The Portuguese tart called to him. So did the fine English tea. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let himself partake. Not just yet. Not until he’d finished. Only a few more paragraphs. Heck, maybe even a few more sentences! He had come a long way over the past month, writing every day and every night, every chance he got, all for the glory of writing 50,000 words in the month of November, the month someone, perhaps in San Francisco, coined as National Novel Writing Month.
Almost there. Almost finished. What ever will he do with his time afterward? How will he fill his time this December, being tomorrow, being a new day and a new tomorrow? How will he find meaning anymore without NaNoWriMo?
He just will.
What has he learned from participating in his first NaNoWriMo? He has learned that writing deepens his day-to-day experience, that writing makes life richer and more meaningful. He has learned that writing wakes up his brain, refining and sharpening his thoughts and insights. He has learned that typing 50,000 words in a single month really hurts the fingers! He has learned that some rewards are worth the pain and that learning to write is a great reward.
He has also learned that writing a novel isn’t easy. He has learned that he really needs to read fiction! He has learned that writing requires lots and lots of reading. So, he has committed himself to reading a book a week for as long as he can, at least until he feels that his actual and virtual bookshelves aren’t collecting physical and proverbial dust.
Most of all, he has learned that, yes, he can. Yes, he can! Yes, he can! Yes, he can!
Yes, he can. And he did. And it feels pretty good.
He thinks he will continue writing.