It’s November, and in writing circles, that means it’s NaNoWriMo (the rather awkward acronym for National Novel Writing Month.) As you probably already know, NaNoWriMo is an annual challenge to write an entire novel in 30 days—or at least, to get 50,000 words on paper, even if that might not be quite The End. Every year, people ask me, “Are you doing NaNoWriMo?”, and every year I answer, “No. I’m a tortoise, not a hare.” Then I try my best to cheer on all the speed-writers, because if writing a lousy novel in 30 days is your path to eventually distilling out a worthwhile manuscript, then go for it! I certainly know people for whom this process has proven fruitful, and I’m a firm believer in doing whatever works.
But there’s a fundamental problem with the idea that a writer’s progress can be measured by a word count, which is, of course, that a word count by itself imposes nothing in the way of quality control. “I wrote 20,000 words this week!” sounds like a great accomplishment, and if it represents a flurry of true inspiration or the end of a period of literary sloth, then it is. But those carefully enumerated words, by mere fact of their existence, do not always represent progress—nor do they always indicate that a writer has really overcome his or her tendency toward laziness. Sloth is an insidious sin that comes in many forms, of which the tendency to sit back and do nothing is only the most obvious. Sloth can also manifest itself as a laziness of artistry, and in this, the ideal of “productivity” plays right into the devil’s crafty hand.
There is no set amount of time that a writer must spend to craft a worthy novel. Newly-minted Nobel laureate Kasuo Ishiguro wrote Remains of the Day in four weeks—pretty much like doing NaNoWriMo. Stephen King has said that his first drafts, even of his longest novels, never take more than three months. On the other hand, Donna Tartt spent a decade writing The Goldfinch. Markus Zusak spent three years on The Book Thief. All of these are living writers working within the modern publishing industry. Clearly, in the race between hares and tortoises, the answer is that both can win.
Speed is not a writer’s enemy. But sloppiness is, and while good writing can happen quickly, sloppiness is more often the result of rushing than of careful slowness. Very few of us are Ishiguro.
The modern world has a tendency to want to quantify every aspect of existence. We trust numbers; we have been brainwashed to believe that numbers never lie. Two plus two is always four. Four is always more than two. Mathematical proof is final. Progress must move toward the right on the number line, not the left. In the case of something as ephemeral as a story—a genuinely un-quantifiable entity—we nevertheless seek comfort in whatever numbers we can attach to it. Word count. Copies issued. Copies sold. Dollars earned. See, we tell ourselves, progress is still numbers. Progress is visible. Progress moves forward.
And yet, for the writer, real progress often moves backwards. It is far better to cut the unnecessary scene, no matter how finely-wrought, than to foist it upon the reader. If problems in chapter one prevent you from writing chapter twelve, then it is far better to fix chapter one than to pound resolutely forward, knowing that you are building on a cracked foundation. Above all people, the fiction writer—whose calling is to probe the mysterious depths of humankind—ought to know that numbers can lie, that loss can be counted as gain, that paradox is our natural human state. And yet, we often allow the culture of consumerism to bully even novelists into believing that “productivity” must be our standard. Set up the assembly line. Push the words through. Next novel, please, or you’re fired.
Of course, novelists who are working under contract deadlines really must conform to these standards. However, I suspect that very few of the almost 400,000 people who participated in NaNoWriMo in 2016 had a contract to satisfy. Imagine if, instead of setting themselves a goal to write 50,000 words in a month, each and every one of those 400,000 people set the goal to write one masterpiece in a lifetime—one work of art that each individual would be proud to leave behind as a legacy to the world. Then imagine a whole community dedicated to supporting them the way NaNoWriMo tries to support its participants. What might our writing culture be like then?
What if, instead of asking each other, How many words did you write this week?, writers asked each other questions like, What did your characters teach you this week? What did you learn about your own artistic process? What did you write that required courage, whether because of its content or because you stepped out into new waters of style, genre, vocabulary? What difficult choice did you make concerning either content or craft? What beauty did you create? What love did you show? What empathy did you practice? These are the true hallmarks of progress for the fiction writer: that he or she exhibits dedication to the art and craft of storytelling, and that he or she nurtures a love for fiction’s subject, which is always humankind. Without this progress, a writer’s word count is meaningless—as will be the story those words contain.
Productivity is an idol that can lead to sloppiness and blind us to our real goals, not only as writers but in virtually any area of life. However, I cannot close without acknowledging that it has an equal, opposite idol: perfectionism. For many of us, there is a powerful temptation never to be satisfied—to do the opposite of rushing through sloppy work, and continue revising endlessly long after the work is done. It would be a noble thing if every writer set out to create one masterpiece in a lifetime, but rarely will the current project become that masterpiece. Humility is the only remedy for both of these extremes: humility to submit ourselves to become instruments of God’s creation; humility to look only at what is best for the work, not what is best for its creator’s pride; humility to acknowledge the limits of our own skill, to push them, but also to know when they are reached, and we have produced the best work we are capable of making. Then, and only then, should tortoises and hares alike be ready to cross the finish line and write, “The End.”
I think I have mixed feelings about this — although more or less on principle I’ve never done NaNoWriMo. I think the reason I have mixed feelings is that I’ve spent so many years struggling to get ANYTHING done at all, and setting goals means that I do get something done. If it’s written, it *is.* It might not be finished. If I wrote it in a hurry, it most certainly isn’t finished. But if I can get it onto the page, then I can do something with it. That’s when the challenge really arises: to slow down, let it sit, and go back to it, and over it, meticulously). I’m impatient, and that part is hard. It feels so good to have finished something, and when it’s first finished, it looks so lovely, and it’s so tempting to think that you wouldn’t change a thing . . . but that’s exactly when you have to put it away and do something else, so you can go back to it with clear and unsentimental eyes. (which is a lecture to myself, because I am so apt not to do that).
So I think the problem isn’t setting word-count goals, though announcing how many words you wrote sounds to me like THE way to be sure you won’t write any more! I think it’s thinking too much about the finished product (maybe thinking about it as product, not as a process that’s just part of your life) and rushing toward that, without considering that getting those words onto the page is only Step 1, and that Step 2, which is writing a revision, might be five years happening. But then, I don’t know that people announcing their word counts don’t know that already! Meanwhile, I find that *private* goals that I set for myself mean that I do get things done, and that I stretch myself beyond what feels safe or comfortable. Sometimes that’s where the epiphanies happen, in that zone beyond the boundary of what I knew was going to happen next in what I’m writing, while I’m plodding toward my goal for the day.
Sally, it’s not my intention to critique any particular writer’s process. If word count goals are what motivates someone to produce more than a blank page, then hooray for word count goals! Likewise, I think most NaNoWriMo folks fully intend to do editing afterwards, though how much dedication they’ll put into it varies. I know people who have tucked their NaNoWriMo projects away for three or five years, then pulled them back out, edited the heck out of them, and published good books. I just think that the writing community needs better ways to support genuine progress, rather than constantly pushing each other to “keep going,” “move forward,” “put words on paper.” Because life is paradox, and sometimes doing the actual writing can be counter-productive, if there is deeper work still left undone.
I find private goals helpful, too. Lately, though, I’ve gotten so bogged down in other work that I’ve forgotten to give myself landmarks to pass on my way to getting creative projects finished. So, this year, at least, I find NaNoWriMo is helping me rebuild a writing habit that had gotten buried under other things.
This made my day. Thank you for writing it, Karen!
Lori, thanks for reading it!
I have no mixed feelings abut what you wrote. In fact, I should be wondering how in the world did you know to write exactly this today for me to read…but the truth is that as I have been struggling with what I am working on, many, many others have been also, so as much as I would like to consider your words personally directed to me, thank goodness they are available for all. The instinctive feelings I have had about not only how to approach my project or even if I should, have been by strengthened by your words in the very best way. For whatever it is worth, I know that there are times when engaging in much thought before writing even one word is the only way to find what is needed.. Thanks, Karen.
Thanks, Juanita! I’m glad it found you at the right moment.
I’m working on the MaLiWriNo
That’s short for maybe in my lifetime I’ll write a novel. I like your attitude girlfriend. Oak Trees, masterpieces and lives take time. We rob ourselves and everyone else of sweeter fruit when we rush. But, as you said, if a one-month speedy production structure gets the story in place to then go back to shred, dismember and crucify it… go for it!
Exactly, Cathy! Thanks!
Great corrective article to the need for speed. A friend and I did a thing several years ago where we committed to writing a short scene (like from a play) every day for a month, but only what would fit on a notecard. I think we made it a week: he didn’t write anything and I petered out after a few days. It was fun — I’m not sure it did anything for me as far as writing. I wish there was a contest that devoted a month to participants writing the world’s greatest sentence: do a small thing well instead of a large heap of hurry.
Thanks, Stephen. I’m not sure by what standard the world’s greatest sentence would be judged, but I’d certainly be in for something like, log the best sentence you wrote this week and let’s all see what kind of small-scale beauty we can create!
*standing up cheering*
What a perfect thing to read this morning. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Thank you, Jeanie!
Like Sally Thomas, I have mixed feelings about NaNoWriMo. And like you, Karen, I’m a tortoise, not a hare. But while I wait for my “real” novels to continue their slow gestation, I found that I really wanted the encouragement of writing something to completion and seeing it published, and I believe this year NaNoWriMo is helping me do that — I’m working on a classic-style murder mystery (whose plot I got from another writer — plotting is where I tend to get bogged down) and I’m finding the experience of re-writing someone elese’s story is much more pleasant, stimulating, and (yes) creative than I had ever expected.
And, best of all, by writing my first draft during NaNoWriMo, I find myself re-establishing a daily writing discipline that had gotten lost (thanks to a neverending stream of editing jobs). So NaNo is helping me get off the dime. I don’t take part in any of the “social” aspects of NaNoWriMo — the idea of “write-ins” and “writing sprints” is, frankly rather repugnant to me — but I find the daily accountability really helps. I expect to have a solid first draft by Christmas, and a publishable, polished draft sometime in the spring. I’m hoping that, by that time, I’ll have enough creative juices flowing that some of my more thoughtful and slow-to boil projects will be ready to be put back on the front burner. So perhaps NaNoWriMo wil actually help some “slow” novels to make it to the finish line.
Lisa, I’m glad you’re finding your rhythm. This sounds to me like a very good way to make use of NaNoWriMo – which, as I’ve said, I’m all in favor of it for those who find it helpful.