Last day....

how's everybody feeling and doing?

Thanksgiving Day: counting down to the end

Hey support group. I'm hoping for 45,000 words today. My story still has a lot to say and I'm not sure it's ready to wind down yet, but determination in word count is a place to start. I promise to keep writing after this experiment is over. I can't believe it's almost over.

An excerpt from a while ago:

THAT night Maisie lay in bed thinking. It had been an interesting day, but she didn’t find what she was looking for. Faeries were too elusive. “Maybe they are going extinct!” she thought to herself. “I have to help them! If only I could find one and talk to it.” The disappearing faeries haunted her day and night and she didn’t know what to do about it. Her mother walked in her bedroom door.

“Lights out Mais,” she said.

“Ok mom,” Maisie replied.

Her mother walked over to the bed and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well honey,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She made her way back to the patch of light from the hallway and shut off the lights with the switch by the bedroom door. A nightlight glowed into life across from her bed as her mother shut the door. Maisie turned over and drifted into sleep.

In her subconscious creatures started to come out of the shadows. They took on the forms of her thoughts, the forms of faeries and trolls, of gnomes and an occasional giant. She appeared as a princess captured by a dragon. In her dream world, there was a conference going on about how to save her, her being the princess of the realm. Every tribe and species was represented there, at least every one with consciousness. The faeries hovered above the table sprinkling faerie dust on everything as they moved. The trolls sat at the table fussily, wishing they were underground, but also wishing that the magical princess was safe and knowing that they couldn’t go home until she was. If she wasn’t rescued they might not have a home to go back to. Also there were the centaurs, kings of the forest, elves, wizards, the princess’s own father and mother, worried sick, the good witched that lived high up in the mountains where they could see the world clearly, dwarves, gnomes, unicorns and even a delegation from the nation of the giants sat outside the window, one grotesquely big eye peering into the conference. All were represented and all wanted to save the princess and bring peace to their homeland. Right now everyone was talking, shouting to be heard. The king looked helplessly over at his squire with the gong that should bring them all to silence. The gong sounded and the din began to quiet down.

“Now,” said the king. “I know we all want the same thing, but can we please try to have some order? I just want my daughter back. She brings magic into the world and if she doesn’t return soon, magic will begin to disappear from the whole realm. Now nobody wants that, right?”

There was a low murmur of agreement. No one did want that, except for the dragon that had captured her and was now holding her hostage in his cave surrounded by burnt out forest. He had burnt the forest himself, turning it into a dirty barren landscape that nobody wanted to cross. This kept him isolated from the world and for now kept the princess to himself.

“The conference will now break into subcommittees and thought shower groups. We need ideas my friends. So far no one has been able to contact the dragon to find out what he wants from the princess or so that he will return her. You all know your committees. Go now!” The king commanded and the gong sounded once more to signal the next step in the process.

The din began again as creatures of all shapes and sizes raced around to find their groups and begin their discussions. The hall began to empty out as committees went off to their meeting places. The king sighed. “I hope they come up with something soon,” he said turning to his silent wife. She had not said a word since the disappearance and was now known for sudden outbursts of silent sobs. She choked one back now and looked at her husband with a pained look in her eyes.

“I know my dear,” the king said sympathetically. “We’ll find her. We have the best warriors and negotiators in all the land at our disposal, coming up with plans right now.”

The queen bowed her head. “Here,” her husband said. “Let’s get you something to eat and get you back to bed. I know this hasn’t been easy for you. It hasn’t been easy for either of us. But we’ll get her back. I can just feel it my love.”

Through the lush forests and past the mountains lay the burnt out valley of the dragon. He was proud to have captured such a prized treasure and looked forward to adding her to his collection. So far she had been a tricky one to tame and he was running out of ideas. He sat on the cave floor, the cave that he had made his home, with smoke trailing out of his nostrils. The princess curled up in a heap against the cave wall in front of him. One long chain attached her to a hook bolted into the ground. This was only a precaution to keep her from running away. The dragon took pride in his collection of magical creatures and knew that this one would complete his collection. It wasn’t quite complete but this one would bring the others. He knew they were meeting already to try to figure out how to save her, and he just wanted a sample of what was left. He was low on faerie dust and his dwarf had found a way to burrow away. He wouldn’t make the same mistake with the dwarf again. He had built a proper container for it, something the thing couldn’t break free of and find it’s way back into the safety of the earth. He looked at the princess. “Please,” he said in his softest voice, doing his best to imitate the human language. “Help me.”

The princess looked up, her face streaked with tears and dirt. “Just let me go!” she shouted, hoping to intimidate the creature. He hopped back, but really more for show than anything else. He wanted her to feel that she was as powerful as she thought. This would bring the other creatures to him. He hated that he had to resort to this level, he knew the danger he was in, but he was so close and then he would be free. If only the rest of the world understood him; if they only would help him reach his goal. He was so close.

Maisie stirred in her sleep and turned over. She felt no fear, her mind made sure she knew it was only a dream, but her face was still twisted in a concentrated expression. Her dream rang of truth and somewhere she knew it.

So close and yet so far

We're getting close. I'm more and more determined as we go into this final week. My story is far far behind, but my writing is almost on target. Let's finish this thing.

Mini Marathon weekend?

Misery loves company.

What do you think about a mini weekend writing marathon? We'll do check-ins periodically during the weekend.

My goal this weekend is to reach 22,000. I am at 14,679.

Not to freak you all out....

So we have 11 days--maybe 10 by the time you read this. Who still in here kicking away at their word goals? How are you feeling? What are you thinking? Did you think it would be this hard? Do you feel twitchy?

Let's get together for a writing marathon weekend... write and check in and tell how you are doing.

Let's hear some chatter.

Updates?

How are you all doing? I've actually managed to keep up with the daily goals pretty well and am caught up today at just over 30,000 words.


What about you?

Some days it's hard to get started.

Today is one of those days. Writing is like pulling teeth today. It probably doesn't help that I'm exhausted and I'm in a room of restless kids who are supposed to be sleeping. Usually most of them sleep, but not today......power through Abbi, power through.

Taking a page out of the book

This is a daunting task. I have enjoyed it so far, but as my life gets busier and busier it almost feels like a chore. My story has taken some interesting turns and I think I might get two shorter stories out of it in the end, which is good, but continuing to write it getting harder. I have other responsibilities, including writing responsibilities that I keep putting off in order to "catch up" with the daily writing goal.

I think I'm also a little afraid to go too deep with any of my characters. Chris wrote about finding things out about himself through his writing, and I have had the same experience. However, there are some things I'm not ready to talk to myself about, and I think this fear holds me back from exploring my characters fully sometimes. I am about to write an epic battle scene for a dream sequence that has turned into my main story. I keep finding ways around getting that princess rescued and writing the battle that leads up to it. I'm not exactly sure what I'm afraid of, but I know that I'm holding back.

Tap, tap, tap...

Throw your hands up in the air if you feel me.

I tend to be a pretty stable guy with the exception of short periods of relative emotional excess. While these points in my life make a large impression on me (and those in my immediate vicinity) when they occur, they can hardly be described as sporadic and calling them frequent would be an outright lie. That said, something happens to me when I write.

Inevitably, you write what you know. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Tolkien's Middle Earth saga bears a striking resemblance to World War II. George Lucas invented a story set a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, and yet most of us saw ourselves in most of his characters (not Chewbacca). Of course I'm not talking about suddenly gaining telekinetic powers and setting out on an intergalactic quest to kill your father in a ship that can make the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs. If you don't know what I mean by that, you are probably a communist.

No matter how you dress it up, invention tends to be more about interesting new recombination than, well, invention. Now, I've already laid my cards down and explained the general genre in which I am working at the moment (science fiction/fantasy-ish). Despite the fact that my story could never actually take place (hopefully and to the best of my knowledge) it has somehow tapped into some deeply emotional places that I didn't know I had. While this newfound self-knowledge is great in an aquired wisdom sense, it's also kind of freaking me out. Just when I thought I had myself figured out I get blindisded from left field. I did my best to begin my novel as un-autobiographical as possible, but somehow all of my characters have facets of their growing personalities that are freakish little mirrors reflecting some pretty telling parts of myself.

Hollar back if your writing is tapping into previously unexplored bits of your psyche.

It's a frightening thing to discover that you aren't who you at first had assumed you were. This whole writing thing just keeps getting more interesting.

Sample in a jar

Anyone who knows me knows that I do not tend to talk about my writing in specifics and I never share anything before it has been thoroughly revised. That said, I felt I should share a little piece of my writing with you all to share my work and relieve anxieties.

My story has a pretty out there sci-fi/fantasy premise, but is more about the characters than the universe. Michael is telling this part of the story. Michael has recently met Thomas who is quickly becoming his only and closest friend in a new and big city.

Please excuse the expletives. I write like they talk.

[...]

The mystery that was Thomas began to unravel just days after he paid for my stint in the hospital. We had met up a few times at O'Reilly's, which I had told him about upon my release, and we'd play pool and darts. Thomas consumed copious amounts of liquor with little visible effect. I drank very little and won even less. Soon after, he began showing up at my place all the time. At the time I thought nothing of it. Three weeks after I met him, he was crashing on my couch. I had very little experience with friendship outside of a liberal arts college campus. These things seemed normal to me.

This was the thing about Thomas. He was, as a famous actor once said, like any other man only more so. It was like someone speaking with an accent they'd learned from movies and music but had never heard from a real person. Thomas behaved like he had learned how to by watching television. His pacing was all screwed up and his punch lines were in all of the wrong places. I didn't notice. He may have been playing the part badly, but he was playing such a familiar part that my mind just kind of filled in the gaps for him.

It was late November, a full month after he thrust a flask in my hand and rescued me from something he had yet to fully explain. We were out at O'Reilly's once more. Thomas was telling me that all the great generations had come and gone.

“Greatness is a thing, Michael, that our generation can only look at with irony,” he said. “Many of our ancient generations, the ones that fought off barbarity and built schools and hospitals, they were great,” he told me. “But then, somehow, greatness fell out of style.”

This was one of the few nights we could go to the bar and actually enjoy ourselves. We were getting to the point where we would sooner go without alcohol for weeks than sit through another fucking karaoke night, or open mic, or (god forbid) a local band. The way Thomas and I saw it; bars were for far more important things than terrible bands and worse poetry. Bars were for drinking and discussion and pool – preferably all at the same time. The rest was all frills. Including any drink served with a tiny-ass toothpick umbrella. I mean, really.

Last call was called and Thomas made his final point:

“Greatness isn't about beating back the newest wave of assholes or ruling some great empire,” he told me, “I'm saying that greatness is about people stopping their lives, people working and dying, to give a better world to their kids and grandkids. Everyone is so damn shortsighted these days...” he trailed off.

I vaguely remember that I said something like, “yeah, but then these great generations expect their kids and grandkids to make that same sacrifice. And they never do.”

“Makes you think, eh?” He smiled, nearly tipsy, and lined up his cue for a shot. He exhaled as he struck the white ball and sent the 8 to rest, prematurely, in the corner pocket.

I remember we took that as a sign and began the leaving process. I pulled on my coat while Thomas picked up his lighter and wallet.

“You know how I know all of this?” he asked me outside the bar, where we usually tarried under the neon signs to finish conversations before heading our separate ways. Or, lately, our same ways. Thomas lit a cigarette. The autumn air stung slightly, pushing away any lingering traces the alcohol and pool had left on my senses.

“I imagine you're about to tell me,” I said, wittily I thought.

“I read things,” he answered himself. He said it with no hint that he'd heard me. “Stories don't have happy endings anymore.” He looked at me, searching for the impact of his words. “Stories with happy endings are out of style, just like greatness. Either no good authors are writing happy endings, or no stories sound good with a happy ending anymore. Greatness requires a happy ending.” He took a puff and went on. “Look at the old story of the war across the ocean. Basically the whole world was at war, right? All of our factories and all of their factories were pumping out bullets and tanks as fast as they could. They were fighting for two things, if you remember your history class. They were fighting to conquer the countries around them, and they were fighting for revenge. We were fighting to end the atrocities they were committing, and we were fighting to defend ourselves and our allies. We won. Happy ending! Greatness!” He looked at me proudly.

“Sure, but even that didn't last long, if you'll recall. We began fighting with our allies before our enemies even had the chance to fall. And that was a very long war composed almost entirely of pretense and victims.”

“Yeah, but I say that was the fault of the next generation. Terrible pansies.” Everything with Thomas boiled down to something. Right or wrong. Good or evil. “I'm going to meet you back at home.” He had taken to calling my apartment 'home'. “I have some things to go do.”

“Alright, I'll see you.”

The walk home was drab and chill. The climb up the stairs to the fifth floor was featureless. Jenny was watching an episode in the second season of Star Trek. She may have been awake. She may have been dead, staring glassy eyed at the screen. I said hello, not that I expected an answer, poured myself a glass of water and headed into my bedroom.

Okay New Plan

So I find myself a tad bit behind..okay a LOT behind. I decided to do my best to put some words up this weekend but I couldn't 'catch up.' My new plan is stay focused on my daily amount plus 1000. If I stay on that plan, then next Sunday I will be all caught up.

The wrinkles to my plan are 1) the onset of a queasy stomach today...uh-oh; 2) grades are due Friday and I have tons to do to catch up; 3) Kath's b-day is Saturday, party is Sunday and I have tons of planning, cleaning; 4) I have various training this week to become Alex's Daisy Troop Leader.

Ok. So. What's important here? Aok, yes ALL. But somehow I will fit it in and do my best. Afterall, ANYTHING I write is so much more than I did last month!

Hope you are all doing better! :D

Addendum

I'm beginning to hate this countdown clock. I think it speeds up just for me every time I check it. I could have sworn it sneered at me yesterday. It said it was an encouraging smile, but it looked like a sneer.

It better watch its countdown clock back. I put it on the page and I can take it off. I'll just replace it with a sudoku puzzle or something.

Good luck all!
Screw you, countdown clock.

Several laps behind the pack

I haven't written since the 3rd.

Uh-oh.

I've thought about my story and my characters a lot over the past week, but I've been away from home and therefore have not had the means to continue writing. I don't have a laptop and handwriting is slow and painstaking at my grandparent's house.

So, over the next few days I am going to write as much as possible and try to catch up. Trouble is, I'm headed back down to the grandfolks' place next week.

Ahhh!

Also, I'm beginning to fall in love with a character that I don't think is going to live through this story. Can you guys remain dispassionate about your characters? Even though mine are all flawed bastards, I can't help but love them in a way. And some of them are going to die. Maybe I'd be better off writing for Young Adults - where no one dies but the bad guys, who are truly evil, and where the good guys are incorruptible.

Any thoughts? Anyone else still around 3000 words?

check-in

How is everybody doing? I would describe my work thus far as fractured and a bit all over the place, but it's getting somewhere at least in my head. I'll worry about connecting the dots better once I have the words down. I felt sick a couple of days ago and missed writing but I think I'm back on track. What about you guys?

My setting

This was too adorable not to share. Tea on one side, cat on the other. (You'll note the bag of lindt truffles lurking in the back corner...for emergencies.) Begin typing.

Introductions?

Hi, all,

Excited to be beginning this journey with all of you (as soon as I get done procrastinating by updating this blog)! I was wondering if anyone else would want to respond to this post and introduce themselves. I'd like an idea of who I'm connecting with over the next month, and I know some of you quite well of course, but others not as much. Maybe anyone who is willing would just write a brief blurb about themselves and what brings them to this blog, NaNo or writing in general? Anyone else insane enough to be considering doing parts of this by hand? I write better when my thoughts are slowed down by the archaic and cramping hand movements of mechanically writing. Nuts, I know.

Cheers!
Kristen

Curious George

Out of the pure curiosity that tends to prove fatal in felines, have any of us actually completed a work of fiction around or exceeding this size? If so, do you have any advice for those of us who are floundering about without path or precedent?

Newbee

I feel a dread that what is in my head will ramble like I do when I am nervous. I think I  would create a character who is self-confident and poised. I don't think I even know what to start with. I guess a name. Niambh because it brings a smile to my face and because it is Gaelic and different. So Niambh is sitting at her desk and she is remembering the time when she was small and the world seemed fair and now she knows that it is not. She is disillusioned with the state of the world but has no energy to work to fix it. She feels that no matter what it will be ruled by the unfair bosses who use power to corrupt the goodness that lies beneath all ideas. I am not sure that she can carry a story and I think maybe she needs to be placed in some kind of situation where she has to make decisions. I think I have run out of gas and will stop for now. Not much of a start but a start none the less.

Day 1

Stopping writing today was almost as hard as starting. I've been itching to start ever since I signed up for Nano, but when it came time to stare at the blank page, my mind went blank. What do I start with? What makes a story a story and not just some rambly journaling nonsense that comes from the deep recesses of my mind. For me, this journey is about starting to write again, about making time for art everyday in my life. I took a course last fall that made me ask myself about the importance of creation in my life overall as well as my day to day. And once I started writing today, I didn't want to stop. Sure, I found stopping points and got stuck, but I found myself and started writing again. And I have to remember that I have more than Nano this month. So I do need to stop writing every day as well as start. And I fear that starting again tomorrow will be as hard as stopping today. My mindset changes so much day to day, moment to moment that I wonder where my story will take me next time. Every time I put something down and come back to it, it takes on a different life. I suppose that's a testament to my wandering state of mind, but it's also an interesting challenge in terms of taking on such a big project like a novel. I'm curious to see if it will be as wandering as I seem to tend to be, or if it will have a sense of coherency to it. Here's to finding out. 2062 words today.

a favorite, and apt, poem:

The Writer by Richard Wilbur:

In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage.

But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which

The whole house seems to be thinking,
And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again is silent.

I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
How we stole in, lifted a sash

And retreated, not to affright it;
And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,
We watched the sleek, wild, dark

And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
To the hard floor, or the desk-top,

And wait then, humped and bloody,
For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits
Rose when, suddenly sure,

It lifted off from a chair-back,
Beating a smooth course for the right window
And clearing the sill of the world.

It is always a matter, my darling,
Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish
What I wished you before, but harder.

Go!

Enjoy your writing...even if you have no idea what to write...talk to yourself until you do and write down that talking...what are you thinking...what are your goals...then relax and allow your brain to kick out and your "OTHER" brain to kick on. The brain that is creative but has been dormant for way too long.... Remember when you were a kid and you could write stories about anything? When you would tell stories or see stories in everything? That brain will kick in...might take awhile...depending on how long you've pushed it down and back out of your every day life.

Enjoy the freedom to write. Like never before. Happy NaNo-ing!

12 feet 6 inches

This is probably a good day to set your goals. The NaNo goal is 50,000. This translates to about 100 pages single spaced or 180 pages double spaced. More if you have a lot of dialogue.

Here are some goals if you intend to pace yourself evenly:
-50,000 words/month
-12,500 words/week
-1667 words/day

Assuming you are double spacing, this translates to about:
-180 pages/month
-45 pages/week
-6 pages/day

Feel free to set your own goals. I pole vaulted in high school for two seasons. Having gotten a late start in the sport, I decided to prove myself by aiming higher than all of my peers' personal records. I aimed for 12 feet 6 inches - 6 inches higher than the highest personal record. I trained for it, and I got it by the end of my senior year. Of course, by then a friend of mine had destroyed his and the school's records and was vaulting 14 feet or so. My point is that it is fun to set your own goals and hold yourself accountable to them. Try for 55,000. Or 20,000 really great words.

Enjoy yourself and take this opportunity to play.

-Chris

PS-
Check the bottom of the page for links to online custom made radio stations brought to you by yours truly. Feel free to make your own and post them - I'll add them to the page.

National Novel Writing Month

NaNoWriMo is many things. It is the end of normalcy for an entire month. It is a lofty aspiration that is finally attainable. It is a way to stay sane - or, conversely - to go productively insane for the long winter.

One month, one novel. 50,000 words. Get your snicky snackies ready, clean your desk beforehand, prepare your procrastination, say goodbye to your families, and buy your wrist guards.

Thus begins our foray into the thick that is writing. This space is Aspiring Authors Anonymous. We are here to support each other in this endeavor. We will share our experiences and anecdotes in the hopes that we inspire, relate, or entertain one another. All for one, and one for all.

Good night and good luck.

-Chris, Abbi, and Veronica

*** You may still sign on the NaNo site if you are setting your own word goal. My students are 'doing GaNoWriMo' -Gaboury's Novel Writing Month- and the goal is 8,000 words. But others set their own word goal. The site has cool widgets to help show your progress and so on!

--Veronica