NaNo Pep Talk: The Monster
All the villagers stared into space before starting off each on their own disorientated run through the central plaza. There was a tepid aura of sheer fright and terror in the air. The bane of wrimos everywhere had decided to rear its ugly head yet again.
It happens every year. I do not know why they always make such a big fuss over it. The monster comes and then I have to slay it. One year I failed to slay the beast; but never again. I fought long and hard to polish my pen after those days. You see, the pen really is mightier than the sword. But this year I have an upgrade.
Where the pen is a mighty dagger of words, the keyboard is a straight up machine gun of epic lettering proportions.
I can whisk my fingers through the keys, just as if I am playing a melody for all to hear. A melody of letters and words that will slay the fell beast this year. I am not going to drop my guard for a single day; this year I mean business.
So, as the only wordsmith in the village, it is my job to fight, to live, or to die. I put my life on the line every year when this thing comes around. The destroyer has reared its ugly head and it is my job, my duty to the village, to put him down once more.
The horror, NaNoWriMo, requires a specific tribute.
Never less, but it is always satisfied with more. 50,000 words in one month. I have to craft and feed this beast an average of 1,667 words each day. I do not get paid for this, I do not complain, and I do not ask for retribution. This is my job and my job alone and I will make this village proud. Besides, seeing them all run around in a panic gets very old very fast, and they are all quite loud.
I sharpen my fingernails now. With my new weapon, with this keyboard, I shall go forth as a Wrimo warrior. None shall stand in my way, and if you do stand in my way then be ready to fall victim to my blazing fingertips as I pelt you with the raw bullets of letters. A torrent of fire, a hailstorm of machismo, a grandiose goblet of gooey delicious alphabet stew; stew that burns, I think you get what I mean. My quest has been laid before me. The gauntlet has been thrown. And now I prepare once again to enter the battlefields that call to me so solemnly and so sweetly every year. Into the arena of despair, the den of the foul beast NaNoWriMo.
I look forward to this brave conquest.
My fingers are alight even now with anticipation. I know from exactly which angle I will attack the creature this time. Before I made plans and I strategized but it was all for naught. My particular set of skills is best-laid affront without any vigorous planning. I shall slice and I shall dice mercilessly. The NaNoWriMo has raised its head and its haunches against me in a vain show of superiority, but I shall not be taunted. No intimidation can pierce my resolve. This year NaNoWriMo shall die.
Even now, I am preparing for the yearly fight. I am standing in the middle of the village plaza sharpening my sword. By the light of reason and the silique vested within me, I shall calm this village once again. I shall bring peace to their minds, but only once I am done enjoying their frantic and aimless migration. The people are running around but shortly I shall brandish my new weapon and raise it high into the clouds. When I start shooting letters into the air all of the other wrimos will recognize their power as well. We all can craft words.
This is getting loud; time to appease the crowd.
“Be at peace,” I yell, only to be greeted with a few odd looks and nods of the head towards me and away from the sky. I shoot my keyboard into the air and watch as the magical sparkles of light fill the sky. Azsuiobhdfsbadxiufhcdriuhvbcdfigbuxbiufvhxcbxzi. That is what I shot from the gun. It may look weird now but it all has a purpose. The people hear the great noise and they tremble, standing in place, in silence.
“You all have the power!” I yell out to them. “Grab your pitchforks farmers. Grab your nets fisherman. Grab your tools, all ye artisans. We must march now into the fields of battle together. We can slay the beast. We can kill NaNoWriMo. We do this every year. Get your outlines ready, prepare the narratives, and ready your hands for war.” I try to give all of the wrimos in the village a little pep talk to empower them.
Keep in mind, last year I failed to defeat it.
Last year I fell short of the goal. The tribute was not paid. This year shall be different. I look up at the sky for a moment my own self as I allow the perplexing notions and mental alleviations to pass through my own brain. Then I cock my head and shout to the heavens, unrelentingly, “We shall slay the beast together! This year, with your help my fellow wrimos, there shall be no monster that may stand before us! This year we shall prevail!”
I do not know how much of my own words I believe my own self, but when I hear the roar of the crowd I cannot help but believe in all of them. I have shown them that they all also have their own weapons. I have brought upon them the encouragement and the knowledge that they too can help in this cause, that they too can be useful in this annual war. Nanowrimo is coming, and this year, we are all ready.
I see word farmers lifting their pitchforks high in the sky.
I see sprinters tying their laces. I see wrimos of all sorts of camps and genres and from all sorts of places all over the world gathered here by my side. I see the people, and in seeing their warm hearts and their tender smiles I cannot help but feel like, banded together, we may have something strong going on. We have all come here for the same purpose, rather it was forgotten in the panic in the face of the oncoming storm or not, and we shall all rise and fall on this battlefield together. We have assembled here in the den of the sacred beast of one accord. We are strong in our union. I know we shall prevail. I have but one question for each and every wrimo out there now, “Are you ready?”
“Some of you all may be lost to the dreaded writer’s block. Some of you will run out of coffee. Some of you will be denied sleep with nothing but your strategy in mind. Some of you will make it out of this alive, but for others, the shared responsibility of defeating the NaNoWriMo will crush you and swallow your souls. We are putting our lives on the line when we go forward into this coming month. We are stepping forth into the belly of the beast. We will all have to wrestle with the fine teeth in the maw of the gargantuan monster, NaNoWriMo. I know each and every one of you out there are preparing for this battle. Do not back down. Do not relent. We shall conquer.”
I see the people all around me shake their heads back and forth in disbelief.
I can tell what they are all thinking. It is the same thing I thought at first; it will not be too hard. I planned, and then I overcompensated, and then I fell short. I had the perfect strategy but my tactics had fallen short in the face of the giant. In the face of NaNoWriMo, I was useless, frail, and weak. With my keyboard and its showering of letters, I know that this year I will achieve victory the likes of what I never have before.
“The tribute required by NaNoWriMo is a steep one. For some of you the fight will be a hard one, but regardless I want you to give it your all and fight to your best. The monster may be ugly but he bleeds red just like the rest of us. He can only be brought to yield by the power of words; your words. We all must pay the toll, 1,667 words on average each day, for the entire month of November. I know your blades are sharp. Rather you come with a keyboard machine gun as I do, or with the dagger of the pen, I have faith in you all. Be stealthy, be cunning, be rogue-like, be wise, be humorous, be giddy, be joyous, be righteous, be pure. No matter what genre you choose to gird yourself with for the days to come and no matter who your target audience is in the tales you weave, remember this one thing, the beast must be sated.”
The people were all muttering about after I delivered these words.
“You all came here today,” I began to say to reassure them. “You all came to fight the beast. I know I am not the only wordsmith in this village of wrimos. I once thought that I was and I failed alone. This year we shall band together and this year we shall triumph. There are so many more resources available to us now. We have social media, Discord, forums, and so much more. There are workshops. There are many allies surrounding us all. There is so much more we can do and accomplish together with the things and the knowledge available to us than ever before. Do not lose hope,” I shouted out to the masses of wrimos gathered in the village now together.
“At the end of this coming month, we will all be able to look back at this village and know that we have protected it. At the end of this month, we shall all be able to say those three famous words: Vini, Vidi, Vici. Right now the battle is still before each of you as the great monster also looms over me. I am determined though. I know I have what it takes to accomplish this grave task. As the fell beast NaNoWriMo falls I will shout out those three words to the heavens: Vini, Vidi, Vici. Now I ask you all this question once more as you are gathered here: Are you ready?”
Get more stuff like this
in your inbox
Subscribe to our mailing list and get interesting stuff and updates to your email inbox.
Thank you for subscribing.
Something went wrong.