
What have I learned through this whole endeavor, then? Apart from that other people are frequently wronger than I give them credit for, my main realization has been that without prompting, most of my writing tends to be non-fiction, although I do enjoy writing fiction. And this is something I want to change. When I was younger, my writing was effortlessly imaginative, endlessly entertaining, to me at least, because I had yet to develop doubts and standards and all the other things that go along with critical faculties.
I think to some extent, this process has gone some way to squashing some of those minor, less powerful doubts. You'll see me back here, there's no doubt about that.
But maybe not every day. It's been a blast, dear reader, but oh god is it killing me.
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