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Today is the 13th day of NaNoWriMo (national novel writing month) and I am writing a novel this month.
The way I’ve patterned the chapters…wrong.
A few of the characters…wrong.
One character dies…wrong.
One character has an ailment that I got all…wait for it…wrong.
Certain aspects of plot…wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
And 45,000 words into the first draft.
And I’m going to keep writing the wrong. Yup. I’m going to let myself soak in the wrong.
Because I have to know what’s wrong before I can know what is right.
Right around 1938 (no, this isn’t a story about me…I’m not that old) John Steinbeck (swoon) finished work on a satire called L’Affaire Lettuceburg. He called it a “bad book”. It wasn’t what it should have been. Undoubtedly, it was well written and full of wit and great ideas. But it wasn’t what he wanted to present to the world.
Instead, he used what he had and constructed a different project out of the Lettuceburg compost. That work later became a little book that you were probably supposed to read in High School English. It was called The Grapes of Wrath.
Steinbeck didn’t see what was wrong as a failure. Instead, he noticed the wrong and improved upon it.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Soon becomes. Better. Better. Better.
And that’s what I’m going for.
I’m not Steinbeck…but…maybe I want to be a little bit.
Well, it’s true.
Like Steinbeck but not so hairy.
(DISCLAIMER: I’m not functioning on 100% brain capacity. Most of my mind is going into the wrongness of the novel. Thank you, Cupcakes!)