Last year, I did an official NaNoWriMo pep talk.
This year, I’m doing an unofficial one. With more swearing.
LET US BEGIN.
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Behold, the novel.
The novel is a big thing, a meaty thing, all the meatier if you’re holding an epic fantasy or a literary magnum opus or pretty much anything by Neal Stephenson. It is big and it contains multitudes because at the end of the day, a novel is a bit like a machine. A machine is a working apparatus comprising several interlocking and often moving parts who work together with power applies to accomplish a single goal. That is a novel. A novel is a narrative apparatus. It contains many moving parts: characters, plot, theme, words, sentences, ideas. These parts do not exist separately but operate together in order to tell a story and, ideally, make you feel stuff and think things. You power the novel with your own attention. Eyes scanning paragraphs. Fingers turning or swiping pages. Your mind drawing the story forward with desire.
The novel is a machine, and a machine is meant to be meticulous in its design.
A machine has to work almost perfectly in order to work effectively. If it’s canning peaches, it can’t not can some peaches and leave them sloppy on the conveyor belt. If it’s a power tool, it has to work effectively and regularly — if your drill does not drill or your saw won’t cut, you won’t buy it. If you’re designing a sex machine, the sex machine must sex. Nobody’s going to apply their genitals and their partner’s genitals to a sex machine that won’t sex, goddamnit. I mean, I’m sure somebody will. I expect there are whole hosts of people wandering the streets who will apply their genitals to any immobile object — parking meters, chained bicycles, espresso machines — but you’re not designing a machine for them. You’re designing the machine to meet the larger need. You’re designing your machine for the greater group.
And a novel is like that. You’re designing it not for one person, but for people all over who like the sort of thing you’re writing. It can be niche, but the niche is likely broader than Dave from Topeka.
As such, it’s hard to envision National Novel Writing Month being a good way to build a machine. The iPhone wasn’t designed by a bunch of wine-drunk chimpanzees in a weekend. The space shuttle isn’t the result of some hermit throwing shit together in his garage with duct tape and a soldering iron. These machines took time. They took effort. They took design after design, iteration after iteration. They took endless hours of thought and planning and agitation before execution even began. And NaNoWriMo certainly isn’t that, is it? It’s right to execution. It’s pen to paper, rubber meets road, go, go, go. Turn off your brain and create.
Ah, but here you may think — and you’d think it somewhat correctly — that NaNoWriMo slots very well into that iterative process if you let it. It isn’t the end result. It isn’t the final machine. No, rather, a novel written with NaNoWriMo is just one creative oscillation — it is a hastily barfed design. It is the equivalent to a late night drinking coffee and scrawling blueprints. It’s like a programming hackathon: sit down in order to ideate and iterate. So, that works, right?
You know, though, I’m gonna call bullshit on that.
Because really, a novel isn’t like a machine at all.
A machine is meant to perform a singular task and it is meant to perform it that way for most of the people who use it according to its design. A novel ain’t that.
A novel is a big, messy thing. It is a tangle of ideas. It is a subjective expression where the experience of one reader will different from the next. It’s a meth-addled Escher print.
No, a novel is not a machine. A novel is a creature. A creature who eats ideas and craps art. A creature who is adorable to some, disgusting to others. The novel is a wonderful beastie who will not be easily contained, who can be trained but not programmed, who has personality and imperfection and is unlike any other of its kind despite looking an awful lot like others of its kind. A novel features the flaws and foibles of the nearly-miraculous human body — a human body where we can bite the inside of our cheeks or stub our dumb monkey toes or go bald or get rashes. A novel is driven by its imprecision, by its charming inexactitude. A novel lives in the shadow of perfection and it does just fine there, thank you very much.
Striving for perfection is a fool’s game. You can never get there, and frankly, you don’t really even want it. Because perfection is boring. Perfection is the elegance of an unwritten page — a gleaming white unmarred expanse. As I have noted before, your job is to fuck that all up. Stomp on it with muddy footprints. Get your jam-stained fingerprints all over it. The creation of a novel is an act of glorious imperfection, a ruination of the vacuum where your novel did not exist before. The perfect is always the enemy of the good. The machine is the enemy of the art. As was said in Glengarry Glen Ross: fuck the machine. Fuck perfection.
NaNoWriMo is your opportunity to do exactly that.
Sometimes you gotta go to Wal-Mart drunk and buy everything you shouldn’t buy.
Sometimes you gotta stay up all night designing monsters and destroying worlds.
Sometimes you need to light yourself on fire and run through an orphanage.
Go have a gangbang in a mud pit. Go base-jump off Godzilla. Go punch three clowns.
Embrace chaos. Break the machine. Make some art.
Go be reckless.
Go write a novel.
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30 Days In The Word Mines takes you on a month-long journey of writing, offering pages filled with practical writing tips, motivational throat-punches, and meditative ruminations on the craft of writing and art of storytelling.
Whether you’re running with National Novel Writing Month or just want to hunker down and write to see just how far you can get, this book will help you every step of the way with a new tip, trick or thought every day of the trip.
Or, right now, nab the book for 33% off here using code NANOWRIMO.
And don’t forget to check out the NaNoWriMo Storybundle — 13 writing-related e-books, plus another 12 if you meet the $25 threshold. Money split between authors, Storybundle, and charity.
23 responses to “NaNoWriMo Pep Talk: The Perfect Machine Versus The Art Monster”
I did a thousand words in 45 minutes and I have metal men, lizards, apes and a little girl who is actually God.
Sounds like one hell of a story! 🙂
Thanks, Chuck! The single good reason why NaNo sometimes works for me is exactly to kick my inner perfectionist out of the writing process, so your post resonates a lot with me.
Did you by any chance read the first official pep talk?
Awesome pep talk, Chuck!
Of course, the little fact that I stayed up last night creating monsters and destroying the world might have influenced my opinion just a bit. 😉
I’m doing a sort of unofficial NaNoWriMo, I’m not participating in the website and all that distraction. I’m just going to write, every day, and get a shitty first draft done of the largest work I’ve ever attempted.
My hesitant ass thanks you for the kick. This will be my first swing at NaNoWriMo.
I am not against wrimos per se but even with my strongest reading glasses on, I don’t think I could ever see a nano wrimo. And I’d be suspicious of what they are up – re-organizing the molecular structure of the universe seems a possibility. It’s better not to even look.
Thank you for the pep talk! I was nervous about starting this project until I woke up early and barfed up 2,000 words this morning. Now I’m just terribly excited for another month of frantic word-vomiting. 🙂
This beats the hell out of last year’s official pep talk. Thanks, Chuck!
(shares post, turns off intarwebz, goes back to designing monsters and hacking through the vacuum where the new book needs to go)
I’m doing “Zero Draft Thirty,” the screenplay equivalent of NaNoWriMo. It’s my first time for any monthly writing challenge. My ass thanks you for the much-needed kick!
Love this so hard. Off to stomp around in the mud and track it all over Aunt Ida’s shag carpeting. Thank you.
Thank for the pep talk! 2027 words done today, let the challenge begin:)
Embrace chaos. Break the machine. Make some art.
Go be reckless.
Go write a novel.
This post was exactly the pep talk I needed right now. Onward to birthing my screaming, messy novel baby!
Remember to breathe and have a focus object. (It’s there to throw at the head of whoever enters the room and asks, “Are you done yet?”)
[…] of questionable wisdom aren’t enough to raise your writerly self-esteem, I recommend reading Chuck Wendig’s unofficial NaNoWriMo pep talk, which is a pep talk for non-WriMos as well, or stopping by Writer Unboxed to read Barbara […]
Thank you for inspiring me to do NaNoWriMo with your outlining post last week (or whenever it was). I outlined like crazy last week, running a bit late as I always do. I heard your voice, well not your real voice but the voice I imagine you have, yelling at me today every time I stopped and corrected some little stupid thing. You are something pretty special. thanks
Now THAT’s what I call a pep talk! I’m not doing Nanonanoo, but I AM working on my existing w-i-p, and this post has given me the boost I needed to get on down to that… be right back…
*comes back dressed head-to-toe in singed Walmart clothes, covered in mud and clown’s blood.* Right I am READY to start on my novel now… wha..? Whaddya mean, ‘that other stuff was only metaphorical..?
[…] 8. Why You Should Do NaNoWriMo…And Why You Shouldn’t on Terrible Minds. It started officially yesterday. Are you? Here’s a pep talk from Chuck if you need it, NaNoWriMo Pep Talk: The Perfect Machine Versus The Art Monster. […]
Slavish follower immediately joins hordes of other Nan-ites for the purposes of jamming up the page. (Note to self: Never loan Chuck Wendig a bicycle…or any machine, really.)
[…] are a few things that have kept me going: Chuck Wendig and his book 30 Days in the Word Mines. Chocolate. Pandora. Field trips to places I hadn’t […]
“Nobody’s going to apply their genitals and their partner’s genitals to a sex machine that won’t sex, goddamnit.” heheheh best line