Ah, November. Thirty days (and nights!) of literary abandon. Well, that can be true. A lot of people write a lot of words, most of which are not (yet) fit to be read.
Writers abound in my county, but they’re mostly paid professional working writers of some stripe. NaNoWriMo is ignored. We don’t have a single NaNoWriMo group. We’re just a dead space between Santa Barbara and LA counties.
I love NaNoWriMo, in theory, because it encourages people to write everyday and not worry about the consequences. On the other hand, whatever gets written, however wonderful, will need revision and edits and maybe some volunteer readers, before it’s submitted anywhere.
One local-ish library is doing a Write-In on Sunday afternoons this year. That’s not really as exciting a meeting up for an after-dark all-nighter at a cafe. I’d certainly go to that. But I’m already working to deadline on a book that fell behind the curve — because resource material being shipped from Bad Kreuznach (in Germany) only just got here yesterday, so . . . I’ll have to put off experiencing my first NaNoWriMo for another year.
I do think a fast writer can turn out a good book. I remember once hearing about three men who worked in publishing. They went on a fishing trip, just for a few days, but it rained miserably. After a few beers, they hit upon the idea of writing a romance novel. It was done in by the time they left. They submitted anonymously under a pen name, it was picked up and published, and met with great popular success.
So really, if three men in a cabin, to say nothing of the fish, can write a book, I’m sure you could too.