Day Six - Strength, Stubbornness and Perseverance

Word Count - 15094


I knew coming into NaNo this year that it was going to be a difficult year, and so far, I have been pretty much on. I'm having to pick and choose my battles, force myself to write, and jealously guard the little bit of quiet I can manage. That's life in a motel, me the homeless NaNo writer.

It all started about a year ago with an innocent hiss and pop, followed by the lights in two bedrooms going out. That little thing started a two month war with our landlady that ended up our getting evicted the end of February. No great loss, the woman was a sea-hag that we had nicknamed Gestapo Gretchen within a week of moving in. This woman blamed us for damage to her roof, even though the insulation was old and worn out, even though the area was not properly ventilated, it was our fault because we left a door partly open.  She even accused us of giving her dog pancreatitis.  Finally, when one of her repairmen damaged a door, she had "proper cause" to kick us out. We left gladly, not realizing that without her reference it would be next to impossible for us to get into another apartment.

We've been living here since May. We don't mind parts of it. The free internet, clean towels, toilet paper, and HBO are the best part. The worst, living with only a microwave and a single room, a bathroom and what we call a Bath-chen - two sinks, a tweensy bit of cupboard and some storage space under the sinks. Enough to hold a crockpot, a deepfryer that doubles as an electric frying pan and the cooler we use to store our dishes. I am dreading the upcoming holidays - I have learned to perform some seriously amazing cooking miracles, but I don't think even Harry Potter has enough magic to pull off Thanksgiving dinner with a mini-fridge and a microwave. Oddly, I'm not as worried about Christmas, ham can be microwaved and we have room for a Christmas tree.

I knew coming into November that NaNoWriMo was going to be difficult - I seriously considered scraping it all together. But at a time when nothing else feels normal, I needed something, just one little thing. As hard as I have been trying, it is anything but.  The distractions are derailing me, and they are unavoidable. Sharing a room with a 20 year old who lives for the TV, cars in the parking lot, the highway - all enemies of a writer with ADD.

But I refuse to give up. Other NaNo's I have worked in ideal circumstances, I have been able to lock myself away in a quiet room and pound out 50k without batting an eye.  This year I do not have that luxury - this year will be a true test of my NaNo chops - my true test as a writer.

I believe with strength, stubbornness and perseverance, I can pull this off. I can do it -

I will do it.

Day Five - Inspiration In Strange Places

Word Count -11102

I have found inspiration in some interesting places in my thirty or so odd years of writing. I once got inspired to write  a Halloween story for a creative writing class while sitting on the toilet and staring at a package of Charmin sitting on a shelf. So I guess I really shouldn't be surprised that I found inspiration from an old country song whilst riding in a cab enroute to the doctors office. Incidentally, I am resisting the urge to rant about the injustice of cab drivers torturing riders by forcing them to listen to country music. I could go on for hours about that, but after my lunch date rant yesterday, I don't think it would be nice to subject you to two days of ranting - so I will refrain.

AnyHOO.

A couple blocks from the clinic this song comes on, a country song that for some odd reason didn't make me want to vomit violently when it was released back in 1997. "When You Say Nothing At All" by Allison Krauss and Keith Whitley

Torture Yourself At Your Own Risk

Suddenly, images start jumping into my head right and left - so fast that it was like one of those cheesy usless crap detective shows *coughUNFORGETABLEcough* where the detective has supernatural powers and everything they have ever seen flashes before their eyes just before they figure out it was professor magenta in the alley with the crack pipe.

My characters came to life in my head in the most amazing way.  I saw it - a wedding in which they had been forced to participate, stuck now by decorum to dance in ugly clothes to a schmaltzy love song when - she hates him because they got drunk and slept together and she didn't know he was engaged, he doesn't remember sleeping with her but remembers he slept with someone and is now searching for her  - and oh yeah, she just found out she is pregnant. So there they are, my dysfunctional Cinderella and Prince Charming, in what could be an amazing scene.

I am picturing her hostility, the anger over the grating hypocrisy of the words of the love song, his bafflement at her hostility, the realization that being so close to her feels familiar - maybe the first step to his discovery that she is the one? Finally, a question or comment that leads to a face slap (or maybe a foot stomp)  in front of his family and all their friends, and then finally his being left to stand alone on the dance floor while she runs off into the moonlight where she has a good cry. Which she of course, blames on pregnancy hormones. Fade to Black on the bewildered Prince Charming standing in the middle of the crowded dance floor hand on his cheek - or jumping up and down - foot in hand.

I love the scene, even though right now it is just a baby scene, a bit of white smoke with schmaltzy music that is at least five to eight chapters away. I am even forcing myself to listen to the song again, just to see if the scene develops more. I may even break my long standing hatred of writing ahead and skipping scenes to get this thing down while it is new and fresh in my head.

That is the awesome thing about inspiration. It takes you places, like a parent taking their child by the hand and leading them in the proper direction. There was a time when I used to scoff at those who said their stories took them where it wanted to go. That was a long time ago, long before I realized just how true it was. How many times have I started out to write a story about one thing and had to go in a direction that ended completely different than what I expected? Yes, usually they end up at my planned destination - my couple gets together, the war ends and the good guys win, but by following the inspiration, the ride is so much more fun. The stories that end up running amok are the ones that have always ended up being the most popular as well. My most popular story on Fanfiction.net started out as a ten chapter quicky that ended up thirty chapters and took my characters all over the place emotionally and geographically. It was one mother of a ride.

So I guess if being inspired is the trade off for being forced to endure a cheesy country song in the back of a cab, it is a fair price to pay.

But if inspiration starts cuing up to  Led Zepplin's  "Black Dog" Ala elevator muzak - I'm putting my foot down.

Day Four - A Lunch Date Gone Horribly Wrong

Word Count - 10083 (and a double space)

Yep, same as yesterday. I got nothing done, though I did manage to open the document and double space between two paragraphs. I didn't save though, so maybe that doesn't count.

In my own defense, you can blame this girl I went to school with. Someone who, quite honestly, I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing and been perfectly fine with it - which was exactly the way it was 27 years ago when we were in school. Back when we were "close" according to her, but acquaintances by my memory. I don't really remember having close friends in high school because pretty much everyone in my clique ridden hell of higher learning were fucking dickheads. Most of them never grew out of it either, as evidenced at the one and only high school reunion I will ever go to 17 years ago - the one where the A crowd acted like we were the best of buds while they slobbered all over me in a drunken stupor. WOOT acceptance at last, finally I didn't have to worry about getting my underwear yanked up my asscrack in the middle of the hallway, feet stuck out to trip me while I walked to my seat, or gum stuck in my hair. But quite honestly, I was 28 years old - by then I would have just kicked their asses. Funny how much easier it is to defend yourself once detention isn't a consequence.

At 45 you kind of slip into the social expectations - you run across an old acquaintance that you were so close to that the only thing you really remember about the bitch is that once she made you pay her a buck for a piece of gum because you kept forgetting to pay her for it- and she charged you interest, and that she had a pretty vulgar nickname because she was a bit of a slut - so you say "We should have coffee sometime."  Never once have I had one of these people start badgering me about setting up a date to do it. And so, out of the desire to rid myself of the consequences of my big mouth, I agreed to a lunch date at Olive Garden. I figured I could at least get a decent meal out of it.  You know a lunch date is going to be suck-ass when you suggest Sushi and they immediately say "I don't go for raw fish" Seriously, who actually thinks that all Sushi is raw fish? Oh that's right, everyone here in my little corner of Bumfucked Egypt.

So, we had dinner, and this woman talked, and talked and talked - about her diabetes, about her cats (with pictures), about her daughters rollerderby, (?!?!?!?!?) about her upcoming laser hysterectomy thingy-majig - and about pretty much herself over the salad (which she ate all the tomatoes out of), our entrees, and dessert. I think I got a mention in about my daughters upcoming weekend with her boyfriend - which earned me a look chastising me for my bad parenting skills. After three torturous hours we left the restaurant - thinking I was home free, but alas - "I just need to make a quick stop at the grocery store" an hour later, I made it home just before my daughter got home from school -where she commented about the four bags of canned and boxed food from four days ago that still waited to be put away. We live in a friggen motel lady, bit of a shortage of storage space. Get over it Martha Stewart.

In summation - my writing time shot to shit thanks to four hours of pure torture!  So, a few words of wisdom for my NaNo friends:

1. Screw social pressures. Don't ever say "We should have coffee sometime" unless you really mean it.

2. If they suggest it, accept, but then remove and block them from facebook, whilst praying you never run into them in public.

3. If you do get stuck, claim an instant craving for McDonalds drive through- shouting cheerfully, "THE MCRIB IS BACK!"

4. Drive yourself or take the bus

5. And as an absolute fail-safe - eat something you know will give you gas - not even the most obnoxious old school 'friend' will think you were close enough to put up with a bad case of after dinner farts.

Regrets are a terrible thing, and not only am I regretting an afternoon in hell, but the loss of a good 5k in lovely NaNo words. Not to mention the mental image of this woman having her innards cauterized, her  "Oh so Cute" daughter beating up people in rollerblaes while she watches in a poodle skirt, and her husband's love of butchering Bambi's mother. Images of which don't bode well for my dreaded sex scene either.

There is a reason they were high school friends - they need to be left in high school, kind of like the ancient electric typewriter I wrote my first stories on.

Awww...my old typewriter...finally, a bit of nostalgia. At least I got something out of yesterday.

Besides after-dinner gas.

Day Three - The Rollercoaster

Word Count - 10083

Yeah baby! I came out of my funk in an impressive way yesterday, screw Wheaties - I'll shout from the rooftops that cold pizza is the breakfast of champions! Of course, that also means that I am going against what I said before about taking it slow and easy and enjoying NaNo to it's fullest. Maybe I am just not the slow and easy type, maybe I need the speediness incentive to propel me along. So, I guess my goal will be word count, to reach for a goal in numbers. Meh, we'll see as the month progresses.

It never ceases to amaze me - these ups and downs that I experience every November during NaNo.  And yet, it surprises me that I'm surprised. I have plenty of ups and downs the other 11 months out of the year, periods where I would rather put my fingers in those Chinese thingys than put them on my keyboard, periods where I know I am writing absolute rubbish that deserves no better than to be put into my recycling bin, pulled out, then put in again  because it is THAT BAD.

And yet, I seem to feel it stronger during NaNo, I hate certain characters more, the whining grates on me more, the scenes are much more emotional, there is much more at stake if I don't make things right after creating chaos - all of this after turning over my will to the Goddess of Typos, the Prince of the lands of Bad Punctuation, and Sir Spellingsucks, allowing them to create havoc where they will.

And the worst thing of all, forcing myself out of my comfort zone. I try to do something every year during NaNo that challenges me. Last year, it was a male characters emotional weakness. This year I am tackling the titan - I am battling SEX.  Yes, I said it, it's out there. I am writing a sex scene. And to clear up any confusion lets make this clear - I am not writing a love scene, I have written hundreds of those, hearts and flowers on white fluffy clouds surrounded by unicorns. Nope - I am writing a drunken sex scene that has to have enough of an impact that my male character will remember it even though he can't remember what my female character looks like.

Granted, that will be helped along by a peacock feathered mask and blonde hair temporarily colored black - but still - this is someone he has known his entire life, so he'll need to be pretty drunk to have sex with her and not realize who she is, even if she keeps the mask on the whole time. So, it's going to have to be pretty good sex. Hearts and flowers are just NOT going to cut it, Unicorns won't make an impact - not unless one of them impales him with it's horn, and that just won't do.  I kind of need him to stay alive.

And so, I am finding myself on another down on the rollercoaster. Can I do this? Can I do it successfully? Lets be serious, anyone can write sex, but how many can write sex well? We've pretty much all read at least one trashy sex story, stories filled with references to his  "manhood" and her "taut nipples" Quite honestly, everytime I hear the word taut, it reminds me of school and being "taught" to read and write. Taut is just not  sexy. For that matter, neither is "rock hard manhood" What woman would want a rock near her? Rocks are cold and rough and in my experience, they are pretty dangerous - I tend to fall down a lot (see previous post) rocks are not my friend.

So anyway,  here is my dilemma as I shoot for 15,000 on day three. Write a sex scene, while avoiding any and all tacky cliche's. Oh, and did I mention that I am having lunch with a woman I have known since kindergarten right before I come home to write it? Yep - likely I will be revisiting memories of eating paste, beating up Joel Schmidt with my tote bag and Brian Halverson picking his boogers and flicking them at Mrs. Ball's back just before I sit down to write it.

Should make for an interesting afternoon eh? It's just another ride on the NaNoWriMo Rollercoaster!

Ya gotta love it.

It Must Have Been The Pizza!

Word Count - 6250

They say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day and I guess I would have to agree - that slice of cold pizza I had after I blogged really did the trick. I am buzzing right along now. It's slow at times, halting at others. I always want to use unusual names for secondary original characters and in this story I decided to name characters after constellations as (I ended up doing Harry Potter fanfic as my original story died at 800 words, so I don't have any character profiles made up. ) my main character is Luna Lovegood. I have a Carina (her mother) and a Cassiopeia (her aunt) - Last name Corvus. I feel so badly like I am cheating - but I really, really tried and this is all I can come up with!

Did you know that there is a Draco constellation? I didn't! I bet Malfoy thinks they named it after him.

Anyway, thought I would post my prologue. The whole thing will probably end up on Fanfic.net eventually unless it really sucks - then it will only be available in my recycling bin.



The Fractured Fairy Tale

He shifted the tiny silver shoe from hand to hand while he watched her from the safety of the trees. She stood with her back to him in the quiet, the sole being at the end of the mossy dock that rose out over the lake. She looked so peaceful that it seemed almost a shame to disturb her, but disturb her he must. He had been searching for her for far too long to turn away now.

And yet, he was unable to move. His feet stood glued to the spot, refusing to the take the first step to remove the vast space between the two of them. Instead, he watched her silently while her hair blew in the wind, a curtain of blonde that whispered over her shoulders and back, he found it captivating. Even in the beginning, when there had been so little that he remembered, he  remembered her hair - remembered it spread over his pillows in the moonlight.

It was brighter now that she stood in the sunshine and as he watched her, he wondered why he had not figured it out sooner. She had been right under his nose all this time, working just two doors down from his shop - and yet, all this time, she had escaped his notice. That she had done it on purpose mattered little. He should have known. He should have realized…

She shifted slightly, causing the boards of the dock to creak and breaking him out of the semi-trance. He gripped the shoe he held tightly, wrapping a fist around the delicate stilleto heel, then took a step onto the dock. Each step brought him closer, the moment that was so long overdue - now seconds away. Only a few yards separated them when he stepped on a loose board and it creaked loudly under his foot. She turned to face him and in her eyes - at last - he saw the truth that she could not deny.

It was her. It really and truly was her. At last ... he had found her.

They stared into one another’s eyes, silver into brown, while the moments ticked away in silence. Questions heavy in the air, rushing forward where they were met with resistance, and he realized then - had it been up to her, he never would have found out that she was the one. She was afraid of something, it became obvious as he looked at her closer. Yes - she was afraid. But why - what could she possibly have to fear? They were friends, they had known one another their entire lives - why…

And then he noticed something that he hadn’t  before. Something that she could no longer hide - though she was desperately trying.

His body began to shake and the delicate silver shoe fell from his hand and landed with a heavy thud upon the dock.

Day Two - Losing My Passion

Word Count - 3997

Remember my post yesterday; the yadda yadda yadda about how I was going to be like Ariel and grow legs to walk among the people? Well, I did it, and then I used them to twist my knee going down the stairs while getting off the bus on my way to my first write - in. Yeah - I never made it. Instead, I ended up in the ER, in a knee brace and on crutches. So much for being where the people are.

I'm having a really negative day two thus far. I can barely walk, I hate my story and am seriously considering ditching it. Basically,  I am feeling a general blah descending from the NaNo heavens. Two days ago I was on fire, now not only has the fire gone out, I feel like someone has used a fire extinguisher, poured water on it, and dumped a ton of slow melting ice on it for good measure. What is this? Post starting line let down maybe? I've never experienced this other years, but then the last two years I had passion behind my push, the need to redeem myself, the thirst for revenge. This year my goal is to win just for the winning sake, to have a good time. Well, I'm not having a very good time this morning - and it is only day two. What will it be like on day five, day fifteen, day twenty, day twenty-seven?

I wonder if others go through this. Am I the only one who has lost their passion this early in the game? More than anything else I wonder,  I worry - will it come back? And if it does, will it be soon?

Day One - Growing Legs

Word Count - 1114

So here we are at the starting gate, day one of NaNoWriMo. YAY! Such an exciting time! I have to confess disapointment in my word count. Already, early in the game, I feel as though I am behind my potential - something I am hoping I will remedy later today when I attend my very first write-in.

Despite this being my fourth NaNo, there is a whole aspect of it that I have never experienced, at least not beyond the forums. Social NaNoWriMo. Write-in's and kick off parties and many other wonderful things that bring participants together.

I haven't for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which is monster transportation issues. I gave up driving back in 2007 when my depression became really bad and my nerves couldn't take OTHER people's driving. Up until last spring, I lived in an area that had horrible bus service, limiting me to a very small window of time - a time that worked for pretty much no one else. I was also hindered by a thread hijacker who insisted on running our area with an iron fist and derailing any and all attempts to organize events that didn't fit into her schedule.

My deeper issue though was depression and social anxiety. I have dealt with depression most of my life and played the game like most people in my shoes. I spent my early 20's medicating myself with alcohol and drugs, useless boyfriend after useless boyfriend - getting rid of any who seemed remotely normal. When I became a mommy all that changed. My daughter became front and center in my universe. But the drawback of that was, she was the center of my social life as well which lead to my being borderline agoraphobic. I hate answering the phone, feel extremely uncomfortable around people that I don't know, can't stand to be in the home of strangers. Situations that I can't just easily get up and walk out of lead to panic attacks.

My daughter is twenty now, she is ready to go out and live her own life, she is leaving Mommy behind more and more. Which is why I have decided this is the year I am going to fully experience NaNoWriMo.  I am going to go to the kick-off write in today, I am going to go to the weekly write in on Tuesdays, I am going to go out and be among the people who make up the thousands who do this great challenge every year.

I don't know if I will actually get any writing done while I am there, I have ADD which makes writing in public rather difficult for me with all the distractions, but quite honestly - I have been living in silence for far, far too long. To quote Ariel - 'I wanna be where the people are'  

Also like her, this year, I am going to grow legs and walk among them.