For awhile, NaNoWriMo – short for National Novel Writing Month – was my life. I discovered it in 2003. I was working a dead-end job as a “computer person” for a small nonprofit whose founders my family knew personally for $5.50 an hour. Unhappy with the fact that my mother was micromanaging what my life would be, I dropped out of community college in February of that year. My excuse at the time for not completing my classes was that I was sick (in the spring, I was still working as a nanny, and the little monsters brought all the germs home and shared them with me. I’ve never been a particularly robust person in terms of health), and in the fall I didn’t go back.
So I didn’t have much of a life at this point. In October, I read a post on a forum about NaNoWriMo, and went to check it out. I found out we had a local group and thought this was a great idea. After, all I liked to write! I always said so, except I never did it. So I went to the local kickoff and had a great time. I was 18, and would turn 19 shortly after the start of the month. There were a lot of people participating, but a core group had began to form. I was the baby of the group at the time.
