Let Your Imagination Rain

To me, October is nothing more than a head start into November. And November is the one month of the year when I am truly free to be myself. November, to me, does not mean the New Moon premier, Thanksgiving, or my sister's birthday (sorry, girl!). November means one thing and one thing only: NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month.

I discovered NaNo a few years ago, and the idea of a month dedicated to writing a novel piqued my interest. I was one of those people who always said, "One day, I will write a book". But I'd never finished any short story, let alone a 50,000 word novella. I was also put off by the "No plot? No problem!" slogan adopted by NaNoWriMo. I thought, What's the point of writing a novel with no plot? The things I had read about NaNo were fairly misleading.

But NaNoWriMo is not some structureless "churn out 50,000 random words" kind of thing. It is very much an event where you will get out of it as much as you put in. November 2008 (yes, last year) was my first time participating in National Novel Writing Month. November 2008 was also the start of the biggest journey of my life.

I put my heart and soul into November last year, and The Circular Path, my complete, coherent, first-ever novel, is the least that I got out of it. I went from an insecure, over-critical, dubious girl with one scene in my head to strong, passionate dreamer who has tapped into a well of creativity. NaNoWriMo taught me who I was, not just as a writer, but as a human being. Through NaNo, I discovered the essence of me: the core of my fears, the heart of my longings, the source of my passions. I began to see the person that I was, the person that I am, and the person that I want to be.

That journey- the journey of disovering me- is far from over. In fact, it's going to restart again, more vigorous than ever, in just 27 days. Just being on the NaNoWriMo homepage fills me with a sense of peace, of pride, of invincibility. It fills me with the sense of being me.

All hail the thirty days and thirty nights of literary abandon.