In a small study room in Young Research Library, Rebecca Kon announced a “word war.”
Kon, a fourth-year history major student, and four other writers mapped out their stories in their heads, preparing for 15 solid minutes of writing. The goal: to see who could write the most.
Moments later, a furious clacking of keys filled the room. At the halfway point, Casey Miller groaned.
“This is such crap,” said Miller, a fourth-year geography student. The others met her complaint with quick reprimands to continue writing.
At the end of the 15-minute word war, Miller had introduced a new character to her novel, Kon’s protagonist finally got a name 10,000 words into the story, and third-year theater student Caitlin Leyden’s character met a romantic interest for the second time.
Every year, Kon and other UCLA students eagerly count down the days until November, which kicks off National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo.
For an entire month, many participants write for hours each day, marching toward the 50,000-word mark required by organizers to finish the competition.
At the end, writers do not receive a book deal, admiring fans or even a penny for their efforts.
Instead, they are compensated by things they say are sometimes much more rewarding: pride, and the ability to call themselves novelists.
During November, writers like Kon organize write-ins to meet with others participating in the event. At UCLA, students and other participants meet in Café 451 and Northern Lights every week to discuss their progress.
Miller and fellow novelist Michel Chu, a second-year English student, were two of the writers who met last Wednesday for an on-campus write-in organized by Kon.
During write-ins, writers share problems with their stories and are often met with sympathetic nods, laughing and jokes as they work on their stories, Kon said.
The point of NaNoWriMo is not to produce the highest quality work, but merely to get words down and submit them online to a word-count checker, she added.
Miller said she never tells anyone the plot of her story and probably will never let anyone read the finished work.
“You’re writing so fast and you’re writing so much that you don’t have time to go back and figure out what works and what needs to be changed,” Miller said. “You know this isn’t going to be a publishable work ““ it’s probably going to be a terrible story with plot holes and stuff.”
Because the competition is so fast-paced, writers usually end up deviating from outlines they drew up before the month started. Characters and plots change unexpectedly, Miller said.
“I’ve heard people talking about (characters changing) and I didn’t understand how the characters could just change without the writer’s knowledge, but once you start writing, it all just starts coming out,” Miller said.
For many participants, the lack of direction and guidance is one of the event’s benefits. Kon said unexpected changes happen to the story’s plot as it is written, especially during exercises like word wars, since there is such pressure to get as many words down as possible.
At the same time, lack of structure can prove irritating for writers who want their stories to be perfect.
“I just have to tell myself “˜It’s fine ““ you have December to edit because November is to write,'” Miller said.
Writing is generally a solitary activity, but Chu said what makes NaNoWriMo special is that it allows writers to come together and connect, and also gives them a deadline to work toward.
Kon said the deadline keeps her motivated, even when she only has a vague idea of where her story is going.
“Usually during the rest of the year, not knowing what’s going to happen in your novel is going to stop you from writing it because you don’t have anything to write about,” she said. “Here, it’s like I don’t know what I’m going to write about, but I’m going to write about something.”
Even with a full course load, Miller said she finds time to write between classes and work on her novel.
This also gives her an opportunity to cross “write a book” off her bucket list.
“Next month, I’m not going to remember the time I had to work and then write until 3 (a.m.),” Miller said. “I’m going to remember the time I wrote a novel.”