I wrote a book in 12 days.

Not a skimpy, pamphlet-like self-help book, but a start-to-finish novel of 288 pages (for the writing inclined – 62,000 words) with a spine-tingling connection to the characters in my previous novel.

The story came to me in a series of dreams. Out of nowhere. During a time that was overflowing with so many other responsibilities and obligations (including a different book that is inches away from the finish line).

I let the powerful urge to tell this story come through me like a particularly virulent stomach flu. After a bit of resisting and resentment – I’m too busy! I have more important things to do! Who are you crazy characters, anyway?? – I surrendered to it. I let it be transmitted from wherever it came, through my body, out my fingers and onto the pages of my computer and notebook.

I sat across from my heroine and listened as she told me her tale. Capturing it all required releasing what was unnecessary from my life and filling all that extra time with writing. I bounced out of bed hours before my alarm, completely energized to bring to life what had developed the previous night. It was invigorating, exciting, sexy. (Oh, yes.)

It is generally accepted that it takes more than 12 days to write a novel. In fact, an event takes place over the month of November that challenges people to write a novel (of at least 50,000 words) in 30 days. It’s called NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), and it’s a big deal. People prepare for it, clear out their lives and push, as if running a very, very long marathon. MOST PEOPLE DON’T FINISH.

Admittedly, the finish line I have arrived at is really the starting point – the first draft. I am not confused that a few extra days will have this thing polished and perfect and ready to deliver to the eagerly waiting world. There are dozens of details that need to be filled in and topics needing research: Japanese poetry, Irish emigration to the Caribbean, insider trading, to name a few. The process of editing, rewriting, refining and finishing has (in my experience) taken much longer than the process of writing. By an order of magnitude.

It doesn’t matter. I still sit in awe at what I have done. And I marvel at the shattering of perceived limitations. I did not (and will never) run a four-minute mile, but I’m feeling very Roger Bannister-like.

It may never happen again. The project possessed and consumed me, which is not especially sustainable over the long term (counter to my daughter’s prediction that I could now write over 25 books per year). But it didn’t have to be. I don’t plan on launching NaNoWriFo – National Novel Writing Fortnight.

Nothing affirms our ability to bypass limitations like bypassing limitations.

What we don’t know about the mind and human capabilities far outweighs what we do. And still, we buy into all of the no-can-do’s (in the same way we believed the scientists who declared that the human body was incapable of running a mile faster than four minutes) and let those beliefs define us.

What happened to me was unimaginable, unpredictable and UNBELIEVABLE.

Which is the point I’m trying to make.

What would happen if we consistently let ourselves be taken by inspiration into creation and completion? What if we let ourselves get pulled and carried by the torrent of ideas, instead of forcefully trying to row our little boats upstream? What if we didn’t let that which is unbelievable define what we would attempt?

Which one of your CAN’T beliefs can become a CAN… today?

I’ll see you out there, in the rushing rapids, doing the unbelievable.