NaNoWriMo

Light That's Not Its Own
Light That's Not Its Own

October 28

November is National Novel Writing Month, a.k.a. NaNoWriMo.

Even most of my short stories and minor, insignificant non-fiction blog posts remain unpublished because they feel perpetually unfinished and incomplete, so writing a full-length fiction novel in a month is a big deal. It’s totally nuts.

But I’m venturing out, working alongside the movement this year, ghost-participating and giving it a solid shot. I’m going to try this, and Yoda’s not going to mess with me. As much as I hate deadlines, maybe this will be good. And the world will not end if my plans fail. (Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

At best, the story will be rough at the end of the month – really rough they say. It will not be researched enough, and it will be unpolished, unedited and imperfect. That is, if I even reach the 50,000 words and actually finish it. But it will be a full, complete (although uncompleted) story.

Participants are allowed pre-November to prep. Research, planning, shaping, characters. But no actual writing.

I am thankful for a forgiving, supportive husband who is encouraging me to do this, knowing I will likely have less time for us this month, while also reminding me that I still make the rules. Pushing myself toward a goal is healthy. Pushing myself until I’m sick is not.

October 31

I didn’t even think I would have a basic plot at this point, because I am generally so bad at plot, but I think I actually do. I even have a general outline and few characters.

Don’t expect too much, the book says. It may not be great or even good.

But go.
Keep going.
Don’t stop.
Don’t edit.
Just go.

I envision November being a blur.

Here we go.

November 1

So much research/fact checking I need to do. So many holes. So many questions. And this is day one? I know I am supposed to leave it all until later, but ugh.

There are so many things I knew I didn’t know, and I never planned to go there. The truth is I actually know practically nothing, and Google will have to become my very near, very dear, seriously annoying friend I want to punch in the face but can’t, because I need to keep it close.

This month is insane as is. So much going on, holidays, work, people. Adding this just exponentially magnifies the crazy I try to keep at bay.

Clearly I am not doing a good job at it.

November 2

Rain! Actual rain. The perfect sound to write to.

November 7

Supposedly week 2 is where you get so frustrated at your characters and yourself that most people quit. You wish you could scrap everything, kill off all your annoying characters, and if you keep them around, tend to start letting in all your absolutely-nots that you said you don’t want in your story.

I can see at this point why they highly suggest not bringing in a work you are already tied to, that you’ve previously started, that you’re invested in. I probably would be tempted to kill off all my characters and turn my story into a zombie mess – which, by the way, is on my list of don’ts.

November 19

Cut my hair yesterday. Myself. Character research. Sure, more like trimmed, but it was a full couple inches all the way around. Definitely not perfectly straight and still needs help, but it turned out a lot better than expected, and I can even live with it until I have time to get it fixed.

If friends and coworkers don’t notice, or at least say anything if they do, it’s unlikely strangers would, right?

November 20

I don’t sleep.

Not that I always did before. But now I am thinking about the story, about how to get from one point to the next, about how this character or that character reacts to something, about what this character would say that could change the course of everything, about how another character finds a way out from some situation.

I enjoy it. I am so invested in it. Doing this gives me energy, but it is limited. My energy runs out over and over. And I am.so.tired.

November 24

The book* said to stop rubbing my eyes, and I was like, is there a camera here I don’t know about? What the heck?

The author said to stop staring at a screen so much, get up and take a break sometimes. Your eyes may be hurting because of it. Keep eye drops nearby.

Lightning bolt obvious eureka duh. No wonder my eyes are so red and dry.

Hitting the word count at this point will not be the problem. Finishing the plotline before the deadline, that is going to be the struggle.

November 25

Frustrations, sudden obligations with arbitrary, ridiculous deadlines.

And then there is Thanksgiving tomorrow, a day of thanks for, well, everything. And I have had it in my head this whole month, thanking God for this chance to even try this whole thing.

But time suckers keep forcing their way in and I just want to scream or kick or hit something.

Today should be a huge celebration with champagne and clinks of glasses. I hit 50k! Early even. I still have to actually finish the story. But even hitting that mark is a big deal.

I am so beyond exhausted, my eyeballs are sticking to my eyelids and don’t want to open them until January, at least.

November 28

Visited the grandparents, aunt and uncle, and some cousins yesterday. Found out my cousin Chris tells hilarious stories. Spent time looking through an old photo album with my grandpa, of almost all photos I had never seen. My grandparents’ wedding photos, pics of my dad and aunts as babies, pics of my grandpa in New Guinea and other places during WW2. An entirely different world. Other than that, we were driving all day, but thankful my dad enjoys driving and offered to do it.

Went out to the garage this morning and found out the water heater was leaking. Awesome. It’s Saturday. On a holiday weekend. Had to shut off water to the entire house. Dishwasher and washing machine are completely full, of course, with multiple loads of laundry waiting after. Can’t run either.

“At least tell me the genre.” The people I have told about this project always want to know. At this point, it is settling pretty firmly into suspense-drama. Actually more drama than I would want, but I let my main character loose and that’s where it went. Which does make sense, considering what I put her through.

If I ever do this again, maybe it’ll be a little more action, badass Alias-style female hero-driven thriller. Maybe not. But at the very least, this is a story I would read. Or watch. Much more than I could say about most of the fiction I have previously written.

December 2

It’s still sinking in. However unedited and insanely messy it is at this point – and I have pages and pages of notes of things I need/want to change, not to mention all the things I will come across in the actual editing process – it is technically at its core a complete story, a complete novel.

In a month!

It has been insane. Something I never thought I could do, especially in such a short period of time. But as exhausted as I am after all this, because my characters have been dialoging in my head when I should be sleeping, it has also been really fun and energizing. And my Jeff actually still loves me.

Now I just need to figure out how to put all the pieces together smoothly and finish it for real. And, you know, give it a title, so there’s that.

Maybe after I sleep for a few days – or weeks.

December 8

I’m moving on it a bit, but slowly. There is so much more work left than I expected.

“When do I get to read it?” people ask. Maybe someday. Hopefully someday. If I can ever actually turn it into something real, readable, fully complete.

I have already asked two people for help with accuracy stuff (in addition to my Jeff). And both have said yes, ask as much as I want and they are willing to help with whatever they can.

That is so outside of where I ever want to go. I wish I could Google everything. But maybe Willem’s** words are getting to me, that asking for help isn’t a weakness; it’s a strength. I hope that guy is right.


*No Plot? No Problem! By Chris Baty
**Name and saying may change. He’s fictional, so I can do that.

Juices

From being normal busy, sick, crazy busy, then catching up on all the chaos that accumulated when I was sick, October flew by. Halloween is my favorite holiday and I have not been able to adequately enjoy it this year. And now it is just here.

No carved pumpkins and no pumpkin seeds. Just a cute little orange sparkler.

But the temperatures are finally out of the 90s and we’ve even had some showers here and there. Thank you, God!

Praying for more rain, enjoying the cooler air and the soon-to-be darker evenings that are especially conducive to writing and all things creative. I will squeeze out all those juices I can get and use them enjoyably and (hopefully) productively.

Thankful for fall!

Flitter

Smoke and Sparks
Smoke and Sparks

Smiling in a way
   she had never known before,
   she ran,
        coloring
        painting
        illuminating
               everything and
               everyone
                   near her,
   like a fairy wand
        wisps
        flitters
          and
        glitters.

Passing along
        her spirit
        her energy
        her air
           to all,
    she realized
         her existence
            was not only productive,
                    it was actually
                               meaningful.

Her small life
  had the ability
     to give life.

Naive

He spent more time on his hair than any guy or girl I had every known. His multiple earrings and eyebrow ring prompted my dad’s response when first meeting him, “You’ve got a lot of hardware in your head.”

Clay didn’t have a car, but he did have a job. He shared an apartment with a guy who thought it was important to learn how to drive under the influence so you wouldn’t cause any problems if and when you did drive after you had way, way too much of whatever.

When a friend introduced me to Clay, I thought he was way out of my league, and I never expected to see him again.

Later that same day I got a message from him saying he knew it was probably too soon to call, but he wanted to see me again. How could I not call him back?

He had a hard past with a lot of neglect and abuse, many ex-girlfriends he still kept in touch with and a very strained relationship with his dad. He told me he was actually much closer to a previous set of foster parents who attended the same church he went to.

My skeptical parents aside, my friends all liked him and thought we were great together. Sex was an early conversation. It didn’t become an issue. At least it wasn’t for me. It had been a common theme in my previous breakups – me waiting, I mean. But he promised to wait this time too, until marriage. That was a huge step for him and for us.

When he said he loved me, of course I said it back. How could I not?

I hadn’t prayed about being with him, but it was getting serious. Is he who you want for me? Just please make it clear.

His voice was weird when he called and asked me to come over to his place. I knew something wasn’t right.

“I’ve fallen out of love with you.”

I didn’t even understand his statement. Maybe I was naïve, but we were committed. We had something more than what he felt like at the moment. Love was so much more than this. Love meant so much more than this. But not to him.

With that, he was done.

And with that, my prayer was answered.

I’m not sure I like your sense of humor sometimes. But He had made it clear, just as I had asked. Just not how I wanted Him to.

Not long after, I found out Clay had gotten another girl pregnant. A married girl, Daniela. Her husband, John, was a coworker of mine, and the dude was devastated.

If God hadn’t made everything clear enough at that point, I ended up meeting Daniela’s parents one night when they came to see John. They seldom heard from her, and when they found out I had dated Clay, wanted to know everything they could about him.

What could I say? “I hardly knew him.”

 

*Names have been changed.

Somethings

A Collection of Incompletion
A Collection of Incompletion

It’s the same problem I always seem to have.

I can’t pull the pieces
                the words
                the phrases
        even the multiple formed paragraphs
                together
   into anything usable
                    or interesting
   into something worth reading
   into something that’s actually
         something
      and not just a big web of
         somethings.

I have hundreds of pages
                       of starts
   that don’t go anywhere.

Much of my art is the same way.
There’s something there (I think)
        possibly even
           something good
           or that at least has potential –
   if I could just get it to go there.

My boss told me
   I should get an editor.

Huh.

That’s what I do
   almost every day
                  for other people.

Maybe I need
   that extra pair of trusted eyes
   that can coach me
               help me work through it
               help me get there
               help me actually make something
                 out of my huge mess
                             of incomplete
                                 unfinished somethings.

Straight

Serenity
Serenity

I went straight down. I had no idea you were supposed to go back and forth, side to side. I’d seen snowboarding before, but clearly I hadn’t focused on technique.

And no one bothered to tell me I wasn’t supposed to just go straight down the hill.

Apparently that’s how you crash.

The only time I’ve ever been surfing, I was so excited because I had wanted to do it my entire life. I had a borrowed board and no real instructions. Only, “stay in the white water and you should be good.” That was it.

After many tries, I stood up and rode a few waves in toward the shore. It was super fun. Even if it was only on baby waves, I had finally gotten to surf. And I was loving it.

But it wasn’t exactly how I had imagined. I had no idea what I was actually doing once I got up. I had no idea how to maneuver or steer. I could pretty much only go straight. And when I saw a little boy and girl playing in the water in front of me, I had no idea how to get out of their way. They were right in front of me, and if I didn’t do something, I would run right into them.

When I was a kid, I had a skateboard, but despite what movies portrayed, water doesn’t work the same way as asphalt. It doesn’t work the same way as snow either. Navigating a board through the water does not equate to leaning into actual ground to move to the right or left.

And did I mention I am super coordinated and really good at sports?

Not knowing what else to do and not having time to think, I bent straight forward into the board, slamming my left knee onto it hard, and was then able to take control with my arms like it was a boogey board. I barely missed the kids.

I knew my knee hurt. But until I took the wetsuit off, I didn’t realize how swollen it was. I didn’t know how badly I had screwed it up. I definitely didn’t know it would eventually require surgery, and that I would limp down the aisle on my wedding day once I was finally off the crutches.

I’m sure there’s a lesson in there somewhere about being careful what you wish for and blah, blah, blah. But if I had the chance to surf again, and someone to actually teach me some basics, I wouldn’t even hesitate.

Tilt

Elusive Horizon
Elusive Horizon

Nothing remains
   where it
     should
   where it is
     supposed to
   how it was
     designed to.

Walls
 trees
 streets
   and
 people
           shift
                   r
                      o
                        l
                     l
          wave
      tilt.

Even my bones
   start to bend
              soften
              s t r e t c h
      as I see the horizon
              vacillate slightly
         to the left
                   then right
                     pause
                   go more to the right
   far to the left
         then back to
             almost
             center
          before losing the horizon
                                  again.

Boxes

The possibilities
     contained here
  are limitless
          and
       limiting.

I knock on each box
   from the outside
     to find a way in
     to find my role
               my niche
               my place.

Creating cracks,
   I push myself
                further
     into boxes
       to try
       to belong
           somewhere.

Twisted backward,
            contorted
            bent,
      my limbs
            abilities
              and
            qualities
                     don’t fit.


  flail
       inadvertently
     and
  ooze out
       unwittingly.

Being pushed
   that hard
      into something so
            confined
   I am disintegrating
   I am decaying
   I am decomposing
   I am no longer
        me.

Seasons

February Wind
February Wind

I don’t miss snow
     but I do miss
                seasons.

It’s like an eternal
               hot
               thick
               smoggy
               sweaty
               summer here
   minus maybe a month’s worth
     of fall/spring/mild winter each year.

I’m almost to the point
     that I may even retract
          the snow part
       just so I could enjoy
               any
               season
               ever
            other than summer.

14

I don’t know how to be
       anything
       anymore.

I don’t know how to be.

I gave
       everything
            to him
    and he gave up
            on me.

For 14 years
       and three kids
   he was there
       but not
              there.

We were
       we
    but never really
       us.

I thought
    we were
        so much more
      than we
          turned out to be.

He wanted out
       but he was never
            actually in.

And now I wonder
       if any of it
           was even real.