In honor of all of you who are participating in NaNoWriMo 2016 … or any writer who has ever faced down the dreaded Internal Editor 

An Ode to NaNoWriMo

by Beth K. Vogt

Twas the night before “NaNo”
And all through the house
Not a thing was cooperating
Not even my mouse.
The synopsis was outlined in my head with care
In hopes that my 50k words soon would appear.

My family was nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of hot meals danced in their heads.
Hubby slept soundly, while I in my sweats
Had just settled down for one last brainstorming attempt.

When from the depths of my weary brain there arose such a clatter
I sprang up from desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash
(What? You don’t go for munchies when you’re doing the “stressed out” dash?)

The light in the kitchen cast a soft glow
As I started the coffee and dug out the chocolate stash hidden below.
When what to my sleep-deprived eyes should appear
But a dark figure with an ominous leer.
With a long leather whip and a threatening mutter
I knew in a moment it must be my dreaded Internal Editor.

More vicious than hailstones, his accusations they came
And “Ed” howled and he shouted, and he called me awful names!

“You failure! You loser! Now why are you trying?
Oh, misspeller! Plagiarizer! Why don’t you quit?
To the top of the waste basket! To the bottom of the recycle bin!
You’ve wasted your plotting! Delete every word of it — delete it all now!”

As plots before a critique group wither and die
When they meet with an overzealous crit partner’s laser-like eye,
So all my characters and subplots and climaxes crumbled
With a shove of the Internal Editor’s hand — sending them all a-tumble.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard with relief,
The hemming and hawing of my hesitant belief.
I threw back my head, looking Ed in the eye,
“I can do this,” I said, “one word at a time!”

Yes, I was dressed all in sweats, from my head to my feet.
I’d ignored my poor family, my desk was a mess.
But I was a writer — a NaNoWriMoer, no less.
And I would write 50k words this November by doing my best.

Ed’s red eyes, how they glared. His gnarled hands how they fisted.
His feet, how he stomped. His voice, how he blustered!
His nasty mouth spit out one last warning:
“Touch the DELETE key once and you won’t last until morning!”

His leather whip he held tight in his hand
And smoke circled his head like a wreath.
He had a thesaurus and a Webster’s dictionary
That he shook as he snarled and sat down beside me.

He was gloomy and griping, a right cantankerous old guy,
But I laughed when I saw Ed, in spite of myself.
A taste of my chocolate and a sip of my brew
Soon gave me to know there was nothing Ed could do.

He spoke not a word as I went straight to my work.
Filling the page with, well, less than my best, to be honest.
But I stuck cotton in my ears and ignored ol’ Ed
Forward motion is my goal — not perfection.

He sprang to his feet, gave a last harmless growl
Stomped out of my office and off down the hall.
But I heard him exclaim as he disappeared from my sight:
“You NaNoWriMoers are crazy! You can have your lousy first draft! Good night!”