Shut Up and Write It Already.

Let’s talk about productivity.

To start with, stop whatever you’re doing right now. Close the YouTube, shut off the iPod, set down your cell phone. Put that crap down, worm.

Listen. Listen well.

Change is happening inside you. It’s time to make up for what you’ve lacked, time to do what you’ve resolved to do, time to show them what you’re capable of. Yeah, I ended that sentence with a preposition. So effin what?

You’re going to write that novel. You are going to do it. Or else.

Or else.

This is a time to get things done –GTG all the way — and it’s true for me and you. Lets’ start with me. I will finish Carapace in November, even if it kills me. Last week’s fiasco is not to be repeated. By Thanksgiving, draft one is to be finished, or you’ll never see me again. Just like that. I will be posting more detailed word counts starting this week, both here and in Twitter. I want you to know how close, or faraway, the ending is. i do this so you and I can understand each other, so we can be as clear as water.

Now let’s talk about you. You want to write, write write, just like others always talk about. Big talk, it’s true. I’ve heard you say it before. I’ve seen the hunger in your eyes. Take advantage of NaNoWriMo, then. You sign up on the Web site, and you write a 50,000 word novel in one month. You track your progress, and other writers support your effort. Writers like Mur Lafferty are doing it, and Neil Gaiman is plugging it.

Others will go easy on you during this time. I WON’T. I’ll beat your ass if you don’t finish. Why? Because that’s what you want me to tell you, so your sorry ass will finish. I don’t even need to see your brilliant opus when you’re done. I just want to know that you did it. And then you’ll escape my thunderous, murdering ire. Only then.

So you and I are on the same quest. I finish the remaining thousands of words of Carapace, you write the next Booker Prize winner. And we both stuff our obscene, grotesque faces full of pumpkin pie leftovers on November 31 and laugh with full bellies as we celebrate. We’ll be like Grand Guignol, horror-show writing monsters with oily gargoyle faces and the sick satisfaction of completed manuscripts lighting our hollow eyes like Jack ‘O Lanterns. We will rejoice in this evil (or good, depending on your disposition).

If you’re a regular poster, let us know if you’re in. If you are a lurker at this blog, I DARE YOU to add a comment below and make yourself accountable. Yes, you’ll be held accountable at the NaNoWriMo site, and also here. Let’s see if you can do it. And only then do you escape alive from my drill-sergeant iron fist.

Happy NaNoWriMo, my sweet babies. Smooches.