Jeanie Writes Genre
Once upon a time...
Friday, November 30, 2007
'WriMo Wrapup: Lessons Learned
I started out thinking I couldn't do it. At best, I thought, I could maybe squeeze out 30,000 words in 30 days, so I set that goal for myself. I also thought I couldn't actually write a story in that time; the best I could hope for was an extended outline. I was only half wrong on that point, because as it stands, my manuscript is big chunks of story strung together and interspersed with outline-ish notes. But it's a lot closer to done than I started out thinking was possible, and in the process I think I broke myself of a lot of bad habits and learned that yes, in fact, I DO have time to write every day, and still work and go to the gym and watch TV and knit and take care of my dog and husband and read my Bible and other books and blog and generally have a life.
Who'da thunk?
I learned I don't need at least 30 to 45 minutes of quiet time just to get into story mode, if I write every day and keep my head in the story all the time.
I learned I can write about 600 words in fifteen minutes, and that doing that four times a day will make me pretty darn prolific.
I learned I don't need big blocks of time to work on my novel. All I need is something to write/type on handy whenever I find myself with a spare 10 or 15 minutes--which as it turns out happens fairly often most days.
I learned that if I can't physically write because I'm busy operating a motor vehicle, I can still dictate into a recorder, and manage a pretty big boost to my word count on the drive home.
I learned to get over hating my own voice and to suck it up and just talk into the recorder already.
I learned that the NaNo forums are as addictive as Diet Cherry Chocolate Dr. Pepper and that I'd probably be able to write even more if I kept away from them. But then I would feel lonely and uninspired.
I learned once and for all, to quiet my moments of doubt, that I AM a writer, that I love to tell stories, that I get high on the thrill of writing a good scene or paragraph or turn of phrase or dialogue exchange, and that I'll do this for the rest of my life, even if nobody but my husband, mom and close friends ever want to read what I write.
I learned that if nobody but my husband, mom and close friends want to read what I write, I will be dejected and sad, but I will manage to carry on--and actually I already knew that.
I learned that I am henceforth a NaNo addict, and this will most certainly not be my only year ever to do it.
Who'da thunk?
I learned I don't need at least 30 to 45 minutes of quiet time just to get into story mode, if I write every day and keep my head in the story all the time.
I learned I can write about 600 words in fifteen minutes, and that doing that four times a day will make me pretty darn prolific.
I learned I don't need big blocks of time to work on my novel. All I need is something to write/type on handy whenever I find myself with a spare 10 or 15 minutes--which as it turns out happens fairly often most days.
I learned that if I can't physically write because I'm busy operating a motor vehicle, I can still dictate into a recorder, and manage a pretty big boost to my word count on the drive home.
I learned to get over hating my own voice and to suck it up and just talk into the recorder already.
I learned that the NaNo forums are as addictive as Diet Cherry Chocolate Dr. Pepper and that I'd probably be able to write even more if I kept away from them. But then I would feel lonely and uninspired.
I learned once and for all, to quiet my moments of doubt, that I AM a writer, that I love to tell stories, that I get high on the thrill of writing a good scene or paragraph or turn of phrase or dialogue exchange, and that I'll do this for the rest of my life, even if nobody but my husband, mom and close friends ever want to read what I write.
I learned that if nobody but my husband, mom and close friends want to read what I write, I will be dejected and sad, but I will manage to carry on--and actually I already knew that.
I learned that I am henceforth a NaNo addict, and this will most certainly not be my only year ever to do it.
Labels: nanowrimo
Excerpt: The Hero Factor
The silver blade sliced the air as Simon Caufield swung his axe. It connected with the demon's chest. Black, scaly skin split and fissured as the body tore itself apart. The creature unleashed an unholy shriek, and then was silenced in an explosion of blood and goo.
Simon bent to pick up his axe. He wiped the blade on the grass, then rested it against his shoulder. He spat out a glob of slime that had gotten in his mouth. "One down," he said, his gaze scanning the cemetery. "Twenty to go."
"Cut!"
Michael Chambers spat again, and wiped more goo off his face. "This stuff is nasty," he complained, then reconsidered and licked his finger. "Tastes all right, though."
"It's mostly corn syrup," said an effects supervisor as he handed Michael a towel.
"That looked really cool," said Michael.
"Thanks!" He launched into an overly technical explanation of how he'd rigged the dummy to explode, but before Michael had to feign understanding the director interrupted.
"All right, let's get the stunt guys in here and do it again! Chambers, great job. You're done. Go clean up."
Michael shrugged out of Simon Caufield's trademark leather coat and handed it and the axe over to his stunt double. "Try not to get that stuff in your eyes," he warned him. "It stings." He draped the towel over his shoulder and headed to the craft service table to grab some coffee before he hit the showers.
"I need to stay with you for a while."
Michael paused, taking in the sight of Claire standing beside the table, holding out coffee and hope. A large suitcase sat next to a cat carrier at her feet. Michael's heart did a little dance, but he told himself it was for the coffee. "Why?"
"Plague. Pestilence. The usual."
He took the coffee and drank half of it before encouraging her to elaborate. He'd had a long day shooting action scenes and stunt pickups. He was tired and sore and he had a feeling he was about to need all the strength he could get. "Come again?"
"Bugs," she clarified, picking at the deli tray. "Not just a couple of cockroaches. That I could handle. We're talking many varieties of big, black, hairy creatures. Biblical stuff. It's the End Times in my apartment." She nibbled a slice of cheese, and then looked at it thoughtfully. "And there were rats."
"Rats?"
"Well, a rat. But isn't that enough? It was huge, bigger than my cat. Who, by the way, needs to come with me to your house while my landlord has the place fumigated. I hope that's okay."
Michael slowly sipped the rest of his coffee, buying himself a minute to think. Saying no would make him a bastard, and it wasn't like he didn't have the room. She still had an office in his house, even. But he still slept on one side of the bed and kept his toothbrush on one side of the bathroom drawer, even though it had been a year since she'd moved out. Having her back full-time, even for a few days... he didn't know if he could handle that.
Of course, she didn't seem to have a problem with it. Man up, Michael, he told himself. The bitterness he swallowed didn't all come from the coffee. He smiled. "Of course."
She smiled back. "Knew I could count on you." She knelt to open the cat carrier. "Hear that, Sam?" she said, pulling out twenty pounds of black fur. "We're not homeless." She stood up and cradled the fat bastard like an infant. It turned its yellow-eyed glare on Michael.
"You named him Sam?"
"Yeah. Don't you think he looks like a Sam?"
"I guess. Hey, kitty." Michael held a finger up to the cat, who gave it a perfunctory sniff before turning his haughty little nose up. That was gratitude for you. The cat had been a stray hanging around the set a few weeks ago. Somehow it found its way inside Michael's trailer, where he allowed it to stay while Claire tried to find it a home. He was ready to take it to a shelter himself when she finally decided to give it her home. He definitely wasn't a cat person.
Claire held the cat out to him. "Wanna hold him a minute?"
Michael took a step back and put up his hands. "Yeah, probably not, what with the slime."
"Oh." Claire looked him up and down, noticing his appearance for the first time. She wrinkled her nose. "Ew."
"Michael?"
Michael turned to see a woman approaching. She was an older woman, plainly dressed, with stringy, gray hair that hung past her shoulders. As she reached him, she smiled. "It's you!"
The cat let out a low growl, and then hissed for no apparent reason. Cats. Go figure. Claire stooped to stuff him back in his cage, but the woman seemed oblivious. She reached a hand toward Michael's face. "It's really you!"
He intercepted her hand and shook it. "Yeah, it's me. Do you belong with a tour group?"
She stared down at his hand a moment before clasping it in both of hers. "Don't you know me?"
"Um." He looked to Claire for a little help, but she had stepped away and was speaking quietly into her cell phone. "Did I meet you last year at ComiCon?"
"Michael." She gazed up at him, her eyes filling up with tears. "Sweetheart, I'm your mother."
Michael just stood there a moment, his mouth hanging open like it hoped to trap some appropriate words. "Right," he said, finally, and smiled. He hoped it was a compassionate smile. He leaned closer to the woman and said, gently, "Ma'am, my mother lives in Tulsa."
"No." The mystery woman shook her head furiously. "No. She doesn't know what you are. She can't help you. I'm the only one who can protect you. I kept you safe! But they didn't get you, so it's all right. I can be with you now, Michael. We can finally be together!" Her nails started digging into his hands.
"Okay," he said, prying himself out of her grip. "It's okay. Just calm down."
Behind him, Claire snapped her phone shut. She stepped forward. "Ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to leave." As she spoke a couple of security guards came running up.
"Sorry," one of them was saying. "We don't know how she got in here."
"No!" the woman screamed as they grabbed her by the arms.
"Hey, don't be so rough," Michael told them, but they were already dragging her away. She screamed his name the entire time. Michael watched helplessly, feeling nothing but pity for the woman.
"Hey." Claire took hold of his arm and squeezed. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Michael shook his head. "Wow."
"Yeah. That's a whole butt-load of crazy right there."
Michael nodded. "My mother. That's a new one. Still, not as scary as that lady who goes around to conventions claiming she's my wife."
Claire chuckled. "That time in Chicago I thought she was going to tear my hair out. You've got some rabid admirers there, Fangirl-bait."
He shrugged. "Goes with the territory, I guess."
"Yeah. Anyway, that reminds me. Your actual mother keeps calling. She left about five messages on your machine this morning."
"Is she okay?"
"She said it wasn't an emergency and you shouldn't worry about her."
Michael rolled his eyes. "She always says that."
"I know. I called her back and she said she's fine. She just wants to talk to you."
Michael sighed. "She probably has a question about her car or something. She calls me for all that kind of stuff now."
Claire nodded and gave him a sympathetic smile. "It's tough for her. Your dad really took care of her."
"Yeah."
A moment passed in silence, then Claire spoke up and changed the subject before it could turn awkward. "Your agent also called. He's sending over a couple of screenplays he wants you to consider. Said they'll build your indie cred."
Michael smirked. "Translation: the pay's crap."
Claire shrugged. "What else are you going to do with your summer?"
"Good point."
"Anyway, I've got to run." She picked up the cat carrier with a grunt and pulled up the handle on her suitcase. "I've got a ton of errands to get done, but I'll drop my stuff off first. Do you have dinner plans?"
"You tell me. You keep my schedule."
Claire grinned. "You do have dinner plans. I'll pick up some groceries and cook us something."
"Stroganoff?" he asked hopefully.
"I'll see what I can arrange."
"Excellent. Tell me again why I didn't marry you?"
It was out before he could stop it, and now it was too late to take it back. He managed not to cringe, even as Claire's artfully plucked eyebrow lifted in a "Don't go there " arch. "It's the least I can do," she said, mercifully ignoring his idiocy. She picked up the pet carrier, but studied him before going. "Are you really okay?"
"I'm fine. I mean, that wasn't exactly normal," he said, indicating the direction in which security had taken the woman, "but I'm fine. Really."
Claire nodded, but she didn't look convinced. "Do me a favor and get security to walk to your car, okay?"
"Claire--"
"Okay?" She wasn't going to let it go.
Michael sighed. "Okay."
She nodded again, and this time she seemed satisfied. "See you later."
"Right. Later." He held up his hand in a lazy wave as she walked away. At least she still cares, he thought as he watched her go. Of course, that's kind of her job now. Once she was gone, he closed his eyes and sighed. Dumb-ass. Dredging up ancient history wasn't going to make her stay at his place comfortable for either of them. Or their working relationship, for that matter, and he couldn't afford to lose her as a personal assistant. She was just too damn good.
It was shaping up to be one hell of a week.
***
©2007-2008 by JM Bauhaus
Labels: excerpts, Hero+Factor
Excerpt: This Old Haunt
This is one of a very few scenes from my 2007 WriMo novel that I'm fairly confident won't need to be extensively re-written.
***
"Are you sure about this?" asked Chris.
"Yup," I told her. "As sure as I've been about anything since I died."
She looked over at me. "Which would be, not very."
"I'm pretty sure," I said.
We stood at the edge of Clara's grave, playing lookout while Gus dug. It was a clear night, with stars visible through the trees overhead. We had a lot of company in the form of other ghosts wandering about, most likely doing their best to fend off boredom. Chris shined a flashlight for Gus, but the moon was bright enough that he didn't really need it. I was oblivious to things like hot or cold, but judging by Chris's leather jacket and the way she hunched her shoulders, I was guessing it was a bit nippy. Despite all the activity, it was pretty quiet except for the grunts and labored breathing coming from Gus.
"It just feels wrong to me," she said. "Digging up a little girl's grave... you know, grave desecration can bring about some pretty hefty consequences."
Clara appeared on the other side of her grave, just for an instant. She looked at me and smiled, then vanished. "Don't worry," I told Chris. "We're doing the right thing here."
"I hope you're right," she said. "'Cause if I get haunted by anybody else I'm going to sick the exorcist I hire on YOUR ass."
"Why are you so cranky?" I asked.
She turned to stare at me. "You're kidding, right? It's an ungodly hour of the morning, it's cold, we are now officially grave robbers, and I've barely gotten any sleep since you died."
"Here," I said, nudging the thermos on the ground between us in her direction. "Have some more coffee."
She glared at me, but she helped herself to a cup all the same.
Gus looked to be about three feet down by now. He stopped digging and leaned on his shovel. "You know," he managed between all his panting, "I didn't sign on for this. How come I have to do all the digging?"
"Cause Ron's a ghost and I'm the boss and I'm paying you double time for this," said Chris. She blew on her coffee. "Besides, you need a lookout."
"Can't Ron be the lookout while you help dig?"
"Tell him to shut up and dig or I'll tell you what he did to my body at the wake."
Chris was sipping her coffee and she almost did a spit take. "What the hell did you do to my sister at the wake?"
Gus's eyes widened. His face was already red from exertion, so it was hard to tell if he blushed. "Nothing," he said, and got back to work.
Chris looked at me, and I shrugged. "Gus loves me."
"Since when?"
"Hell if I know. It was news to me, too."
She just shook her head and went back to sipping her coffee. We settled into a comfortable silence for a while. Then out of nowhere she said, "So if this works, what will happen to you?"
"I don't know," I said. "I hadn't really thought about it."
"You probably should. Your novel's done except for the clean-up, and I can hire a copy editor for that. I read it, by the way. It's really good."
"Really? Thanks."
"Your agent thinks so, too. She's sure this will get you on the best seller list."
"Well, that figures," I grumped.
"Anyway, that's done, and your relationship with Dad is as resolved as it's ever likely to get. You don't have any more unfinished business. The only thing keeping you here is Sara."
"Oh. Right. That didn't even occur to me." Now that I thought about it, she was probably right. Once Sara was out of the way, it would most likely be time to move on. I'm sure Max couldn't wait. And Joe... well, Joe had been tortured long enough. The prospect scared me, though. I didn't know what we'd be moving on to.
"If that happens," said Chris, "I'll miss you."
"I know," I said. "But you'll be okay."
"Eventually, I guess," she agreed, and sighed. Then she looked over at me. "Say hi to Mom for me."
I nodded. "I will if I see her."
We both got quiet again. I realized that this could be our last opportunity to say anything to each other. It was too much pressure. I wanted to leave her with some piece of profound wisdom, or at least a useful bit of advice. I supposed I could apologize for all the times I was mean to her growing up, but that stuff didn't really matter now. There were probably a million things I could or should say. But I couldn't think of a single damn one.
I figured she was probably thinking the same thing.
So neither of us said anything. But it was a peaceful silence, not awkward or uncomfortable. The kind of silence that can only exist between two people who love the hell out of each other and don't need to say so.
Eventually, Gus went from a torso and a head sticking up out of the hole in the ground to just a head. "I think I hit something," he said. I leaned over to peer into the grave while he scraped dirt off of the casket. "Aw, man," he said once he'd uncovered it. "I don't want to be here anymore." He climbed up out of the grave. I couldn't really blame him. The casket had been made of pine, and it had rotted and cracked under the weight of all the dirt. Clara's tiny corpse, or what was left of it, could be seen grinning up at us through the slats.
Chris sighed, handed Gus her coffee, and jumped down into the grave. "Look for a red ball," I said, "about the size of a croquet ball."
"I know," she said. Her face twisted into a grimace, she bent to grab hold of the rotted wood. Most of it came away pretty easily. She had most of the lid torn up when she called, "I see it!" She retrieved it and held it up for us to see. "It's not very red anymore, though."
"That doesn't matter," I said. "Now I just need you to get it to the house for me."
She handed the ball to Gus and let him pull her out of the grave. "You guys go on," he said. "I'll stay here and fill this in."
Chris looked him up and down. "How come you're so eager to do backbreaking labor all of a sudden?"
"Look, I may be so sore I can't move for a week," he said, tossing a shovel full of dirt back into the grave, "but at least I know I won't be stuck haunting that house with Ron by morning. Don't worry. I can take the bus home."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're going to get on the bus outside a cemetery, covered in dirt and carrying a shovel?"
"Have you seen most of the people who ride the bus? I'll fit right in."
"Fraidy cat," I muttered.
Chris rolled her eyes. "Let's go," she said, heading off in the direction of her car.
"Hang on," I said. "I'll meet you there. I better get back and give the guys the lowdown."
"Oh. Okay." She looked a little disappointed.
I sighed. "Look, I don't want you coming inside that house again. When you get there, just open the door and toss the ball in, then get the hell away."
She rolled the ball back and forth between her hands. "Sure," she said. "Fine. So I guess this is it."
Damn. "Yeah," I said. "I guess it is."
She tilted her head back and started blinking, and tried surreptitiously to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. "You were kind of a jerk sometimes," she said.
"Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. But you were kind of a twerp sometimes."
She smiled, and sniffed. "Yeah. I'm not really sorry about that." Then she got serious and said, "You were a good sister, Ronnie. You were my best friend."
"Hey, what's with all the past tense? I'm not gone yet."
Sniffling, she looked down at the ball and nodded. "Yeah, well... have a good afterlife, okay?"
"I'm not really sure how much say I get in that," I said.
"Are you scared?" she asked, looking up at me.
"Kind of. A lot."
She nodded again.
"My kid sister's safe, though," I said. "And she turned out pretty awesome. So I think I can deal with whatever's next."
She smiled again. She just looked at me for a minute. Then she said, simply, "Bye, sis."
"Bye," I said, and returned to the house.
***
***
"Are you sure about this?" asked Chris.
"Yup," I told her. "As sure as I've been about anything since I died."
She looked over at me. "Which would be, not very."
"I'm pretty sure," I said.
We stood at the edge of Clara's grave, playing lookout while Gus dug. It was a clear night, with stars visible through the trees overhead. We had a lot of company in the form of other ghosts wandering about, most likely doing their best to fend off boredom. Chris shined a flashlight for Gus, but the moon was bright enough that he didn't really need it. I was oblivious to things like hot or cold, but judging by Chris's leather jacket and the way she hunched her shoulders, I was guessing it was a bit nippy. Despite all the activity, it was pretty quiet except for the grunts and labored breathing coming from Gus.
"It just feels wrong to me," she said. "Digging up a little girl's grave... you know, grave desecration can bring about some pretty hefty consequences."
Clara appeared on the other side of her grave, just for an instant. She looked at me and smiled, then vanished. "Don't worry," I told Chris. "We're doing the right thing here."
"I hope you're right," she said. "'Cause if I get haunted by anybody else I'm going to sick the exorcist I hire on YOUR ass."
"Why are you so cranky?" I asked.
She turned to stare at me. "You're kidding, right? It's an ungodly hour of the morning, it's cold, we are now officially grave robbers, and I've barely gotten any sleep since you died."
"Here," I said, nudging the thermos on the ground between us in her direction. "Have some more coffee."
She glared at me, but she helped herself to a cup all the same.
Gus looked to be about three feet down by now. He stopped digging and leaned on his shovel. "You know," he managed between all his panting, "I didn't sign on for this. How come I have to do all the digging?"
"Cause Ron's a ghost and I'm the boss and I'm paying you double time for this," said Chris. She blew on her coffee. "Besides, you need a lookout."
"Can't Ron be the lookout while you help dig?"
"Tell him to shut up and dig or I'll tell you what he did to my body at the wake."
Chris was sipping her coffee and she almost did a spit take. "What the hell did you do to my sister at the wake?"
Gus's eyes widened. His face was already red from exertion, so it was hard to tell if he blushed. "Nothing," he said, and got back to work.
Chris looked at me, and I shrugged. "Gus loves me."
"Since when?"
"Hell if I know. It was news to me, too."
She just shook her head and went back to sipping her coffee. We settled into a comfortable silence for a while. Then out of nowhere she said, "So if this works, what will happen to you?"
"I don't know," I said. "I hadn't really thought about it."
"You probably should. Your novel's done except for the clean-up, and I can hire a copy editor for that. I read it, by the way. It's really good."
"Really? Thanks."
"Your agent thinks so, too. She's sure this will get you on the best seller list."
"Well, that figures," I grumped.
"Anyway, that's done, and your relationship with Dad is as resolved as it's ever likely to get. You don't have any more unfinished business. The only thing keeping you here is Sara."
"Oh. Right. That didn't even occur to me." Now that I thought about it, she was probably right. Once Sara was out of the way, it would most likely be time to move on. I'm sure Max couldn't wait. And Joe... well, Joe had been tortured long enough. The prospect scared me, though. I didn't know what we'd be moving on to.
"If that happens," said Chris, "I'll miss you."
"I know," I said. "But you'll be okay."
"Eventually, I guess," she agreed, and sighed. Then she looked over at me. "Say hi to Mom for me."
I nodded. "I will if I see her."
We both got quiet again. I realized that this could be our last opportunity to say anything to each other. It was too much pressure. I wanted to leave her with some piece of profound wisdom, or at least a useful bit of advice. I supposed I could apologize for all the times I was mean to her growing up, but that stuff didn't really matter now. There were probably a million things I could or should say. But I couldn't think of a single damn one.
I figured she was probably thinking the same thing.
So neither of us said anything. But it was a peaceful silence, not awkward or uncomfortable. The kind of silence that can only exist between two people who love the hell out of each other and don't need to say so.
Eventually, Gus went from a torso and a head sticking up out of the hole in the ground to just a head. "I think I hit something," he said. I leaned over to peer into the grave while he scraped dirt off of the casket. "Aw, man," he said once he'd uncovered it. "I don't want to be here anymore." He climbed up out of the grave. I couldn't really blame him. The casket had been made of pine, and it had rotted and cracked under the weight of all the dirt. Clara's tiny corpse, or what was left of it, could be seen grinning up at us through the slats.
Chris sighed, handed Gus her coffee, and jumped down into the grave. "Look for a red ball," I said, "about the size of a croquet ball."
"I know," she said. Her face twisted into a grimace, she bent to grab hold of the rotted wood. Most of it came away pretty easily. She had most of the lid torn up when she called, "I see it!" She retrieved it and held it up for us to see. "It's not very red anymore, though."
"That doesn't matter," I said. "Now I just need you to get it to the house for me."
She handed the ball to Gus and let him pull her out of the grave. "You guys go on," he said. "I'll stay here and fill this in."
Chris looked him up and down. "How come you're so eager to do backbreaking labor all of a sudden?"
"Look, I may be so sore I can't move for a week," he said, tossing a shovel full of dirt back into the grave, "but at least I know I won't be stuck haunting that house with Ron by morning. Don't worry. I can take the bus home."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're going to get on the bus outside a cemetery, covered in dirt and carrying a shovel?"
"Have you seen most of the people who ride the bus? I'll fit right in."
"Fraidy cat," I muttered.
Chris rolled her eyes. "Let's go," she said, heading off in the direction of her car.
"Hang on," I said. "I'll meet you there. I better get back and give the guys the lowdown."
"Oh. Okay." She looked a little disappointed.
I sighed. "Look, I don't want you coming inside that house again. When you get there, just open the door and toss the ball in, then get the hell away."
She rolled the ball back and forth between her hands. "Sure," she said. "Fine. So I guess this is it."
Damn. "Yeah," I said. "I guess it is."
She tilted her head back and started blinking, and tried surreptitiously to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. "You were kind of a jerk sometimes," she said.
"Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. But you were kind of a twerp sometimes."
She smiled, and sniffed. "Yeah. I'm not really sorry about that." Then she got serious and said, "You were a good sister, Ronnie. You were my best friend."
"Hey, what's with all the past tense? I'm not gone yet."
Sniffling, she looked down at the ball and nodded. "Yeah, well... have a good afterlife, okay?"
"I'm not really sure how much say I get in that," I said.
"Are you scared?" she asked, looking up at me.
"Kind of. A lot."
She nodded again.
"My kid sister's safe, though," I said. "And she turned out pretty awesome. So I think I can deal with whatever's next."
She smiled again. She just looked at me for a minute. Then she said, simply, "Bye, sis."
"Bye," I said, and returned to the house.
***
©2007-2008 by JM Bauhaus
Labels: excerpts, nanowrimo, This Old Haunt
[*cue music*] Where do we go from here?
I decided to celebrate my win by giving myself a new template. Isn't it shiny? I like the otherworldly feel of the muted colors and the fact that you don't know whether the woman pictured is human or alive or even a woman.
"So, Jean," some of you are surely wondering, "50,000 words does not a novel make. You're hardly done with it, are you?"
To which I would say, "No. No I'm not."
BUT--it has a beginning, an ending, and quite a bit of middle. It still needs a few crucial plot scenes and could use a handful of character-building scenes, but for now, I'm satisfied calling it a finished rough draft, and putting it on the back burner while I get back to finishing The Hero Factor. By the by, I signed up for NaNoFiMo to ensure that I don't lose my momentum.
I guess that starts tomorrow, but first I'm going to give myself a non-writing weekend to catch up on knitting, reading, sleeping, etc., and rest my brain so I can start fresh on Monday.
Still to come: I'll do a write-up of what I learned during NaNoWriMo, and also post excerpts of both my WIPs. Look for those later today.
"So, Jean," some of you are surely wondering, "50,000 words does not a novel make. You're hardly done with it, are you?"
To which I would say, "No. No I'm not."
BUT--it has a beginning, an ending, and quite a bit of middle. It still needs a few crucial plot scenes and could use a handful of character-building scenes, but for now, I'm satisfied calling it a finished rough draft, and putting it on the back burner while I get back to finishing The Hero Factor. By the by, I signed up for NaNoFiMo to ensure that I don't lose my momentum.
I guess that starts tomorrow, but first I'm going to give myself a non-writing weekend to catch up on knitting, reading, sleeping, etc., and rest my brain so I can start fresh on Monday.
Still to come: I'll do a write-up of what I learned during NaNoWriMo, and also post excerpts of both my WIPs. Look for those later today.
Labels: nano, nanowrimo, writing life
Thursday, November 29, 2007
I WIN AT NANO!!!
"Winning" count: 50,262
50,000th word: "in"
Winner's certificate: shiny!
Satisfaction: oh, yeah.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
47,150. The end is nigh.
I got there this morning, actually, and planned to keep going into the afternoon, but then the scene I wanted to work on ran into a wall and my will to write fizzled.
So I'm going to call it a day and try to think about other things (or to just not think, but that doesn't really happen with ADD) and give my subconscious a chance to work it all out.
I'll probably try to get to 50,000 tomorrow, but if I don't, that's okay, too.
So I'm going to call it a day and try to think about other things (or to just not think, but that doesn't really happen with ADD) and give my subconscious a chance to work it all out.
I'll probably try to get to 50,000 tomorrow, but if I don't, that's okay, too.
Labels: nanowrimo
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
45,687
Monday, November 26, 2007
43,089
Less than 7,000 to go.
That's 1,728 words a day for the next four days.
I think I've got this in the bag.
That's 1,728 words a day for the next four days.
I think I've got this in the bag.
Labels: nanowrimo
39,000
Well, I didn't get as much writing done over the holiday as I hoped I would. Darn tryptophan. Actually, my main excuse is that our car started leaking fuel, and so I spent half the morning of Black Friday at the mechanic. Boo.
Anyway, I still made pretty decent progress. If I can hammer out 3,000 words today, and then 2,000/day the rest of the week, I'll have my winner's certificate in the bag. Woo!
Anyway, I still made pretty decent progress. If I can hammer out 3,000 words today, and then 2,000/day the rest of the week, I'll have my winner's certificate in the bag. Woo!
Labels: nanowrimo
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
33,089
If I can knock out that other two thousand tonight, I'll be good to go like a Taco Bell quesadilla.
Mmm, quesadilla.
I'm out for the weekend. Hopefully with my next update I'll have at least 45,000 under my belt.
Happy Thanksgiving, and happy writing!
Mmm, quesadilla.
I'm out for the weekend. Hopefully with my next update I'll have at least 45,000 under my belt.
Happy Thanksgiving, and happy writing!
Labels: nanowrimo
29,168
That was yesterday's final count. Work got really busy after that, and then at home both dog and husband were both exceptionally distracting, so I was unable to do more. This morning, though, I've already topped 30,000, and I'm going to do my darnedest to hit 35,000 by the end of the day.
Tomorrow's going to be a No Writing day. I think the break will do me good, and leave me all fresh for the 10K challenge on Friday that I signed up for. If I can actually pull that off, then it ought to be smooth sailing to the finish.
Tomorrow's going to be a No Writing day. I think the break will do me good, and leave me all fresh for the 10K challenge on Friday that I signed up for. If I can actually pull that off, then it ought to be smooth sailing to the finish.
Labels: nanowrimo
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Shiny!
I'm having entirely too much fun procrastinating with this shiny toy. I got carried away and used it to generate six different covers for my NaNo novel, but I think this one is my favorite:
Although this one is a close runner-up:
I also did one for THF:
Whee!
All righty. Back to work with me. 30,000 today or bust!
Although this one is a close runner-up:
I also did one for THF:
Whee!
All righty. Back to work with me. 30,000 today or bust!
Monday, November 19, 2007
28,056 words so far
It's not completely caught up, but it's caught up enough that I don't have to kill myself for the next eleven days trying to get to 50,000. And I might even be able to set it aside on Thanksgiving. Yay!
Labels: nanowrimo
Thursday, November 15, 2007
18,050.
I'm still about 7,000 words behind where I should be, but if I can keep up this pace through the weekend I should be all right.
Now I have to go work on other things.
Have a good weekend, y'all. I'll check back in on Monday.
Now I have to go work on other things.
Have a good weekend, y'all. I'll check back in on Monday.
Labels: nanowrimo
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
15,010!
Woo!
And I'm exhausted. If I can pull that off again tomorrow, I might actually stand a chance of winning this thing.
And I'm exhausted. If I can pull that off again tomorrow, I might actually stand a chance of winning this thing.
Labels: nanowrimo
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Finally, five digits!
And those digits are 11,201.
I think the part of my brain that houses fiction needs to go lie down and rest for a while. I'll try to dictate more of the story on the long drive home if I can wake it up and prod it back to work.
One of my goals with this Nano is to train myself to write in the cracks of my day. What I mean by that is all the little fifteen or ten or even five minute gaps when I find myself with nothing to do. I've always convinced myself that that's impossible, because I need at least half an hour of "staring into space" time just to get my head into the story. But once my head gets there, I need to learn how to keep it there, so that I can take advantage of all those little cracks in my daily schedule and write instead of letting myself fall through them. I'm not quite there yet; but I'm closer than I was when I started.
I think the part of my brain that houses fiction needs to go lie down and rest for a while. I'll try to dictate more of the story on the long drive home if I can wake it up and prod it back to work.
One of my goals with this Nano is to train myself to write in the cracks of my day. What I mean by that is all the little fifteen or ten or even five minute gaps when I find myself with nothing to do. I've always convinced myself that that's impossible, because I need at least half an hour of "staring into space" time just to get my head into the story. But once my head gets there, I need to learn how to keep it there, so that I can take advantage of all those little cracks in my daily schedule and write instead of letting myself fall through them. I'm not quite there yet; but I'm closer than I was when I started.
Labels: nanowrimo, writing life
Monday, November 12, 2007
9,036
Sigh. I really wanted to make 10,000 today. Oh well. Maybe tonight.
Labels: nanowrimo
Weekend writing
Weekend word count: 2,930, bringing the grand total so far to 6,985.
That's... a little disheartening, actually. The Alphasmart doesn't have any word count or page count functions, and it felt like I did a lot more than that. Sigh.
Ah, well. At least the story's coming together pretty well, and that's more important (to me) than word count. Guess I'll keep going....
That's... a little disheartening, actually. The Alphasmart doesn't have any word count or page count functions, and it felt like I did a lot more than that. Sigh.
Ah, well. At least the story's coming together pretty well, and that's more important (to me) than word count. Guess I'll keep going....
Labels: nanowrimo
Friday, November 09, 2007
Final count before I take off for the weekend: 4,064
It's not great, but as crazy-busy as today was, it's about as well as could be expected. I'll do some more phone-dictation on the way home, and write as much as possible over the weekend. Hopefully I'll have a more substantial word count on Monday.
It's not great, but as crazy-busy as today was, it's about as well as could be expected. I'll do some more phone-dictation on the way home, and write as much as possible over the weekend. Hopefully I'll have a more substantial word count on Monday.
Labels: nanowrimo
Uh, dictation is... umm... crap. Start over.
Today's word count so far: 3,567.
This is actually last night's word count, technically. I got experimental on the drive home from work and played with dictating a scene into my cell phone's voice recorder. It was kind of frustrating because I can only record a minute at a time, and it runs out of memory pretty quickly, but still, 500 words while I'm driving isn't too shabby. I could probably double that if I invested in a digital voice recorder, or so I thought when I stopped at Wal-Mart to price them last night, but they're still a bit too rich for my blood right now, what with all the ER bills I need to be saving up for.
Dictating isn't my favorite method of writing, by far. I have a lot of stops and stutters (at least I can hit pause and leave out all of the uhs and ummmms), and transcribing it is a painful experience, because I really hate the sound of my own voice. But this Nano project can be a way to get over all of that and get used to using my drive-time this way, because it's definitely productive, and pretty useful here in the rough draft stage.
And now I'm heading into the territory of procrastinaty blather, so I'll sign off now and get back to work. Happy writing.
This is actually last night's word count, technically. I got experimental on the drive home from work and played with dictating a scene into my cell phone's voice recorder. It was kind of frustrating because I can only record a minute at a time, and it runs out of memory pretty quickly, but still, 500 words while I'm driving isn't too shabby. I could probably double that if I invested in a digital voice recorder, or so I thought when I stopped at Wal-Mart to price them last night, but they're still a bit too rich for my blood right now, what with all the ER bills I need to be saving up for.
Dictating isn't my favorite method of writing, by far. I have a lot of stops and stutters (at least I can hit pause and leave out all of the uhs and ummmms), and transcribing it is a painful experience, because I really hate the sound of my own voice. But this Nano project can be a way to get over all of that and get used to using my drive-time this way, because it's definitely productive, and pretty useful here in the rough draft stage.
And now I'm heading into the territory of procrastinaty blather, so I'll sign off now and get back to work. Happy writing.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Final count before I head home: 3,046
I might write tonight, but Supernatural's on, so I make no promises.
Clearly, I'm not in this to win.
I might write tonight, but Supernatural's on, so I make no promises.
Clearly, I'm not in this to win.
Labels: nanowrimo
NaNo/Alphasmart update
Today's Count-so-far: 2,200, which seems piddly indeed, compared to the 22,000 and over that's already being racked up by a large portion of the competition. Of course, I may be way behind, but at least I've got some coherent story going on, which I somehow doubt is true for the majority of the already over 20,000 club, so I can live with my piddly word count for now.
In other news, the eBay seller who sold me my Alphasmart has agreed to exchange it. Now I'm debating whether to send it back tomorrow or hold onto it till Monday so I can get some writing done over the weekend. Considering my mail-packaging procrastination tendencies, I'll probably forget all about it when I get home tonight and render the decision moot, anyway. At any rate, I'm very much looking forward to writing on a fully functional Alphasmart.
In other news, the eBay seller who sold me my Alphasmart has agreed to exchange it. Now I'm debating whether to send it back tomorrow or hold onto it till Monday so I can get some writing done over the weekend. Considering my mail-packaging procrastination tendencies, I'll probably forget all about it when I get home tonight and render the decision moot, anyway. At any rate, I'm very much looking forward to writing on a fully functional Alphasmart.
Labels: nanowrimo
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Alphasmart is alpha-keen! Sorta.
I am in love with my Alphasmart 2000 -- at least, I am in theory. It's lightweight, compact, easy to type on, and when I hook it to my PC, open up a word processor--any word processor, even Google Docs--and hit "send," it re-types everything I've written on it. This thing is awesome.
Except that the one I bought off of eBay is broken. Specifically, three keys--N, B and space, which are pretty important keys--don't work. I got past it over the weekend (yes, I wrote over the weekend, you guys!) by inserting various symbols to stand in for the necessary characters, and then did an easy find/replace once I moved the document into Word. It worked, but it slowed my typing speed way down, and it's just not a good long-term solution. So I've opened up a dispute with eBay/Paypal, and hopefully the seller will cooperate and give me my money back so I can buy one that works properly. Because now I want one of these things more than ever.
In NaNo news, 7 days in and I'm up a measly 1,757 words. See above re: slow and cumbersome typing, and also I was kinda sidetracked (felt more like sideswiped) by all the dysentery. Today was all about catching up at work, so I didn't manage any writing today. Maybe I'll eke out a few words tonight. But tomorrow I should be able to get back in gear.
Hmm. IIRC, last year my NaNo goal got derailed by a nasty case of bronchitis. November doesn't tend to be a good month for me. Maybe God is trying to tell me something....
Except that the one I bought off of eBay is broken. Specifically, three keys--N, B and space, which are pretty important keys--don't work. I got past it over the weekend (yes, I wrote over the weekend, you guys!) by inserting various symbols to stand in for the necessary characters, and then did an easy find/replace once I moved the document into Word. It worked, but it slowed my typing speed way down, and it's just not a good long-term solution. So I've opened up a dispute with eBay/Paypal, and hopefully the seller will cooperate and give me my money back so I can buy one that works properly. Because now I want one of these things more than ever.
In NaNo news, 7 days in and I'm up a measly 1,757 words. See above re: slow and cumbersome typing, and also I was kinda sidetracked (felt more like sideswiped) by all the dysentery. Today was all about catching up at work, so I didn't manage any writing today. Maybe I'll eke out a few words tonight. But tomorrow I should be able to get back in gear.
Hmm. IIRC, last year my NaNo goal got derailed by a nasty case of bronchitis. November doesn't tend to be a good month for me. Maybe God is trying to tell me something....
