In New York City today, we held the New York City Marathon. The Marathon is a glorious thing, the amalgam of thousands of stories, the many personal triumphs, and, I hope, only a few disappointments. The Marathon lends itself to all kinds of analogizing to writing and, in particular to NaNoWriMo. There’s preparation, practice, repetitive training, even, possibly healthy eating, pushing oneself to one’s limit and beyond, and persistence. As I watched the runners, however,
I was struck with how linear their progress was, and how non-linear mine seems to be.
A few nights ago, as I was driving to my son’s school for a grade-wide presentation, a whole chunk of a story came to me – the premise, the dialogue, the obstacle. It’s as if the Heavens were dictating. I even remembered enough of it to write it down after the drive, after the school meeting. And, of course, it is not part of the novel on which I am working for National Novel Writing Month. Still, it is progress, even if it is not linear.