Outed as a Dinosaur

The great excitement of this month has been signing up for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). Aiming to 'turn aspiring novelists into perspiring novelists', signing up commits you to writing 50,000 words of a novel, from scratch, between 1 November and 30 November.  It's the literary world's Lewa Marathon or IronManChallenge (so I like to think), since I ain't going to be signing up for them any time soon.
'The demands of my novel, you know', newly purple turban, cravat and smoking jacket-clad, I wave a limp, languid hand.

50,000 words in a month translates as 1,667 words a day. Do-able. Especially knowing that 250,000 others are registered over the world. There's a website, chat rooms, where you can chew the fat with others trying to write chick lit, seeking definitions of when is it chick lit and when romantic fiction?  Need to get authoritative information on undetectable types of poison, there's a forum for fact-checking. Wonder how to pace the narrative, which voice to use when, - the world's aspiring novelists are out there, and chewing the fat on some forum, rather than typing away at their work in progress (known as WIP I now discover.)

And it's happening in Kenya too. Big-time. There are 83 of us registered in Kenya, and some of us met up for a Kick-Off Party on Day One, in a beautiful open-plan pine furniture incubator unit for technology entrepreneurs in Nairobi. Get that!  I want to say it again, 'in a beautiful open-plan pine incubator unit for technology entrepreneurs in Nairobi.' This is a parallel universe we're entering here.

NaNoWriMo is about taking the plunge.  About saying:

'Well I'd rather try, and spend every weekend training, tear a hamstring and need to do an urgent wee infront of the world's cameras, than not.'

Hmmm, on the other hand....
But once committed, I'm finding it amazing. (Famous last words).  Just going to a Writers Group. Meeting others who've written several novels.  Sitting quietly, tongue-tied, amidst a conversation on how you get going, keep going. Taking on that identity for the first time. I'm no longer
'Just a Blogger'.
I'm Out and Proud, a Writer. Manquee maybe.  But my own, personal work-in-progress.

There's a whole new vocabulary and terminology to learn. 'Write-ins', where you and your laptop install yourself in the nearest caff with internet at a given time, and write companionably alongside others who've joined you.  Or rather prime them to say, at regular intervals:

'ThresholdMum, what are you doing? You've been gazing at that cinnamon croissant for the last twenty five minutes, are you going to touch the keyboard at all this write-in?'

WriterBuddies. Like facebook friends, except they can see how you're getting on, can see how many words you claim to have written since the start.  Stentorian tones of my much-hated PE teacher at school:

'What are you doing there at the back ThresholdMum? Get running!'

And 'word-sprints', my current nemesis, catalyst of my outing as dinosaur.  So a word-sprint is the fartlek of Nanowrimo.  It's a commitment to spend the next fifteen minutes typing.  But since interval training is best done in company, so too are word sprints. Enter twitter. If you type in the hashtag #nanosprints  you can tweet all those NaNo wannabes who are currently staring, vacantly at their keyboards, all over the world.  Can say, (or rather tweet)

'Anyone up for a wordsprint, 15 minutes from :30?'

and have novelists from Sao Paulo, from Clapham and from Silicon Valley join you.  A commitment to write for the given fifteen minutes, and then to tweet back to your inner circle training mates your number of words written in the time towards the big 50,000 total.

Well it sounds great. But writing at midday in Nairobi is 9am in UK, is middle of the night in the States (I think). No pre-set wordsprints when I chose to start. So I did my virgin tweet. Successfully. Invited the world to join me panting around the track. And waited. And waited. And eventually jogged off on my own. To discover, an hour later, two sorry little tweets from fellow running mates, saying roughly, in NaNoWriMo tones:

'We're still waiting for you in the rain under the lamp-post. Aren't you coming?'

For it took me another hour to find where responses to tweets come in. And they'd tweeted back, and I, poor sorry sap, hadn't bothered to fire the starting pistol, and it had all come to vain.

On the other hand, coming to vain infront of someone in South America and someone on the US West Coast isn't all that public when you're in Kenya. Unless you blog about it too.

Re-reading this blog it has all the eager fresh-faced enthusiasm of the recent convert and zealot. Maybe stand back if you also meet me on the playground. But I am bowled away. Fascinated by how much easier it is to write if there's no time for second thoughts. If you just want to keep going.  There's still time to join if you might be interested. Add me as a Writer Buddy if you do (I'm ThresholdMum.)  And watch this space. I'm at 5,400 words on Day Four. You won't be able to miss the ticker tape parade and loud brass band if I make it to the finishing line. And if you see me red-faced and panting in some Java caff in Nairobi just don't shout 'Word sprint' and then run off giggling.