Background Image: “Nine Lives” by Paul Scott Canavan
30 days, 50,000 words, and one sorta-finished story. That’s what happened last month for NaNoWriMo.
The Stats
Being a sports fan, I always enjoy a few well-placed stats. So here are a few, just for you:
- Final word count: 50,014
- Highest daily word count: 2,280 on the 23rd
- Lowest daily word count: 130 on the 30th (the last day)
- Average daily word count: 1,667.13
- Hours spent stressed out: Countless
I even got a cool little certificate for finishing.
The Book
The name of the book I wrote was Remembering the End: A Novel of Novel Apocalypse Tales. It began as a book about people telling end-of-the-world stories, and it ended that way, too—more or less.
My original framing story was simply a ruined world; colorless and lifeless and pretty damn boring. At the urging of both Sara and my writers’ group, I devised (what I hope is) a more interesting setting: a hotel. Here’s an excerpt:
I splashed lukewarm water on my face, then dried myself with a towel from the rack. I examined the name of the hotel, stenciled in gold stitching on the towel: the Interstitial.
Look, I’ve heard of the Hilton and the Ritz, but I’ve never heard of the Interstitial. I read the name several times, just to make sure my present condition wasn’t deceiving me, yet it seemed I was reading that right.
So, then I knew where I was. Sort of.
I returned to the main room, feeling only slightly better than prior, then I realized how damn cold I was. Forgive the image, but all I had on were my skivvies. There was no suitcase on the floor, so I searched the wardrobe and pulled on whatever clothes were in there. Turned out to be a pair of too-big sweatpants and an oversize hoodie depicting a rain of $100 bills. (At that point, I was really hoping the Interstitial wasn’t a fancy place.)
As I prepared to step outside the door, I noticed shadows flutter along the crack of light beneath the door. Looked like people, several people, had just passed by in the hallway. Not that I heard them. I opened the door, squinted into the light, and…
Nothing. No one up the hall or down. Empty.
This was more than a little unsettling, as I’m sure you can understand. I mean, on top of my nausea and general amnesia. I crept down the hall, suddenly feeling anxiety about what might happen next.
Music played from somewhere down the hall. Sounded instrumental, like the big-band sort of stuff you might’ve heard on the Titanic, though it was too distant for me to be sure. More artwork lined the walls, framed photos and paintings, all of them just as odd as the one in my room.
For example, one image showed an image of a planet from space. The planet was engulfed in flames, like the head of a torch. Another depicted what appeared to be a wasteland, filled with numerous corpses and skeletons, each attended by a swarm of carrion birds. The name of the painting was etched into the frame: “The Buffet, or All You Can Eat.”
At this point, I was starting to get a little worried.
Beyond that, I worked on four of a planned five stories to be told within the framing device, each narrated by a different guest. The working titles of those stories are…
- “Baby Magic: An American Myth, Featuring a Sloth”
- “Choops & the ‘Foot Investigate the Uninvited Guest”
- “Two Houses”
- “Festivals in Hell”
I reiterate: These are working titles (as is Remembering the End, for that matter). Some, if not all, will probably change prior to publication. Still, I hope you enjoy what I’ve got so far.
The Takeaways
First and foremost, this experience reinforced my aversion to daily word counts. I’ve written about this decision before, but basically, I need variety. I thrive on hopping from one project to another, returning to Project A when Project B stalls, and vice versa. It’s tough for me to slog through my writing, especially when inspiration is hiding.
That happened a lot during NaNoWriMo. Not that I didn’t like Remembering the End—it’s just that I’d often come to a narrative roadblock and feel compelled to bust my way through rather than devise a clever way around. Ideally, I’d work on something else in the meantime.
But hey, on the bright side, I’ve got most of a new book in my back pocket for 2023. It’s not done, but it’s a lot more done than it was a month ago. Looking forward to sharing more with you soon!
Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.
