Mia made her way down a familiar path to a world she had visited once before. In some ways it looked just as it did the year before: the buildings were still in the same places, though they, along with their plaques, had been scrubbed down after the recent shutdown and cleaning, the streets had been paved, the familiar eraser benches had been revamped, and even some of the people looked familiar. But no one had a bar above their head, most of the people who had halos the year before were halofree, and some people were new by Mia’s standards. Mia checked her name tag and noticed that she was still going by the same name as the year before. She checked into her bag as she entered Wrimonia. Old works, check. Laptop, check. Metal pencil that saved her life last year, check.

As she walked around the forum, she noticed Dragonchilde chasing a Wrimo who strangely resembled a troll across the forum. “Get him banned!” someone yelled as Dragonchilde chased the troll, holding on to her hat so it wouldn’t fall off. She still wore the staff badge, Mia noticed. That was familiar, at least. But one thing that wasn’t familiar was the horde of Wrimos at the Newbies forum. Mia walked on that way and noticed the plaque: “A place for newbies to gather or for veterans to give them advice.”

And then it hit her. I’m not a newbie anymore, Mia thought as she passed them. They looked so young. None of them had participant or winner badges, and many of them looked nervous. Almost all of them chimed up with questions as other Wrimos passed, and some of them chased the more senior Wrimos as they passed. One of them approached Mia as she passed.

“Wow, you did NaNo last year?” the Wrimo, a young impressionable Wrimo, asked.

Mia nodded and looked at the place on her chest where she noticed veteran Wrimos’ badges last year. Sure enough, a Winner badge from the year before sat on her chest in bright purple. “I did NaNo last year and even won,” Mia said.

“I’m scared,” the Wrimo asked. “Is it hard?”

Mia thought back to her own journey through NaNoWriMo: the adventures with her characters, meeting Alaina, the joys and commiserations with other Wrimos, the forums, the procrastination and distraction that she discovered while writing, the battles with Writer’s Block and Inner Editor, the struggle to make the daily word count each day, the struggle to write consistently. Finally she said, “It’s as hard as you make it. But don’t worry, there’s always someone here to help you if you need it.”

The Wrimo smiled. “Veterans can adopt newbies, right?” the Wrimo asked. Mia nodded; she had noticed this the year before but decided not to take advantage of such an offer; after all, she was here to write. “Will you be my mentor through NaNo?”

“Of course,” Mia replied, and they wandered around the forums while Mia told the new Wrimo about her NaNoWriMo experiences.

***
And Adventures in Wrimonia comes to a close. There’s so much to say here, but that’s what a separate post is for: the experience of writing Wrimonia, why such-and-such didn’t get mentioned (probably because I didn’t have time!), and what’s coming next.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.

“What do you mean, that’s for me?” Cole asked as he bent over on the floor and examined the pieces.

“There’s postmodernism for you,” Amy said.

“Let me get this straight,” Cole said. “First you steal my pawn. Then you kill my girlfriend. Then you break my pawn?”

“Doesn’t it make perfect sense?” Amy asked as she and Keith stood over them. “It’s postmodern. It’s supposed to make sense if you screw with your brain just enough.”

Cole shook his head. “If there’s something here that doesn’t make sense it’s you,” he said. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“You don’t have to do anything because I’m leaving,” Amy said. She walked away with Keith. Mia did nothing but type away as her characters reenacted this scene, Alaina at her side. Mia had been able to reach her daily word count goal every day over the last couple of days, even exceeding it easily. It really did come more easily with those black clouds now out of the sky.

The End, Mia wrote.

The characters ran toward Mia. “Check your word count,” Amy said. “Go on, check it.” She squeezed Keith’s hand as Mia pushed the word count button.

Fifty thousand, three hundred seventy-seven.

Confetti fell from the sky. Mia jumped up from the eraser bench and hugged Alaina, then all the other characters in turn, even the characters who appeared just to celebrate. “We knew you could do it, Mia,” the ghostly older woman said, “even if I didn’t show up in your story at all.”

Mia looked down. “Well, I’m sorry,” Mia said. “The story just didn’t turn out that way. Next year, maybe?” The woman grinned and started to party with everyone else.

“You have to verify it, Mia!” Alaina whispered, nudging Mia.

“Verify?” Mia asked.

“Of course!” Alaina replied, pointing to the bar above Mia’s head. It was still blue because Mia hadn’t updated her word count yet. “Don’t you want to turn that bar purple?”

“Yes!” Mia said. She looked at the clock above Wrimo Hall. According to the clock she had five and a half hours to go. She grabbed the laptop and ran toward Wrimo Hall and up the stairs to Verification Quarters.

Robots buzzed around this area, too, and Mia and her characters walked toward the nearest one. She examined the boxy body, the arms, the wheels on the legs, the FIREBUS logo on its side. She looked for a place to verify her novel.

“Uh, hello,” Mia said. “Where do I verify my novel?” As soon as she said that, a drawer on the robot opened, and out popped a cable that plugged itself into Mia’s computer. “Won’t that give me a virus or something?” Mia asked.

The robot beeped twice. “Counting words,” the robot said. It was silent except for some beeping for a minute. Mia noticed that the dial on the robot was going farther and farther to the right.

“Fifty thousand, three hundred seventy-seven words,” the robot said. “Congratulations, you are a winner of National Novel Writing Month!” A certificate popped out of its stomach, and Mia examined it.

“National Novel Writing Month winner!” the certificate said, and Mia examined it as the cable unplugged itself from Mia’s computer and the robot rolled away from them. “Congratulations! This certificate declares that (your name here) wrote (your novel title here) in the month of November as part of National Novel Writing Month.” The name and title were blank, presumably so Mia could write them in herself. Mia skimmed the rest of the certificate, not quite caring what it said anymore but taking in the actual accomplishment. Then she scribbled her name and title on it and looked up at her bar.

It was a delicious shade of grape with the word WINNER! emblazoned on it.

“Let’s go,” she told her characters. “It’s time to celebrate.”

And celebrate they did as they walked past the writers with blue bars and joined the ranks of the purple.

***
I know some of you were speculating about more parts, but the tale ends here quite nicely without more summary of the days in between. Truth be told, not much happens after Mia defeats Writer’s Block and Inner Editor and winning–she shouldn’t be browsing the forums because that’s how she got behind to start with!

But this isn’t THE END. I’ll be posting an epilogue on Wednesday, and then it’ll be time for life after Wrimonia.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.

Mia had one hand on the pencil and the other hand on her keyboard. She glanced at her screen and saw the end of the scene she had just written. No, Amy would never do that, she told herself as she backspaced an entire paragraph and thinking that she really shouldn’t be doing it. Sure, Amy would never do it, but Mia needed the words. Twenty-seven hundred words a day didn’t come easily. Mia looked at the calendar in her bag where she kept track of her word count by day. She had written twenty-five hundred words the day before, and those words actually came much more easily after discovering that NaNoWriMo was in her very name.

Or was it? If NaNoWriMo were in her name, wouldn’t she already have a purple bar? Wouldn’t she have had a green bar a long time ago? Wouldn’t NaNo be, dare she say it, easy? She looked around Wrimonia and saw the Wrimos with purple bars walk past without a worry in the world. Some of them stopped past to cheer on Wrimos who were still writing, just like the marathon runners did the day before.

Mia didn’t need any interruptions, so she tried to look busy and write. It was very hard to look busy, though, as the sky turned dark and two very familiar figures appeared. No one would find her in these conditions anyway, especially anyone who wanted to give her a pep talk like the marathon runner did the day before. Mia kept typing, hoping that the noise of her keyboard would scare them away, but when she saw someone with long curly locks and the accompanying figure with a tight bun in her hair enter the scene, she knew that there was no hope.

She kept typing and backspacing and finally stopped. There was nothing left to write about, and then she looked up.

“Not you,” she whispered.

“Oh yes, us again,” Writer’s Block said. “Who thought again that NaNoWriMo was in her name?”

Mia stood up and held the pencil in her hand, facing Writer’s Block and Inner Editor. “The marathon runner told me yesterday,” Mia said. “You cannot stop me from winning NaNoWriMo. The purple bar will be mine.”

Writer’s Block laughed. “No it won’t,” Writer’s Block said. “You haven’t written anything worthy since you were a wee lass, and even then it only got hung on the fridge because it’s your mother and your mother’s supposed to do those things.”

“Oh please, Mia,” Inner Editor said, cackling. “Look at this.” Inner Editor leaned toward the laptop and read the latest passage that Mia had written. “Amy walked hand in hand with Keith? They walked in the park together? Is this all you’re making them do, Mia?” Inner Editor asked her. “Come on, you’ve been on dates. What did you do on dates?”

“I haven’t been on too many dates,” Mia replied.

“Lies,” Inner Editor said. “Think of dates you’ve been on. Surely you can make this more realistic than a bunch of walks in the park. Surely the parents with children will find this darling young couple a little disturbing after awhile.”

“But they’re just on a date,” Mia said. “Besides, all my dates were… nontraditional,” she said, pausing and neglecting the fact that most of her dates involved movies and friends. Sometimes food was involved, but never traditional dinner and a movie dates that most people went on. Those were for people who weren’t poor college kids.

“Then use one of your dates,” Inner Editor said. “You’ve had enough dates that you can write them well, as uptight as you are. Hey, you haven’t gone on any of those this November.”

“Shut up!” Mia said. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you and about how you’re trying to get in the way of my novel.” Mia pushed Inner Editor back as Writer’s Block began blowing big black bubbles around them.

“I destroyed those bubbles once, and I can destroy them again,” Mia said as the bubble surrounded them.

“Oh, how?” Writer’s Block said. “These bubbles are storyproof. They’re even museproof, not that yours has been around in days. She’s been enjoying her vacation, by the way.” Writer’s Block walked around Mia. “I’ve had her tied up and gagged, and she’s been calling to you with ideas all this time. Shame you can’t hear her.”

Mia fumed. Has Writer’s Block really been doing this all this time? Was he really out to get her? And enjoying her vacation?

“And you!” Inner Editor exclaimed, pointing at Mia. “I’ve been out to get you all month. I’ve been reading first drafts of novels, trying to show you how every other Wrimo has written a first draft better than yours, but no, you won’t even listen. You just keep on plugging as if you won’t even think about giving up.”

“That’s because I won’t,” Mia said. She had already pushed Inner Editor back once to no effect. Surely she wouldn’t do it again. “And you, Writer’s Block. You’ve been a figment of my imagination the entire month, teasing me and making me believe that there’s nothing to write about when in fact there’s plenty to write about.”

“Then let’s see you catch up now!” Inner Editor said. She turned to Writer’s Block. “You know what to do.” Writer’s Block blew more small bubbles. Mia’s laptop floated out of her bag, and the bubbles sucked words from the laptop and into the bubbles, and Mia ran around, popping bubbles with the pencil, but she wasn’t fast enough. A few minutes later the bubbles that had popped once were being reformed by Writer’s Block and were sucking in the words again. Inner Editor ran toward Mia and whispered in her ear.

“Don’t pop those bubbles,” Inner Editor said. “Those are all crappy words anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to get rid of all of them.”

“But those are forty-two thousand words!” Mia exclaimed as she popped the word bubbles too slowly for them to return to her laptop.

“Loser,” Inner Editor whispered. “Terrible writer. You’ll never become a great writer. You’ll never even be a NaNoWriMo winner.”

Mia dropped the metal pencil for a minute. Was it true? Was Inner Editor right?

Then Mia heard the sound that lifted her spirit more than any other since Writer’s Block had trapped her inside the bubble. Footsteps. A figure with brown shoulder-length hair stepped in, followed by a shaggily handsome man. They were holding hands, and the woman was holding a young boy. Brenda followed them in, followed by the rest of the coffee shop staff and some of the other customers. Even the ghostly couple Mia hadn’t seen in weeks, Cole, the preschool staff, the children at the preschool, and people Mia didn’t even recognize stepped into the bubble.

“Good afternoon,” Amy said, facing Mia. She turned to Writer’s Block. “Your bubble isn’t characterproof, I hope you know.”

Writer’s Block turned pale. He had never thought of that when devising his evil plan.

Mia turned to her characters. “You know what to do,” she said, hoping they did because there was no way she was going to tell them what to do in front of her nemeses. The characters certainly did know what to do, and they popped those bubbles with gusto. Keith was particularly good at popping bubbles; he ran around popping bubbles with his X-Acto knife, while Amy popped bubbles with the traveling shovel of death, which she somehow rescued from the burial site. Mia didn’t even bother asking her how that had happened and in fact didn’t even get a chance, for Inner Editor was rounding on her.

“Terrible. Worthless. Useless prose. No one writes worse than you,” Inner Editor said. “Your words are better off here, you know. They can live a life in their best condition, never being exposed to the light of day. No one will have to suffer deaths from exposure to Mia’s words. The world will be much better off without your words.”

“Lies!” Mia yelled, trying to convince herself that it was a lie because it would keep her going and help her finish NaNo–that is, if it were even possible.

“Truth,” Inner Editor said, and with that Mia could take no more. She held the pencil up to her and heard the voice that filled her heart with joy, except this time she could hear what it said, and she listened to it as her characters ran around destroying word bubbles and setting Mia’s words and their own story free. Only a few more bubbles remained.

“If ever Mia shall decide
To give up NaNo–oh, she tried!
Then she should know there’s no debate
That NaNoWriMo’s in her fate.”

The voices sang Mia’s name followed by NaNoWriMo several times before resuming the rhyme. Mia smiled and turned back to the inner editor.

“I’m going to finish NaNo whether you like it or not,” Mia said, holding the point of the pencil closer to Inner Editor than was healthy.

“No,” Inner Editor said. “You can’t. Your novel is terrible.”

“Just watch me,” Mia said, and she stabbed Inner Editor in the heart with the pencil. The song played out loud as the characters popped the last two word bubbles, and Inner Editor writhed.

“NaNoWriMo… in your fate…” Inner Editor mumbled as her bun fell apart and her face fell flat, her glasses falling to the floor. Inner Editor fell to the floor in a crumpled heap as Writer’s Block writhed at the other end of the bubble, pinned to the bubble by Amy and the traveling shovel of death.

“How’d you like that?” Amy asked. Mia watched as all the words floated back to Mia’s laptop and arranged themselves in the right order.

“I can’t believe it,” Writer’s Block mumbled. “You did it.”

“Oh, not only did we do it,” Amy said. “But we know what’s going to happen next. You’re only in Mia’s imagination, after all.”

Mia sat back, letting Amy take control. Amy’s hair sat in place, her eyes blazing and the traveling shovel of death in hand.

“What?” Writer’s Block asked. “What do you mean you know?”

“Oh, we know,” Amy said. “Remember when Keith and I went to the art gallery I work at because I was working their next event?” Writer’s Block nodded. “Guess who happens to be there?”

Writer’s Block gulped. Cole stepped forward, and Amy held the pawn in her hand. Cole reached for it, but Amy didn’t hand it over. “Oh no,” Amy said. “You’re not supposed to get this back yet.”

“What do you mean, I don’t get it back?” Cole asked. “That’s been missing for weeks and I’ve had to make up this crazy postmodern explanation as to why a pawn was missing from a chess set. Most of them have bought it, but others, not so much.”

“And what did you tell them?” Amy asked.

“That it represented… something. I don’t remember what now,” Cole said. To tell the truth, he didn’t want to remember.

“You’re not supposed to get this back yet,” Amy said. She watched as Writer’s Block writhed in place. Mia suddenly realized what Amy was about to do and then remembered what Alaina told her way back when.

“Amy, no!” Mia said. “You can’t do that to him.”

Amy turned to Mia. “Why not?” Amy asked. “It’s the traveling shovel of death. It’s supposed to kill people.”

“But you don’t get it,” Mia said. “Too many people have tried that. He likes getting bopped on the head by it now. It only encourages his crime of robbing people of the ability to write.” Mia looked around and noticed that the bubble around them was fading. Fading, but not disappearing entirely.”

“Then what am I supposed to do, stab him with the pencil?” Amy asked.

Mia thought. She never actually killed Writer’s Block; in fact, Alaina told her that Writer’s Block would always be back. Amy wanted to try, though, so Mia walked to Inner Editor and yanked the pencil out of her. Surprisingly, it was clean, probably because Inner Editor didn’t have a heart. Mia grinned and handed it to Amy.

“Go for it,” Mia said. Writer’s Block writhed as Mia and her characters surrounded him, telling him what they were doing next in the story, and when Amy stood right in front of him, Amy said, “You’re a monster, Writer’s Block. You deserve to die,” and she stabbed him in the heart.

“I’ll be back!” Writer’s Block yelled as his writhing slowed to a dull stop, and he writhed no more.

“I’ll be back?” Amy asked Mia.

The bubble faded, and someone else entered, someone Mia hadn’t seen in a long time. Alaina wrapped her arms around Mia. “Welcome back,” Mia said.

“How’s the writing going?” Alaina asked.

“It’s going well,” Mia said. “Could be better.” Alaina turned toward Amy, who had now pulled the pencil out of Writer’s Block’s chest; it too came out clean. These villains really were heartless. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been on a little vacation,” Alaina said. “It’s what happens during this time of the month.”

Mia shook her head. “No, really, what have you been up to?” Mia asked. “I could have used you during the last few weeks.”

“Don’t worry, I’m back now,” Alaina replied. “It’s time to make this happen.” Amy handed the pencil back to Mia, and Mia stashed it back in her bag as they settled on the trusty eraser bench to write. Eight thousand more words to go, Mia told herself as she began to write.

***
Have the enemies been vanquished? Will Mia finish NaNoWriMo with three days and 8000 words to go? I am a cruel human being for making you wait until Monday.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.

“Don’t you want to be in Wrimonia again next year?” one vendor yelled across Wrimonia. “Get a halo for yourself or a friend today! Save Wrimonia!” The vendor pushed his cart to a Wrimo celebrating her victory, and Mia looked away to a sign ticking away the seconds toward the end of NaNo. Mia watched it for a few seconds before turning away. Every second watching that sign was a second not writing, she told herself, and I can’t afford that right now.

People ran across Wrimonia, and Mia spotted the battalion of marathon runners running across Wrimonia cheering on the Wrimos.

One marathon runner looked at a Wrimo who was behind on word count. “You’re behind,” the marathon runner said, “but you know what? You can do it! Fifty thousand can be yours by the 30th.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” the Wrimo replied. “I’m just trying not to stop writing at this point. I have twenty thousand words. That’s nearly ten thousand words a day.”

“There are many Wrimos who have caught up from that far behind and finished,” the marathon runner said. “Some have written even more in this time. Heck, even a few have written the full fifty thousand words in this time.”

“But I can’t,” the Wrimo replied.

“But you can,” the marathon runner said. “NaNoWriMo is a marathon, not a fifty yard dash, and you’re about to reap the benefits of it. Just keep writing, and you will surprise yourself.” The marathon runner kept running, and the Wrimo kept writing. Mia looked up, and the marathon runner was right in front of her. It was the same marathon runner who gave Mia the pencil.

“You’re not going to give up too, are you?” the marathon runner asked.

“I didn’t expect you to say that,” Mia replied. “But it’s tempting. It’s awfully tempting.” Mia scooted the pencil over so the marathon runner could sit down on the bench. “My story sucks. Really really sucks. I just joined the Suck Club because it sucks so badly. There are busty lesbian cabbage pirate ninjas, and random characters who came out of nowhere in there, and I don’t know where it’s going or if it’s going anywhere, and I don’t know if there’s any point to doing this in the first place.”

“Tell me, Mia,” the marathon runner said. “Why did you sign up for NaNoWriMo to start with?”

“I wanted to write a book,” Mia replied. “I lost all inspiration for writing and I wanted that back.”

“Have you found it again?” the marathon runner asked.

Mia stammered. “Well, I thought I did,” Mia replied, swinging the pencil around without realizing it. “Sorry,” she said when she nearly hit the marathon runner with it. “But then the Writer’s Block and Inner Editor decided to haunt me and I barely escaped, and Alaina and my characters haven’t been around for days, and I don’t know where they are.”

“Mia,” the marathon runner interrupted. “I didn’t just give you this pencil on a lark.”

“It does something,” Mia replied. “It’s still talking.”

“You mean you still haven’t figured out what it does yet?”

“Well, when Writer’s Block and Inner Editor were taking me on two on one, I managed to escape with this,” Mia said. “I pierced the bubble Writer’s Block was blowing.”

“But have you actually listened to the voices?” the marathon runner asked.

Mia shook her head. “They’re still indistinguishable to me. It’s just a blob of voice.”

The marathon runner gulped. “Listen.” And she and Mia leaned in toward the pencil, and suddenly Mia heard something so warm, so beautiful, something she had never heard before. It wasn’t a voice at all, actually. It was a comforting sound, a sound of joy and love and inspiration coming from the inside of that pen.

“But what is it?” Mia asked.

“Have you figured out anything else the pencil does?” the marathon runner asked. Mia shook her head. “Play with it for a minute.”

Mia examined the pencil further, and she noticed that where the metal part of a normal pencil would be was where this pencil unscrewed. She unscrewed it, and out flew nine letters. They flew into the air and spelled her name. MIA WONNOR, the letters in the air said. She stared at them for a few minutes. They were in the most beautiful font she had ever seen, and each letter was in a different color. As Mia stared at the letters, the marathon runner moved a hand, and the letters rearranged themselves.

NANOWRIMO, the letters read a minute later. Mia stared in astonishment. Was NaNoWriMo really written in her name? In the stars, even? Mia looked up, even though it was the middle of the day and the only star up was the sun.

“You can do it, Mia,” the marathon runner said, handing the pencil back to Mia, and Mia looked at the pencil again. “NaNoWriMo is embedded in your very being, Mia, and you were meant to complete NaNoWriMo. Now go forth and finish!”

Mia looked up at where the letters once were and noticed that they had now disappeared back into the pencil. The pencil was warm yet light in her hand. There was one more battle to fight, but first, the next milestone awaited: forty thousand words.

***
Some of you figured this out ages ago, but yes, Mia’s name was meaningful. In fact, I spent the trip to my write-in the day I started this novel trying to figure out the perfect NaNoWriMo anagram for her. Will this spur her to finish with over 10k and days to go? We shall see.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.

Everything was gone. Writer’s Block, Inner Editor, the black bubble that Writer’s Block had been blowing to surround them. Mia looked up. It was just like the day she was browsing the adoptable threads in the Plot Doctoring forums, except she didn’t get sucked into anything. She got up and wiped herself down. Then she noticed where she was.

NANOWRIMO ATE MY SOUL, read the nearest plaque. Nothing could be more true, Mia thought as she ran into the forum. She stumbled into the nearest thread, conveniently titled “I hate myself and want to die” and collapsed on the nearest couch, metal pencil still in hand. As she panted, she looked around the room. Other Wrimos appeared to be in similar states.

“Why?” Mia asked as she looked at the pencil. “Inner Editor and Writer’s Block have been chasing me down, and I barely escaped. I’m behind and I’m not sure if I’ll catch up, and my characters just killed someone with the traveling shovel of death and it doesn’t fit in my novel at all.” Mia burst into tears.

“It’s okay, Mia,” ororo said, looking up from the laptop. “Remember all the signs around Wrimonia about first drafts sucking?” Mia nodded. “It’s true. I’ve done this since 2002 and all of my work sucks.”

Another Wrimo with long hair entered and collapsed on another couch. “Hi ororo,” she said. “Hi Mia,” she said after reading Mia’s name tag. “My life sucks. Everything about it.”

“My novel sucks,” Mia said, commiserating. “And I don’t want to quit. I can’t now that I’ve bought the halo.” She looked up at it. “I don’t know about the noveling karma anymore, but it’s definitely telling me not to quit. I paid for this thing!”

“My characters just hurt me instead of their villain,” XantheKelsylva, the long-haired Wrimo, said. “Look at this.” She showed off a slash on her arm. “And I thought we were better off as the writers.”

“No, we aren’t,” ororo said. “I’ve already suffered their wounds too. At least we’re just the authors, right?”

“Yeah, imagine how much life would suck if we were all characters in someone’s NaNoWriMo novel,” XantheKelsylva said, and everyone laughed.

Despite the run-in with Writer’s Block and Inner Editor and despite their hovering over Mia whenever she tried to write (they kept at a distance after Mia’s escape, and Writer’s Block stopped blowing the bubbles), Mia did write three thousand words that day. She really wanted to reach forty thousand words, but the pull of the Inner Editor was just too strong, and no more traveling shovels of death could be found. The next day Mia found herself in the NaNoWriMo Ate My Soul forum again, Writer’s Block and the Inner Editor at her side, and stumbled into a forum with a picture of a soap carving on the door. It reminded her of Fight Club, except the words didn’t say Fight Club. Instead the pink bar of soap said Suck Club. Mia entered, pushing the door open and noticing a large bar of soap with the same emblem on the center table.

“I suck!” a Wrimo named Pookel exclaimed. “My life sucks, my novel sucks, and everything sucks. Can we just say suck?”

“Well, my novel sucks too,” another Wrimo said.

“So does mine,” Mia commiserated.

“Then you should join the Suck Club,” Pookel said, pointing to the bar of soap at the center of the table.

“The Suck Club?” Mia asked. “What’s that?”

“Read the wall,” the other Wrimo said. Mia got up and read the wall.

“Welcome to Suck Club.
This is the place for everyone whose work sucks.
The first rule of Suck Club is you don’t talk about Suck Club. Others will do that for you, while pointing and laughing.
The second rule of Suck Club is you don’t talk about Not-Suck Club. Those people with talent make us cry.
The third rule of Suck Club is when your plot says stop or your characters, you will continue to flog them, dead horse-style.
The fourth rule of Suck Club is no strong characters, no tight plotting, no exploration of themes and NO GODDAMN ENCHANTING POETIC TURNS OF PHRASE
The fifth rule of Suck Club is if this your first night at Suck Club, or if you’ve been here for years, you have to Suck.”

Mia finished reading the rules on the wall and realized that they described her perfectly, a far departure from her opinion at the beginning of the month. “Let me in!” she said. “I’m writing a sucky novel!”

“Welcome to the Suck Club,” Pookel said. “Take a small bar of soap from the table as a token of your membership.” Mia grabbed a bar of soap and pocketed it, not noticing that it wasn’t a bar of soap at all but a rock in the same color as the Fight Club bar of soap. Mia walked out of the forum, ready to write as she settled on the nearest eraser bench. She took out the pencil and examined it. The metal, the fake eraser end that wasn’t an eraser at all, the pointy end that couldn’t be written with at all. Somehow, somehow! though Mia didn’t know how, this thing had saved her from Writer’s Block and the Inner Editor. They would be back, though, Mia thought as she caressed this pencil and typed away at her novel. She laid it on her lap and typed over the pencil.

The voices were still there, and what she heard before as mumbling voices were no longer mumbling. They were much louder now but still indistinguishable. She typed the next sentence and leaned in toward the pencil.

Nothing. Mia gave up and continued to type. Three thousand more words, she told herself as she kept typing. That was all she needed to get one step closer to getting back on track, but Alaina and her characters must have taken an extended vacation on a most inconvenient time. Mia looked around, and sure enough, they were nowhere to be found. Chris Baty was also nowhere to be found, as he was probably also working on his own NaNoWriMo novel. (Mia had heard through the NaNo grapevine that Chris often got behind on his novel and played catchup during this time of the month.) She looked back at her novel and continued to write.

***
Suck Club is another NaNo thread from the early forum days. The thread isn’t often reintroduced anymore, though, which shows the often-fleeting nature of the Internet.

On another note, people have asked if I ever appear in the novel. I’ll go ahead and answer this one and tell you that no, I don’t appear. That’s why I’m mentioned a couple of times early and why the fourth wall is nudged here: Mia meeting her maker is a little too meta.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.

The once-ugly man unzipped his costume and revealed his shiny locks and handsome outfit. He pranced around Mia, blowing dark bubbles in her direction and laughing with glee as they popped in her face.

“Stop it!” Mia yelled as another bubble, the biggest one yet, popped right in front of her face. “I’m trying to write here.”

Writer’s Block laughed. “Write?” he asked. “Oh, you won’t get any writing done here. Look around you.” Mia looked around. It was just her and Writer’s Block under the word tree. Other Wrimos passed with their bars of blue and green and purple. Mia noticed that some Wrimos still had lower word counts than she had, and they were still writing. Writer’s Block still wouldn’t leave Mia, choosing to blow more and more black bubbles in her direction.

Mia tried writing but wrote two sentences. She looked at him.

“Where’s your creativity now, Mia?” Writer’s Block asked. He cackled loudly.

“No,” Mia said, noticing that they were now alone. “You won’t get to attack me. I defeated you many times this month.”

“Oh, but I got the better of you some days,” Writer’s Block said, dancing around Mia and blowing more bubbles. “Remember when you didn’t write fore three days in a row? Or when you wrote only five hundred words for two days?”

Mia stared at Writer’s Block. Yes, it was true that she stopped writing for two days in a row. Everything Writer’s Block said was true. But–

“I beat you in the end,” Mia said.

Writer’s Block laughed. “Beat me?” Writer’s Block said, cackling. “Please. You only think you beat me because you sat down to write again. That’s just you pretending to think you beat me. You pathetic little twit.”

Mia stood up. Was Writer’s Block laughing at her? “No,” Mia said, this time more forcefully. “I beat you. I’ve already beaten you.”

“Please,” Writer’s Block said. “You just let your characters kill off someone with some silly traveling shovel of death and you want to say that you’ve beaten me. Maybe I should start haunting NaNoWriMo novelists more often. I just choose you because you’re special.”

“You mean you choose only me?”

Writer’s Block shook its head. “Oh no no no, you silly little girl,” Writer’s Block said. “Everyone who faces me sees what they want to see, just like with everything in life. In your case you see an unusually handsome man who just happens to be a bit evil. Kind of like real life devils.”

“But like I said, I’ve already beaten you. I’ve already written thirty-six thousand words,” Mia pointed out. She pondered showing Writer’s Block those words, and then thought against it. What if Writer’s Block destroyed those words? But then she decided that Writer’s Block couldn’t be that dangerous, and she held out her laptop. As predicted, Writer’s Block laughed, but the laugh was a bit forced.

“This? This is your writing?” Writer’s Block asked. “We’ll have to see what she says about that.”

Writer’s Block continued to blow bubbles around Mia as someone else appeared. A someone with a tight bun in her hair and wearing a white blouse and a plaid skirt. It was the same outfit Mia remembered her wearing the last time they had met.

Inner Editor.

Mia cringed, especially when she saw the large red pen in her hand. “Not you too!” Mia exclaimed. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Inner Editor smiled. “Did you see the last scene you wrote?” Inner Editor asked. “Killing the guy’s poor girlfriend? You’ve never even met her in the novel before. It makes no sense. Negative sense, even. You had no reason to do it except to get words in your novel. And the busty lesbian cabbage pirate ninjas. Let’s not get started on those.”

“You should get started on those,” Writer’s Block said. “I like you when you’re feisty.”

“Yes, but we’re not here to get feisty,” Inner Editor said. “Or at least I’m not.” She turned to Mia. “You can’t have those scenes in your novel, Mia. Think of what someone would think if they saw it on a bookshelf. Does anyone read about busty lesbian cabbage pirate ninjas?”

“Of course not,” Mia replied. “That’s why this is a first draft.”

Inner Editor laughed. If only Mia knew what she knew. “A first draft, you say?” Inner Editor asked. “A first draft?” Inner Editor grabbed Writer’s Block’s shoulders to keep herself from falling over with laughter. “Oh, my darling, you have a long way to go in order to learn what it’s really like to be a writer.” Inner Editor stopped laughing long enough to let go of Writer’s Block’s shoulders and walked toward Mia. Mia stopped typing and looked up at Inner Editor. “You have to learn to craft your words so they shine, shine just like that halo resting on top of your word counter. You have to learn to make your words create worlds in the reader’s minds. You have to–”

“Wait a minute,” Mia said, interrupting Inner Editor. “Have you ever written a book?”

Inner Editor looked offended. Of course she hadn’t written a book. Who would write a book when they had better things to do like correct other people’s grammar? She was about to say this when Mia kept going. “Because if you haven’t written a book, you don’t know how hard it is. You write really shitty prose, want to quit halfway through, pad your words, write shitty scenes that you know will be taken out but you need to keep going anyway, and then finally hit The End in some blaze of glory, even if the blaze of glory is just to eat more chocolate and go to sleep.”

Inner Editor interrupted Mia just before Mia was about to go on. “Now you’re stark raving mad,” Inner Editor said. “Haven’t you ever read a book, young lady?”

“Of course I’ve read a book,” Mia said. She was about to say that she went to college, but then she thought of how many complete books she read in college and thought against that. She had other things to do, like read for fun, during that time. “What else do you expect me to do with my spare time?”

“Not write, obviously,” Inner Editor said, pointing at Mia’s bag. “All rubbish, I tell you. You haven’t mastered the art of writing, young lady. And for that you’ll never become a great writer.”

Mia had had enough. She gathered her belongings and ran away from them, but the atmosphere of Writer’s Block and Inner Editor blocked her from getting away. Alaina, I need you, Mia thought. Word war forum, I need you. She tried to think of what to write next, but her mind blanked. Nothing came to mind as she thought of what to do.

Then her mind was taken back to a scene several days ago. She was sitting on a bench with a marathon runner, and the marathon runner gave her a pencil made of metal. Was it still there? Mia wondered. Well, if the traveling shovel of death was still there yesterday, surely the pencil still had to be there.

But it was harder and harder to think as Writer’s Block and Inner Editor closed in on her.

I will not quit, Mia thought to herself as she dug through her bag. I will not quit. I will reach fifty thousand. I can do it. She fumbled through her bag. Notebook. Another notebook. Chocolate. Her hand bumped against something metal. Success. She grabbed it from the bag and tried to stab Writer’s Block. Nothing. What was this thing supposed to do if it couldn’t kill people? she thought. Then she remembered that neither Alaina nor she could kill either one of them. The surroundings grew darker, and Mia noticed that it looked solid. Then she did the only thing she could think of to do and pierced a hole through the edge of the bubble that Writer’s Block was blowing.

***
Cliffhanger! What will happen to Mia? What will happen to Writer’s Block and Inner Editor? Is this the last we’ll see of them? Time will tell.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.

Even though Alaina was gone, Amy and Keith decided to do their duties as characters and show up every now and then. It was a good thing they did, too. They were more cooperative than ever, at least for the next few hundred words. Despite Amy’s forgetting to use the pawn to win Cole back and choosing to pursue Keith instead and despite her forgetting to find out about her parents’ past altogether, Mia decided to let them take control of the story. Maybe this would be the key to getting fifty thousand words.

Or it would be the key to getting fifty thousand words if Amy didn’t grab Mia’s bag and start digging through it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mia asked, snatching the bag from Amy. “You don’t even exist outside of my imagination. Cut it out.”

“But I do exist here in Wrimonia,” Amy replied. “And we’re in Wrimonia, so I can do what I want.”

“What do you want?” Mia asked. “Do you just want to go ahead and make hot monkey love to Keith?”

Amy pondered this. “Well, that would be kind of nice,” she said. “But no, not at the moment. I’m looking for your traveling shovel of death.”

Mia stared. How did Amy even know she had it in the first place? Amy definitely wasn’t around when the traveling shovel of death was introduced. Amy kept digging through the bag and pulled it out. “Thanks, I’ll need this,” Amy said.

“For what?” Mia asked. “And how’d you know?”

“Silly Mia,” Amy said. “I know more than you think I do.”

“How can you? I’m your author!” Mia stood up to face Amy and noticed that she was shorter than her character by at least three inches.

“Yes, but you know how some superheroes just instinctively know how to save the world?” Amy asked. Mia nodded, remembering how she watched those action shows with her brother as a kid. “We characters can be the same way. After all, the object of a good book is to suspend some belief for a few hours while you’re reading.”

“This is a little too much belief to suspend,” Mia said. “Get your own traveling shovel of death.”

“But I don’t know where the reaper is,” Amy said. “And I don’t have time to chase him because she’s due to die in a few hours.”

Mia stared. Since when did her character become a killer? “Wait, since when did you decide to kill someone?”

“Since Cole decided to get a girlfriend. Don’t you remember writing that part?” Amy examined the expression on Mia’s face.

Mia shook her head. She remembered when Amy and Keith saw Cole with someone else on the street one day, but not another woman.

“Well, I’ve decided that Cole has a girlfriend, so I’m killing her.”

“Amy, that makes negative sense,” Mia said. “You can’t just go killing someone, especially with no evidence.”

“Who says I can’t? It’s fiction, after all,” Amy shot back. Mia looked at Keith, but he just shrugged. He wore all black and carried a pair of binoculars.

“Okay, she’s coming, honey,” Keith said. “Get ready.” Amy put on a black trenchcoat and a matching black fedora and waited as a blonde woman wearing a tight purple dress and knee-high black boots entered the scene.

“Who’s this ugly woman?” Mia asked. “If that dress were any tighter, it’d squeeze the fat out of her. Not that she has any fat to be squeezed out of her to start with.”

“That’s my prey,” Amy replied. “And she’s about to be dead.”

“Amy, it’s my book, not yours. I was willing to give you some leeway earlier, but then you decided to start kill–”

“AAAAAAAAAAAH!” Amy and Keith ran toward the woman, surrounding her. Amy pulled out the traveling shovel of death and hit her on the head with it. The shovel did its job, and she fell over, unconscious.

“Come on, one hit isn’t going to kill her,” Keith said. “Give her another one.”

“Fine, give me a minute!” Amy replied. She leaned over the woman, examining her eyes, her slightly crooked nose, her mouth, her large breasts that were getting squished by the tight dress, the long hair flowing over her head and her shoulders, the blood that now flowed out of her head. Amy stabbed the woman in the neck with the shovel and ran, traveling shovel of death in hand.

“Why are you carrying that with you?” Keith asked. “It’s evidence!”

“You idiot, that’s exactly why I’m carrying it with me,” Amy replied as she dug a hole in the ground and threw the traveling shovel of death in the hole. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the pawn from the chess set, then repocketed it.

“Let’s go,” Amy said, taking Keith’s hand. “We’ve done enough damage here for today.” They walked away from the scene, leaving the body for someone else to clean up.

The entire time Mia wanted to chase after them, but something kept her tied to the computer, typing up the entire incident. She didn’t finish typing the scene until they had left, and as they walked away, Mia yelled after them. “Amy! Keith! Get your butts back here and clean up this body, stat.” When they didn’t return, Mia returned to the laptop and tried to think of what could happen next. Conflict, she thought as she pondered a possible source. Only a thousand words to go.

***
I’ve definitely had this feeling before. In fact, this sums up the last few days of my first NaNo novel when I went to 25,000 words to 50,000 in a few short days. Sweet, sweet conflict.

I opened up the file containing this part today and realized that it was part thirty-two. Thirty-two? When did this happen? Granted, I know exactly how many parts there are since I created them in advance, and as you might guess by the day of the month in Wrimonia, we’re not at the beginning anymore. This explains my surprise a lot.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.

Mia looked at her own word count and sighed. Only thirty-one thousand? She wasn’t doing that badly, she thought to herself as she continued to write. It felt like a struggle. So much for this home stretch everyone was talking about. This wasn’t easy at all. She looked up at the sky, and the bright blue sky reflected what everyone else was thinking. Not a single cloud appeared in the sky as Mia looked back down at her laptop. She looked at the clock that told her how many days until NaNoWriMo ended, ticking down the seconds until November’s end. This freaked Mia out, and she looked away. But something else was there, too. A stack of books.

Mia walked toward Wrimo Hall, where this stack of books sat. Each of this books was a different color, and each succeeding book was a different color. The largest books, however, were gray. She touched the smallest book, which was yellow, and it floated out of the bookshelf and opened.

“Seventy-five thousand dollars,” the book spoke. “The staff work in a building with basic running water, electricity, computers, and Internet servers. Websites run on happy servers. 2009 postage and shipping costs are covered. Also, coffee!” Mia smiled and picked up the next book. The yellow book floated back to its position, and the new book, which was a pale orange, floated and opened. “One hundred fifty thousand dollars give you everything in the yellow book and more!” it said. “Landlords will rejoice here, for the primary NaNoWriMo staff positions are paid for the months leading up to NaNoWriMo.” Mia continued this for every other nongray book, and then picked up the gray books one at a time. “Four hundred fifty thousand dollars,” the book said in a more solemn voice. “Everything in the red book and more, including costs of designing and manufacturing products and paying for the NaNoWriMo director, Young Writers Program Director, Community Liaison, Tech Director, and Office of Letters and Light costs for the entire year.” She picked up each other book and read the contents, and after reading the gray book that said when all the year’s expenses would be paid for, Mia looked around Wrimonia. Wrimos passed her, laptops in hand. Most of them did not have halos.

Mia ran away from the books and to the nearest halo-free Wrimo. “Do you have a halo yet?” she asked the Wrimo.

“No,” the Wrimo replied. “Why should I?” Mia grabbed the Wrimo’s hand and without saying a word, led her to the books outside Wrimo Hall. The Wrimo stared. “What about it?” the Wrimo asked.

“Open those books,” Mia said.

The Wrimo started with the first one, just as Mia did, and continued through all the gray books. When she finished, she looked at Mia and said, “So why should I care?”

“Because this wonderful land is free for all of us to wander in and flounder in our own creativity,” Mia replied, wondering why the Wrimo didn’t get it. It only took her a few minutes to get it herself. She looked up at the Wrimo’s blue bar. This Wrimo was well on track to finish on time. “Look at your word count. You’ll probably get to 50k in the next few days and definitely by the 30th.”

The Wrimo nodded. “I was going to push to it tomorrow,” the Wrimo replied. “Half today, half tomorrow.”

“Then why not give back after you hit 50k?” Mia asked, and then she looked at the Wrimo’s badges. This person had finished NaNoWriMo three times before and still had no clue that NaNo cost money to operate. “NaNo helped you write a novel, four by the looks of your badges, and that deserves a little something back.”

The Wrimo looked down. “I don’t know if I can afford it,” she whispered. “I mean, halos are expensive, and I’m really poor right now.”

Mia didn’t know what to say to this. How did one donate without money? But before she could answer, a different halo vendor from before approached them yelling, “Halos! Getcher halos here!” Mia approached the halo vendor.

“You already have a halo, missy,” the vendor said. “I can give you another one, but we don’t usually double halo a Wrimo. Two halos look kinda silly, dontcha think?”

“No, I don’t want another halo,” Mia replied. “I was wondering if there was a way to donate without money.”

“Of course there is!” the vendor replied. He was also short and wore a long shirt with jeans and comfortable-looking shoes. “It involves not working on your novel for awhile, but there are great ways to help NaNo out. You ever hear of Goodsearch?” Both of them shook their heads. “You use it just like you use Google, and if you set the Office of Letters and Light as your charity, you can send money to NaNo. It’s brilliant, I tell you.” He smiled at them. “Of course, there’s also the option of letting someone else buy you a halo.”

Mia didn’t have much cash in her pocket, certainly not enough for another halo. The other Wrimo shook her head. “It’s okay,” she replied. “I can find someone to sponsor me.”

“All right,” the vendor said. “But come back when you do; I’ll have to attach that halo to your head myself. It ain’t easy, you know!” He wheeled his cart away from them.

The other Wrimo turned to Mia. “Looks like I’ll have to find out about this Goodsearch, won’t I?”

“It’s a good thing,” Mia said. “You can research your novel with it too. It’s a procrastination tool and a fundraising tool.” But before she could say anything else, the other Wrimo ran away in search of Goodsearch.

Mia looked around Wrimonia and saw something she had never seen before.

Purple bars. Not too many Wrimos had them yet, but the Wrimos who did were celebrating and throwing book-shaped confetti around.

“We did it!” they yelled to each other. “We won!” Other Wrimos were around them celebrating the accomplishments, some still with green bars, some still with blue. Mia ran toward the Wrimos with the purple bars and grabbed a bottle of champagne. A bottle of sparkling grape juice also appeared for the underage Wrimos.

“Congratulations!” she yelled.

“Shall we have a toast?” a Wrimo with a green bar asked.

“Sure,” Mia replied, and out of nowhere a champagne flute for each Wrimo appeared. Mia poured the drinks and noticed that she didn’t have the lowest word count there. She breathed a sigh of relief as the most veteran Wrimo, a Wrimo with a green bar and seven winner badges, said, “To the first members of the purple bar society. We can ask for no finer charter members of this year’s purple bar society.”

“Cheers,” everyone else said, raising their glasses in the air and taking a drink.

“Wait,” Mia whispered to the Wrimo who made the toast. “Why do they have purple bars and you don’t?”

“It’s still the twenty-fourth where I am,” the Wrimo replied. “I still have to wait until midnight, and believe me, I’m counting down the minutes. Sometimes I’d love to be on the other side of the world right now.”

Mia nodded, even though it wouldn’t matter if today were the twenty-fifth right now. She’d still be stuck with a blue bar. Finally she asked, “How’d you do it?” to everyone.

“How’d we do what?” Keladryie, a Wrimo with a purple bar, asked.

“How’d you get your purple bars so fast?” The Wrimos with word counts lower than Mia’s nodded their agreement with this question, and Mia noticed that some of the Wrimos with purple bars were new to NaNo. “Is there some secret that everyone should know?”

“I’ll tell you my secret, and you should promise that you tell everyone who asks,” Keladryie said. “Ready?” Everyone nodded. “Butt in chair, hands on keyboard.”

Mia stared. “That’s it?” she asked. “But I’ve been doing that, and nothing’s coming out. Don’t you have extra powerful muses or something?”

“Muses are nice,” Keladryie replied. “But they’re not around all the time. Sometimes you really do have to give them a kick in the butt when they need it, and sometimes you have to give yourself a kick in the butt when you need it. It’s all about sheer determination. Wishing you could write or just waiting for the muse won’t get an inch of writing done. You really just have to sit down and do it.”

Another Wrimo with a purple bar stepped in. “It’s all true,” Keladryie said. “Just sit down and write.”

“But I’m behind!” a Wrimo with fewer words than Mia exclaimed.

“That’s okay,” Keladryie said. “You can catch up. Some people have caught up from twenty-five thousand, twenty thousand, ten thousand, even zero words at this point. It’s all about your attitude.” Mia looked down at her laptop and saw that it was glowing from the light of her halo. The halo vendor knew his stuff. “Besides, you have a halo,” Keladryie said, pointing at her own halo. “That halo does give you good noveling karma. Now go out and use it.”

***
Giving to NaNo in 2009 wasn’t affordable to me, so I also made liberal use of Goodsearch, which you can use for organizations besides the Office of Letters and Light. I happen to use it year-round, but as luck and a little competition would have it, I wrote the most words on the first day in my region (20,012) and earned a halo that way.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.

She looked at the scene in her novel. That was the only thing she wrote the day before, and it did give her two thousand words. That was an awful lot to lose, especially when she was behind. But I’m getting back on track, she told herself. I can make that back up again.

Or can I? Am I really just going to write random crap like this into my novel and never be able to catch up with a quality plot? Will I never be able to write a good book?

The words echoed in her mind. No one writes a perfect first draft. The first draft of everything is shit. Don’t worry. Just get it written. All sage advice she had heard in the forums, but somehow she had convinced herself that her work was different. Of course her work would be different. She had spent so much time on it cultivating it. Well, not so much time, Mia told herself. I only found out about this a week before NaNo began. You can’t cultivate a novel in a week.

She passed a trash can. A sign sat next to the trash can. DO NOT THROW OUT YOUR NOVEL HERE, the sign said. Mia sighed and wondered what would happen if she did chuck her novel in the bin. She looked at her laptop. She peered into the trash can and was somehow severely disappointed to see only the typical contents of a trash can inside. No discarded novels but she had to try.

Still, she had to try. She dug through her bag for her flash drive and threw it in the trash can.

The trash can threw it back up, tossing the flash drive back in Mia’s hand. She stared at it, then looked at the unassuming trash can. “You will accept it!” Mia yelled. “I quit this novel! I’ll start over if I have to, but I can’t accept this pure crap in my work.” She tried throwing the flash drive in the trash can again, and the trash can spit it out again.

Before Mia could try to trash her novel again, a short man pushing a cart bumped into her. Mia didn’t notice the man at first; in fact, the glow of the cart was the first thing that caught her eye.

“Hello,” the man said in a calm voice. “Would you like to buy a halo?”

Mia examined the halos in the cart. They came in all shades of yellow, and some of them had inscriptions on them. She also couldn’t help but notice that some of them were slightly brighter than others, but not so bright that one was a dull shade of yellow and one was an obnoxious shade of neon yellow.

“What are they for?” Mia asked. “I’ve seen a bunch of people in Wrimonia wandering around with these things on their head, but no one had told me what they’re for.”

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat,” the man replied. “You know this magical land you’re in right now?” Mia nodded, looking down at the flash drive that refused to go in the trash can. “It doesn’t come for free. Every year thousands of aspiring novels and even a few professionals come here in the quest of writing a novel in a month. They come from all walks of life, some just discovering the love of writing that burns inside them, some knowing that they wanted to be a writer ever since discovering that people actually wrote those books that they love so much. But this land doesn’t come for free.” Mia looked around Wrimonia. The trees were especially green today, and bright blue birds flew off the trees and toward a group of Wrimos working on their novels under the tree. She turned back to the man.

“So how much does it cost to run this land, anyway?” Mia asked. It wasn’t until she closed her mouth that she realized that her question may have been a rude one to ask. But instead of calling her out on that, the man handed her a sheet of paper. Mia examined it and noticed the very large number on the bottom. “We have to maintain the forums, pay for everyone to stay here, pay for the people who maintain the place, pay for the robots, pay for lots and lots of things!” the man said, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s all very expensive. Will you please help?”

“I don’t have that much–”

“Nonsense,” the man said. “You can still help. Look in this cart.” The man pushed the cart toward Mia, and she peered back inside it.

“Halos?” Mia asked. “I’m supposed to buy a halo?”

“Of course,” the man replied. “Halos are very easy to make for an expert like me, and in return for your supporting NaNoWriMo and Wrimonia, you get your very own halo affixed to your head just like the other Wrimos you’ve seen wandering around Wrimonia.” The man lowered his voice. “You also get excellent noveling karma.”

“Excellent noveling karma?” Mia asked.

“I saw what you did earlier,” the man said. “You were trying to quit, weren’t you?”

Mia looked at him. How did he know? “Of course not,” she lied. “Why would I want to do something like that? My name is Mia Wonnor, and I do not quit what I start.” She ignored the nagging voice in the back of her head that told her all the things she had quit before, like knitting and crochet and tennis team in high school. “I would never quit anything.”

“Then consider supporting NaNoWriMo and buying a halo,” the man said. “The noveling karma should be well worth it. Tell me, what’s your word count right now?”

“Twenty-nine thousand,” Mia admitted. The man didn’t say anything. “Yeah, I know, I’m way behind.”

“Oh, but this halo has magical powers!” the man said, holding up a halo out of the cart. Mia noticed the inscription in the inside of the halo. “Cherished friends,” the halo read. “It’ll enable you to write at a much quicker rate than you were able to before. You can also buy this halo–” The man held up a halo that said “Beloved Partner”. “–And you can write even faster. You can write faster and faster depending on which halo you buy.”

“But I don’t have that much money,” Mia said. “I’m not a doctor or lawyer or anything like that. I just got out of school, and I’m not rich.”

“That’s okay too,” the man said. “The noveling karma provided in these halos should be plenty for you.” He held up a Cherished Friend halo. “So what do you say? Would you like a Cherished Friend halo?”

Mia pulled out her wallet and counted her cash. “How much are these things, anyway?” The man pointed to the price chart attached to his cart. A Cherished Friend halo was ten dollars. She could afford that. That was a week of Starbucks. She handed him a ten dollar bill.

The man beamed. “Thank you so very much!” he said, his face glowing from his smile. Then he reached into the back of his cart and pulled out a step stool. “Now would you like this halo attached to your head at this time, or would you like to return to me to affix it to you? You receive maximum noveling karma when it’s attached to your head.”

“I’ll go ahead and get it attached now,” Mia said. “I need all the noveling karma I can get.”

The man nodded in understanding. “Okay, stay still for a few minutes.” He grabbed a bag out of the same compartment he had grabbed his stool from and set the stool down in front of Mia. He stood on the stool and held the halo above Mia’s head. “Now, it’s really important that you stay still right now,” the man said. “This is the most important part.” The man grabbed a small thing that resembled a gun from his bag and pushed a button. It whirred, and the halo settled down on Mia’s head above her blue bar. She felt it settle on her head as if it were actually resting on her head.

“Do you feel it?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Mia replied, not sure if she were allowed to move yet.

“Okay, let me climb down and look at it.” The man climbed down from his stool and looked up at her. He walked around her and returned to the front. “Okay, you’re good to go. The halo looks great on you. Have a good day, and thank you for supporting NaNoWriMo!” Mia smiled and waved at him as he walked away, pushing the cart and whistling.

“Halos! Getcher halos here!” the man yelled. Mia walked away, reaching up and touching the spot on her head where something felt like it was resting. But no, the halo was actually resting above the blue bar. It was an odd feeling. She passed the man with the halo cart again.

“Can’t I just give you money and not get a halo?” the Wrimo asked. “I don’t want anything on my head. The blue bar is heavy enough when I’m behind.”

“We can arrange that,” the man replied. “Let me just record you as having donated.” He found his clipboard and wrote down the Wrimo’s username, thanking her for the donation and then pushing the cart away. “Halos! Getcher halos here!”

Mia looked up at her own halo. She could feel the halo resting on her head, and it took her a few minutes to realize that the halo was in fact not really on her head but floating above her blue bar. But now, with the halo above her, a soft light glowed on her. The short man was right. The noveling karma was coming already.

“I can’t quit,” Mia said aloud. She passed the other vendor, whose word count rose as the counts of the Wrimos at the stand fell. Mia stopped to watch, now glad that she didn’t take the other vendor’s formula, and then walked toward an eraser bench. “I’ve put far too much into this already, and the halo just serves as a reminder of that.” With one final look at the halo, Mia sat down and resumed writing, hoping to make up for lost time.

***
Mia has donated to NaNo. Have you?

This entry is being posted in a packing frenzy. I’m putting things off even more than usual, as I’m packing everything in a single day. This makes things very exciting.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.

Well, nothing except the twenty-seven thousand words she had written. Mia tried to calculate how many words she would have to write per day in order to succeed, but she gave up. “I’ll figure that out later,” she told herself as she got up on the twenty-second morning and walked around Wrimonia. The Wrimos were crowding in the square early that morning.

“What’s going on?” someone asked.

“I hear the pep talk is going out early today,” a Wrimo named February replied.

This Wrimo was right, and sure enough, the voice of Chris Baty filled Wrimonia. “Good morning, novelists, and welcome to week four!” Chris Baty said. “We’re on the dawn of a new adventure. So far you’ve survived ups and downs. Some of you have already crossed the fifty thousand word line and have earned your green bars. Congratulations! Others of you are right on track to get that lime bar that will eventually turn a delicious shade of grape when Dan and the rest of the tech team finish upgrading the robot verification systems. Congratulations to you too!

“But others of you, like me, are behind. We’ve struggled on this adventure. We’ve had our share of struggles. Some of you have lost your entire novel to the elements. Some of us have chosen to start over again. Yet others have succumbed to the power of procrastination, choosing to wander the forums and the other corners of the Internet instead of working on our novel.” At this moment, many Wrimos looked down at their laptops. They had been caught.

“I don’t come here to shame you!” Chris said. “No, because I’m just as guilty as many of you here. Just know that the month isn’t over yet. You still have nine days including today to catch up. Right after this pep talk is over, I want you to go write for fifteen minutes straight and see what happens. Just write anything in your novel. It doesn’t have to be quality. Remember, editing is for December.”

And at that moment, the battalion of marathon runners yelled, “Editing is for December! November is for writing!” They pumped their pencils in the air, and Mia spotted the marathon runner who gave her the pencil last week. Mia felt in her bag for that pencil. It was still there, unused. She still hadn’t figured out a use for it yet.

“But you still have to write those fifty thousand words, and that time begins now,” Chris said. Everyone cheered. “Now go write!” Everyone ran from the square and began to write. Mia was going to settle on the nearest eraser bench but found that it was already taken by a Wrimo who was writing on an iPhone. She ran toward another empty bench and sat down, finally opening her laptop and starting to write.

Amy and Coffee Shop Guy had finally started to like each other, and Keith (not Coffee Shop Guy, Mia had to tell herself! He has a name now, you know) actually believed that Ian was not Amy’s son. But what next? Mia wondered as she began to type. I really should have outlined this story. A shadow fell over her novel, and Mia looked up.

She couldn’t tell what the figure was at first glance, but she could tell that Amy, Ian, and Keith were right behind them, with Brenda trailing behind. It resembled a cabbage at first glance. Okay, fine, a cabbage, Mia thought. They can have a barbeque and make cole slaw and destroy this. But a cabbage on two feet? With arms? Holding a ninjastar and wearing a corset? Now things were getting weird.

The cabbagelike creature had a cabbage for a head, a cabbage for a body, and (dare Mia think it) cabbages for breasts. They were rather large cabbages as well–the ones for breasts, she thought. She looked down at her own breasts. Yeah, they had to be cabbages. No pair of breasts were quite that round. The arms and legs resembled human arms and legs, but this creature was wearing a corset that served only to emphasize the figure of the cabbage. The ninjastar in its right hand just sat there, and the cabbagelike creature wore an eyepatch covering its right eye.

“What are you doing in my novel?” Mia asked.

“Yeah, good question,” Amy asked. “I don’t even like cabbage.” Amy poked at it, and the cabbagelike creature turned around.

“Me?” the creature asked. “I’m here to hijack your novel out of boredom. You’re obviously bored with your novel.”

“No, I’m not bored with my novel,” Mia replied. “I’m just stuck.”

“So is there anything else I need to know about you?” Amy asked. “I don’t like cabbage, but Keith here’s a huge fan of cole slaw. I can go to the store, get a can of mayo, and make you for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Keith asked. “I wouldn’t eat that thing for dinner if you paid me.” He stared at it for a minute and snatched the ninjastar out of its hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the creature asked.

“Just examining it,” Keith said. “I once did an exhibit on the history of ninjas.” Mia shook her head and wondered what was going on with her novel. Wasn’t Cole supposed to be the artist?

“Stop!” she yelled, stepping in between the characters and the creature, but before she could say anything else, another creature entered the scene. Where the first cabbagelike creature held a ninjastar, the second one held a sai. “Wait,” Mia said, staring. “There are more of you?” The creatures nodded. Both of them were quite busty, quite cabbagelike, and had properties of ninjas and pirates.

Then they started kissing.

Everyone stared, including some Wrimos passing by. Some Wrimos just passed by, confused, but others stayed and watched. Others cheered.

“You brought it back,” someone yelled. “How?”

Mia shrugged. “I don’t know,” she replied. “They just wandered into my novel, and I didn’t have anything to write about. They don’t belong here, though.” She turned to the kissing cabbages. “Do you hear that? You’re great and all, but you don’t belong in my novel.” The characters were now staring at the cabbages, and Amy returned with an industrial-sized can of mayonnaise.

“Got it,” Amy said. “Don’t worry, Keith, I can wash these things off in no time.”

“Great, but where will you put all the slaw?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” she replied. “We can have a block party. I’m sure we can just leave it for your gallery. They certainly wouldn’t object.”

“But Amy, that’s not a block party,” Keith said. “What kind of neighborhood did you grow up in?”

Amy stared at Keith. “An apartment complex,” she said without laughing.

A Wrimo who had participated since 2002 walked up to Mia. “Really, how’d you bring them back?” he asked Mia.

“Really, I don’t know,” Mia replied. “I didn’t know freaky creatures like them could exist until they just wandered into my novel without a care in the world.” She looked back at the veteran Wrimos who doubted her. “Why?”

“Because we’ve been seeking out such old-school power for years!” he exclaimed. “Here, come with me,” he said to the busty lesbian cabbage pirate ninjas. “You’re coming with me to my novel.”

“Excellent!” the first one said. “I need to be reunited with my kind.” She took hands with the veteran Wrimo, and they wandered off into his novel. Surely it would be happier there. Mia turned to the second busty lesbian cabbage pirate ninja. “And what are you still doing here?”

“No one has claimed me yet,” it replied. “My cleavage has to be good for something.”

“It’s going to be good for dinner, that’s what.” Amy grabbed her knife and chopped off this creature’s breasts. It writhed in pain before falling to the ground. “You’re not going to do the same thing to the rest of me, are you?” it asked.

“I promise you the rest of you will be just as tasty,” Amy replied. “But your breasts will suffice for now. They’ll make a good bowl or two of slaw.” Amy ran off the scene to make the slaw and returned, slaw in hand. The busty lesbian cabbage pirate ninja writhed in place before disappearing and was never seen again by Mia.

“It’s okay,” Amy said while letting Keith sample the finished product. “I made sure to wash everything off.”

“I can’t help but think I’m licking off someone’s tits,” he said as he ate it.

“Oh, we can fix that later,” she replied, winking at him. Luckily Ian was preoccupied with his toy truck in the other room. Mia grinned and wrote every word of this in her novel. Hey, it gave her words, right? she thought as she wrote it down. It wasn’t like anyone was going to read this yet. She checked her word count. She was getting back on track. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw twenty-nine thousand words on the screen. The word count to get back on track was closer and closer.

***
Ah, busty lesbian cabbage pirate ninjas. They were from 2003 if I remember correctly, yet no one knows what I’m talking about when I bring it up. This is where Mia starts to wonder what on earth she was thinking.

Feel free to link this on your blog, Twitter, whatever. Just don’t pass this off as your own, and we’re cool.

I highly encourage you to donate to the Office of Letters and Light, the nonprofit organization that runs NaNoWriMo, if you enjoy this tale of noveling madness. If you donate in the new year, your donor goodies will appear in the month before the event you donate to (NaNoWriMo or Script Frenzy).

If for some strange reason you’re really into giving money to Internet strangers who write somewhat humorous things, I won’t complain. You can do that at the link below.