Day 1 of NaNoWriMo

The first step towards getting somewhere is deciding you are not going to stay where you are--Anon

So may fail because they don't get started--they don't go. They don't overcome inertia. They don't begin--W. Clement Stone

There are two mistakes one can make along the road to truth...not going all the way and not starting--Buddha

My blog is going to look a little different for the month of November. I am participating in NaNoWriMo, so rather than prompts, I'll likely post words of encouragement and writing tips to help keep us going.
After posting this, I'll start my novel. Without a freakin' clue of what I'm going to write! But because I rarely have a clue about what I'm going to write, I'm confident that the act of doing will lead somewhere surprising and worthwhile.
It's not too late to sign up!
http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/sign_in 

Here is an email I received today from Lindsey, the program director:


Happy November!
Lindsey here, Program Director for NaNoWriMo. If you saw my tweet today, or have looked at my profile page at all, you already know that I haven’t started my 2011 NaNo-novel yet. And from looking at the Twitter replies to my confession, I see that I am not alone.
I’d like to tell you a little story about not starting, starring me. It’ll only take a moment, and I think it will help us all break the seals on our November novels.
Ahem.
For much of my life, I have suffered from a fairly spectacular case of social anxiety, especially whenever I insert myself into a new situation. Excessive sweating, full-body blushing, steamed up glasses, choking on my own saliva... it’s something to behold.
My parents tried everything to ease the stress of the first day of school, recitals, parties, joining the Brownies, and then the soccer team, and later, the yearbook staff. “Just get in there,” they’d say. “No one is going to eat you!”
None of the psychological tricks they tried really worked. And they always made me go and join and do, much as I may have begged or squealed to skip. And cheers to them for holding firm, because I always had a ball.
As an adult, I still have to make myself try new things, though I frequently wish to stay at home alone doing the same old safe stuff. I ease the awkwardness of my shaky introductions and foggy glasses by smiling a lot and taking my glasses off for the first ten minutes of any new adventure.
What I’ve also learned is that once I am through the door, I'm pretty okay. It’s the initial fear of turning the doorknob and crossing the threshold that activates the fear factory. Once that's done, I’m already feeling more relaxed and able to remember why I was doing the new thing in the first place: because it's fun!


So now you know way more than you need to about my temperament and tendency to sweat excessively. But I share this mildly humiliating information with you because I think the beginning of NaNoWriMo feels like this for a lot of people!
Jumping into 50,000 words can carry with it a certain stab of, “Oh, jeez, I don’t know what I am doing or what’s going to happen!” And with that panicky thought comes the inclination to say, “I’ll do it next time, “ or skip it altogether.
But if you wait until next time, if you stay home on the couch with the cat and don’t make yourself go and join and do, you’re going to miss out on a surprising and satisfying month of creative abandon. You’ll be walking away from the rough draft of your novel.
Like I said, I am still at a zero word count. And I am starting to feel those first telltale symptoms when I think about starting my novel tonight: the clammy hands, the dry mouth, the damp underarms. Yep, I am nervous.
But I also know that writing the first paragraph, the first page, and then the first 1,667 words, is akin to walking through the door, introducing myself, and removing my glasses for a little while until the perspiring subsides.
Starting can be daunting. But as one who struggles with this, I can tell you with confidence that no one is going to eat you. In fact, you’re going to have a tremendous amount of fun. But first, you’ve gotta walk into the room.
I invite you to put your hand on that door with me and push. Let’s write this first page together, and then get on with the party that awaits.
Extending my (slightly sweaty) hand to you,

Lindsey