In Which I Write A Novel in Three Days

It’s that time of year again and I am once again embracing the insanity…and beauty…of writing a novel in three days.

Yes, you can write a novel in three days, although size-wise, it’s probably closer to a “novella.”

Yes, it is worth every penny I spend every year on a contest I have yet to win or even reach the vaunted status of long- or short-lister.

No, it is not for the faint of heart.

Yes, there are tears and laughter and madness and weird eating habits. There is a sense of satisfaction and victory when you cross that finish line with the words, “The End” and submit that manuscript, mistakes and all, to the venerable judges who painstakingly read between 350 and 500 of these insane works of art before deciding our fates.

Said results are STILL waiting to be found from last years’ contest, but in spite of the ongoing struggle on the part of the judges to meet ANY deadline at all, leaving us all biting our nails in anticipation as we await THE CALL, there is something that keeps calling me back every year.

Fourteen years.

I was pregnant with my second child the first time and it was NOT 90 degrees on a beautiful autumn day in September. This year, I will most likely be writing in my messy office – with a few breaks at a Historical Society (the first library in Wisconsin) and a one room schoolhouse. It will probably be raining on and off and it will also feel like it’s still in the dead heat of summer.

It doesn’t matter.

I keep coming back because there is something that makes the blood, sweat, and tears all worth it.

My writing family.

Our forum was once on AbeBooks until their format “upgraded” and completely screwed everything up. We moved to Discord and after some early learning difficulties, we’ve settled into our new home. And we’ve built a true family over the years.

Oh, the memories and laughter as our tired eyes found new words that only we can define, the tears as we struggled with a plot hole the size of Siberia, and the raised glasses as we cheered one another over the finish line at exactly 11:59pm on Labor Day. Our labors of love complete and completely messy, but so completely beautiful.

And it wasn’t just a Labor Day weekend family. Over the years, we’ve shared our stories, grieved with one another when we faced loss and death of loved ones, cheered on one another’s successes and not just in the writing world, and some of us have even met face to face, forming life-long friendships.

We come from such disparate backgrounds. We cover the gamut of sex, ethnicity, political parties, age, and even geographical locations. We have our own writings styles, our own family circles, and our own interests outside of writing.

But none of that matters when we are connecting across the cyber space over the craziest contest I’ve ever entered in my life.

This large and growing family has been with me through my highs and lows of life, through sleepless nights with babies and “Another one on the way, Sarah?”

They’ve grieved with me when I lost my grandparents and when I had my miscarriage. They rejoiced with me when my children reached developmental milestones or when my husband and I celebrated another year of marriage.

And they’ve been right there with me as our fingers flew madly over the keys (or our pencils over the blank pages) and we raced one another to the finish line. Our crazy questions we asked one another regarding plot points or characters. “Do gunshot victims feel pain and for how long?” “Is spontaneous combustion ACTUALLY possible?” “Help! I am stuck in this plot hole and time travel is involved. How do I logic my way out of it?” “What’s the name of that star in the Alpha Centauri constellation? No, not that one. THAT one?”

Over time, some have joined our group briefly before fading away. Some have left early on and suddenly popped up for a reunion years later. Yet we’ve had a core group that has been there since the beginning of my journey and I am hopeful we will continue for many more years.

No matter where I am in life, God-willing, I will be typing away every Labor Day Weekend until I’ve gone blind. And then, maybe, just for the fun of it, I will try writing a novel I cannot see.

Who knows? Maybe that will be the year I finally win.