I, like you, have enjoyed the tantalizing fruits that hang low from the tree which is called National Novel Writing Month; I have reveled in the unbridled inspiration to productivity that period of time encourages. But I have become troubled my writing brethren, deeply troubled, by the horrific and insensitive nature of the name of that sacred month.
National Novel Writing Month. I spit out the words with a sneer of indignation, and a hiss of disgust. For what one nation may lay claim to such a treasure? What one country can take hold of such a sacred institution, and claim it for her own?
No, fellow writers, this month of writing should be open to all peoples, of all countries, regardless of skin color, religion, or preferred method of eating Oreos (I myself am partial to scraping the white from the inside of the cookie with my teeth; do not judge me fellow brethren).
That is why I am proposing that we rise up and alter forever the oppressive name of this glorious month.
Let those in Zambia and Lizben and in the Republic of Djibouti no longer quake in fear as they feverishly pound out their novels in the dead of night, hoping beyond hope that the brutal and pernicious NaNo Enforcement Squads will not catch them at their craft. Let the world write freely and openly, without fear of reprisal.
It has been a long and careful consideration, but at long last I have decided that our great month of writing should be no longer called National Novel Writing Month. Rather, in the interests of inclusion and the fostering of creativity around the world, I offer the following appellation: International Book Composing Lunar Cycle. Or InBoCoLuCy for short.
Join me fellow InBo’s, and do not fear their terrible wrath. Our lives may be forfeit, but the river of our blood will water the garden of creativity for generations to come. Together we can make the world a better place.