I decided not to do #NaNoWriMo this year. Part of that is because I’ve never done it. Never even attempted it. Don’t even want to. Writing a novel is a life goal of mine, but cramming it all into one month isn’t for me. November is impossibly busy. But I do think it would be cool to have a big excuse for avoiding all those obligations.

“Dave, come to this holiday party!”
“Sorry, I’m writing a novel.”
“Dave, come work at the school’s fall carnival!”
“Sorry, I’m writing a novel.”
“Dave, pay attention to your kids!”
“Sorry, I’m writing a novel.”

See, that level of self-preservation and pre-emptive boxing out of other responsibilities would be so cool. Like cigarettes cool.

Despite not having a novel excuse, I am feeling compelled to wri’ mo’ this month. Whether it’s autumnal ghosts or pumpkin spices, there’s a draw pulling me back to my text editor. A vapor of creativity stolen by corporate dementors and their infernal machines, seeping back into my lifeless shell.

Last week I powered through a handful of short stories by Arthur C. Clarke. Vintage sci-fi inspires me. Partly because the experimental short form factor containing a single “What If?” thought experiment seems achievable and because most of the stories are complete shit. In a modern world of blockbuster movie adaptations and eight volume octologies, vintage sci-fi sets the bar real low.

One story I came across was The Nine Billion Names of God. The audiobook has a sick-ass cover of a skeleton in a cracked space helmet on a dying planet with a giant sun rising in the distance. You can pause this and get through it in ten minutes.

Nothing in the story relates to that cover. Rather, the story is about two Western men that work for a fancy computer company that makes the Mark V. They’re hired by a group of Tibetan monks to help them write a program that will procedurally generate the nine billion names of God which they believe will bring about the end of the world. The Mark V will shorten the task of writing down all the possible names of God from 15,000 years of manual writing down to 100 days! Incredible productivity gains!

AAABBBAAA AAABBBABA AAABBBACA AAABBBADA AAABBBAEA AAABBBAFA AAABBBAGA AAABBBAHA AAABBBAIA AAABBBAJA
AAABBBAAB AAABBBABB AAABBBACB AAABBBADB AAABBBAEB AAABBBAFB AAABBBAGB AAABBBAHB AAABBBAIB AAABBBAJB
AAABBBAAC AAABBBABC AAABBBACC AAABBBADC AAABBBAEC AAABBBAFC AAABBBAGC AAABBBAHC AAABBBAIC AAABBBAJC
AAABBBAAD AAABBBABD AAABBBACD AAABBBADD AAABBBAED AAABBBAFD AAABBBAGD AAABBBAHD AAABBBAID AAABBBAJD
AAABBBAAE AAABBBABE AAABBBACE AAABBBADE AAABBBAEE AAABBBAFE AAABBBAGE AAABBBAHE AAABBBAIE AAABBBAJE
AAABBBAAF AAABBBABF AAABBBACF AAABBBADF AAABBBAEF AAABBBAFF AAABBBAGF AAABBBAHF AAABBBAIF AAABBBAJF
AAABBBAAG AAABBBABG AAABBBACG AAABBBADG AAABBBAEG AAABBBAFG AAABBBAGG AAABBBAHG AAABBBAIG AAABBBAJG
...       ...       ...       ...       ...       ...       ...       ...       ...       ...      

THIS STORY HAS NO MODERN DAY PARALLELS. An altruistic sex cult from a specific locale using a mountain of money to hasten the end of the world with their enormous computers that endlessly generate combinations of nonsense words that they believe will summon God… well, that would be a work of cheesy science fiction, not real life.

The Nine Billion Names of God flipped a switch in me and has renewed my courage to write more. As someone with ideas about ideas burning holes in my head, it’d be worthwhile to offload some of my cognitive surplus. I don’t have any solid plans, words-per-day goals, charts, graphs, storyboards, outlines, or some Benjamin Franklin life hack schedule to make this happen. Instead I have an Obsidian vault with a hundred unsorted drafts.

I don’t want commit myself to publishing every day, but my goal is to get up and spend thirty minutes to an hour each day writing something. I want to carve out time before work, before doing my puzzles, before doom-scrolling the news. I want to use those premium dopamine reserves –the flavorful floating creme of consciousness that comes from a good night’s sleep, not the metallic bitter dregs distilled from caffeine and stimulants– I want to savor and use that precious natural dopamine on writing.

My promise to you, dear reader, is that I will write more this month. I will write no less than nine billion stories and/or blog posts by the end of November. And upon completing my works, I can shed this mortal coil and leave this forsaken world.