I hereby pledge my intent to write a 50,000-word novel in one month’s time. By invoking this absurd, month-long deadline on such an enormous undertaking, I understand that notions of “craft,” “brilliance,” and “competency” are to be chucked right out the window, where they will remain, ignored, until they are retrieved for the editing process. I understand that I am a talented person, capable of heroic acts of creativity, and I will give myself enough time over the course of the next month to allow my innate gifts to come to the surface, unmolested by self-doubt, self-criticism, and other acts of self-bullying.

During the month ahead, I realize I will produce clunky dialogue, cliched characters, and deeply flawed plots. I agree that all of these things will be left in my rough draft, to be corrected and/or excised at a later point. I waive my right to withhold my manuscript from all readers until I deem it completed. I also acknowledge my right as author to substantially inflate both the quality of the rough draft and the rigors of the writing process should such inflammation prove useful in garnering me respect and attention, or freedom from participation in onerous household chores.

I acknowledge that the month-long, 50,000-word deadline I set for myself is absolute and unchangeable, and that any failure to meet the deadline, or any effort on my part to move the deadline once the adventure has begun will invite well-deserved mockery from friends and family. I also acknowledge that, upon successful completion of the stated noveling objective, I am entitled to a period of gleeful celebration and revelry, the duration and intensity of which may preclude me from participating fully in workplace activities for days, if not weeks, afterward.

–Joe Williams

Next month is National Novel Writing Month, and I’m going to take a crack at it. The last time I gave it a go, I lasted about three days, quitting with the excuse that “November is a really busy month for me.” Lame.

I have no plot, story, or character ideas. I intend to post my daily writings to this blog, so you can see how I’m progressing, and egg me on.

Mira, Mary, and my mom have shown interest in writing a novel in November, too. Anybody else want to join up?

OK, Ready Player One is aimed squarely at me.  Videogame-obsessed geek saves the world with his vast knowledge of 80s pop culture?  Bam!

I didn’t quite read it all in one marathon session, but it was close.  It’s thought-provoking, inspiring, and — most of all — enormous fun.  Highly recommended.

I wish I’d written this book.  Once upon a time, I wanted to be a writer.  It turned out all my best stories were about videogames, which possibly should have been a clue that game design was more my destiny. Anyway, next month is National Novel Writing Month, and it turns out my vague plan for that was completely pre-stolen by Ernie, except he did it way, way better than I woulda.  Jerk.

Plot summary: The designer of the world’s greatest game dies, stipulating in his will that his fortune goes to the one who solves an epic treasure hunt he’s left behind hidden in the game world. Our trailer-dwelling protagonist finds himself at the forefront of the hunt, and the stakes keep escalating.

Awesomeness.