If you follow my Twitter account, your homepage was probably inundated with tweets that looked something like this over the weekend: “15,885 words. Lost track of coffee cups and how fast time was going. Should’ve started in ‘90s.Too far into future now. Lesson learned.#3DNC” I hope that my constant 3-Day Novel Contest progress tweets didn’t put you off too much and promise it won’t happen again for another year. 
I’ve been immersing myself in the creative arts lately as part of a “Do anything and everything” kick and I’ve got to say, it feels pretty damn good! Tonight I went to a Draw by Night event at VFS and sat down with a group of strangers to sketch on a big piece of paper, and over the weekend I wrote my very first short novel. It ended up being 24,411 words long. The process was frustrating, liberating, engaging, exciting, nerve-wracking, thoughtful, and incredibly rewarding. Here’s a synopsis of the event.
Note to readers who are a part of the 3-Day Novel Contest:
Please do not read the following synopsis if you have not already read my short story because it may include spoilers. Thanks!
Note to readers who did not participate in the 3-Day Novel Contest: This isn’t a very traditional blog post on my part. It was written mostly for me as a way to remember what it was like to write my first short novel. I won’t be offended if you don’t read it, but would be happy to read your thoughts about it if you do.
Day One
I woke up much later than I had planned because I had gone out to celebrate my friend’s birthday the night before and my body simply demanded that I gave it a full eight hours of sleep. Not a good start. I wrote and deleted and sat staring idly at a blank screen for the better part of two hours. I didn’t know where to begin. Prior to the contest, I had spent hours thinking about a plot line and didn’t come up with anything I liked. After a while, I had at least committed to a character and knew her inside and out. But when it came to actually writing about her, words ran away from me like they had suddenly grown wings. I couldn’t catch them on paper.
About three hours in, I began to get very nervous and started writing about working at a medical clinic (something I did before) and added details about patients that I thought up on the spot (all made up). I didn’t know where this was going. I began with inspiration from real memories, but then diagnoses and patients that never existed stared popping up. A main character was forming. The character, Catherine, went through a day and other people came into her life. There were things she thought, lines she wanted to say, and events she had to go to. The description of her day reminded me of a song. I wrote it as the title of this section.
Then, another character came to mind, Nolan. He was inspired by someone I once knew. I imagined things from his perspective and introduced him to Catherine. I imagined things from Catherine’s perspective and another song came to mind. I wrote about those songs too. And then, someone else appeared. Someone important. The dialogue between Catherine and Claudio was instinctive and came naturally. I searched for another song in my playlist and was reminded of someone else.
By this point, I had no idea what was going on. I still didn’t have a story line and I didn’t know what the characters were doing. I just kept imagining their lives and how they would live, think, act, and be with one another. I could write, but I was becoming increasingly nervous. I wondered if I would have to scrap everything at the end of the day because it didn’t lead anywhere.
4,769 words in, I felt like something was about to happen but I didn’t know what. I was worried for the characters. It felt like one of them was in danger. But no. Another character appeared. It was weird. I didn’t feel like I had any control over them and what they did. Instead, they told me what they were going to do. I just told the story. By word 6,198, Catherine had drifted off the sidelines and I wondered if I would have to delete everything about her from the start of the novel because she didn’t have a part to play anymore and it would be strange to dedicate so much of the novel to an inconsequential character.
Then Nolan and Catherine made sense from both of their perspectives. Something was working here. They had minds of their own and both of them seemed to be housed in mine. I hoped it wouldn’t get too crowded. Catherine, Claudio, Nolan and Frank were thinking over each other.
I decided to take a nap but my mind wouldn’t rest. I thought of something Catherine had to do. I got out of bed and continued writing. Then something happened. It wasn’t a surprise. She knew it would happen. It still changed things though. It changed things a lot. Something was set into motion but it wouldn’t reveal itself to me yet.
Two and a half hours later, I finally went to bed. I thought of something Frank wanted to say, but I was too tired. I scribbled it on a notepad so I would remember the next day.
Day Two
I had planned on taking pictures throughout the 3-Day Novel Contest, but completely forgot after I entered “writing mode”. This is the only picture I have — it was taken on Day One
I had set my alarm for three hours but had turned it off in my sleep and slept for a little over six hours and woke up around 9:30 AM. Damn. I took a shower and thought about the characters. I had spent so much time with them already that I was beginning to grow tired of them.
A minor character who had been mentioned earlier returned unexpectedly, and I felt sick. I felt really, truly, pit of the stomach, sick. He reminded me of someone, a someone who has a terrible talent for making me want to vomit from the unrelenting churn that he causes in my belly by simply being in the same room. After writing about him and what I imagined would be his thoughts, I had to take a break and clear my mind. I was thoroughly disgusted. Even now as I flip through the pages and I come to his description of events, I don’t want to touch the paper. I know it doesn’t have cooties, but I feel like these pages are tainted.
I continued on, and so did the characters. It was Claudio’s time to change now. He did, and then it felt right to stop.
I began Part Two from Frank’s perspective. Frank had changed too. I left him for too long and time had passed. He had grown but something was off. But then again, something was always off. He played his part. Everyone played their part. Summer came. Catherine left. An absence was finally explained. I understood, but I wondered if the reader would understand too.
I ate throughout the day, but I wasn’t thinking about the act of eating. I would chew, and when I heard someone ask me something I had to bring myself back to present day to respond — it felt like a confusing process. Catherine, Frank, Nancy, Nolan, David, Alistair, Claudio, Summer, Brenda — they were all living their lives in my mind and I was watching them, thinking about what to include in their stories and what to leave out. By the time I finally looked out my window, it was already dark. It surprised me because it felt like I had only just started the day. I had been sitting for something like 12 hours and discovered that I have incredibly horrific posture when I’m writing. It’s a weird sitting position where I’m not facing the screen directly. Instead, my head it turned to the right and I’m watching my words appear from the corner of my eye and only my right elbow is hitting the table while I lean in making a hollow space between my shoulder blades. Really not a good way to sit…
Just after 3:00 AM, I finally knew what was going to happen! I was so excited! I watched it unfold… and then it changed AGAIN!! I was never certain what was going to happen until I read the words on the screen.
Day Three
I set two alarms this time and woke up after just three hours of sleep. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel tired. There was something Claudio needed to do or see or hear. Something. Claudio needed his time to think. I switched perspectives again.
I started writing but I didn’t know how to bring the characters together. They had drifted so far apart. Then I remembered a loose end that had been presented throughout the story. I didn’t know what he was supposed to do in the story, but he kept popping up throughout it. He ended up tying things together like other characters had torn things apart.
After a few more hours of writing, I came to an end. Not the kind of end where I wanted to force myself to continue, but an end that seemed too correct to tamper with. At 12:21 PM, I was done. What was I supposed to do then? The story wasn’t as long as I had hoped it would be but it would’ve been a waste of words to continue. I began rereading what I had written and started to edit.
At 8:22 PM, I submitted my short novel. By 8:23 PM, my hands and feet were sweating and I was having a mini panic attack. I felt like I should still be writing. I worried what people would think. I eventually let go, but I was having a tough time dealing with a mind that had just been evacuated of characters. They were missing and I was strangely aware of how alone I was. I was excited for them though, knowing where they were in their stories.
