I moved from Texas to Minnesota in summer of 2015.
All of my NaNoWriMo experiences prior to this move had been in Waco, TX, where I went to college. I made great writing friends there. I helped bolster the year-round writing presence. It was a safe and comfortable place for my writing self . . .
And then, I had to leave.
More on this story in next week’s “Origins,” but suffice it to say, I knew the only way I could really integrate with a new tribe of writers would be to dive into NaNo head-first, no-holds-barred, and make some friends even if it killed me (and my word count). To boost my courage while navigating this awkward process, I wrote frequent messages back to my Waco writing friends in the form of an anthropological study log. I called it NaNoLog (or Wrimo Log), and I think it really encapsulates some of the insanity of NaNo.
So, without further ado, I introduce you to part 1 of my 2015 NaNoLog:
Wrimo Log, Day 2: Signs of life are present in the Rochester writing community. They have embarked upon a ritual they have deemed the “lunch hour write-in.” I have introduced myself to these new beings, and they have quietly and tentatively accepted me as their new convert. I shall try to pick up their foreign ways…
Wrimo Log, Day 4: The Rochesterites seem to have invited me into their inner sanctum. I am puzzled, but oddly comforted. I have identified a social caste system inherent, largely divided amongst the two tables at our current restaurant of choice. The ruling class, composed of the MLs and their closest companions, invited me to partake in conversation. I believe that I handled myself with the expected decorum, but it is hard to say with these beings. Time will tell.
Wrimo Log, Day 6: I have beat the natives to the pre-arranged meeting spot. I am not entirely aware how to handle this situation, as it is so foreign to me. Perhaps, to these strange creatures, 7pm means 7:30, instead of 6:30, as it meant in my home tribe. I am still learning their language, so perhaps I misunderstood. I am scared and alone in this foreign place. If I do not survive this, I wish for my log to be widely published.
Update: Signs of life have appeared. I am saved.
Wrimo Log, Day 9: The tribe is dwindling. An unusual phenomenon has occurred in which, with the exception of the tribe leadership, the other tribe members have been present for a single meeting, only to never appear again. I have never seen the same person twice, despite the fact that I have been reassured it has happened at the meetings I have missed. This is surely the chiefs’ way of allaying my fears of attack. It is clear now that I have joined a cult. My disappearance is imminent.
(Base Camp wrote back: Base camp to away team: Send regular reports and keep your wits about you. In case of ambush, we have an extraction team on the ready. Text this number if they turn on you.)
Stay tuned for more throughout NaNo!