I won’t try to relate this to a theoretical writer today.
Many of these posts are aimed at the readers. Well, whoever those are that might benefit from reading them. Sometimes they’re sounding boards – I’ll speak to the unspecified collection of writers, but in truth I’m writing it at myself, and often about whatever stage I’m at.
In eighty-eight days, it will be the first of November. Novembero Uno. When that first second ticks from Halloween into All Saints Day, people will start writing. With every hour that passes, and each timezone enters the beginning of a new month, more and more people will join in. Ones, tens, hundreds and then thousands. Last year there were 598,009 participants, all striving to write 50,000 words within a month.
In spite of the way that the evening has become fixed in my imagination, the night of July 14 2014 would not register as significant. While birthdays, inductions, and other commemorative dates are in themselves notable and I’d do nothing to cast a shadow over such things, it’s the reason why it’s keyed to a burst of creativity that is the mystery.