CampNaNo word count = 24,930 out of a goal of 25,000
I’d like to take a moment to thank… myself for setting a reasonable goal. I’ve got about a third of a strong story that definitely wants to become my next book. I can feel it struggling to get out of my brain and out into the world for others to judge and criticize.
Little book-to-be, I hope I can give you the time and attention you need to become fully realized. But if it doesn’t happen in the next two months, rest assured that there is another CampNaNo in July and I’d be happy to work with you again then.
Until then, let’s crank out 70 words of angsty teen dialogue and call it a month.
My child has been telling me accidental horror stories lately and obviously I am keeping track of them so I can use them later. For his therapy.
Just kidding, I’m totally going to write short stories based on them.
What else do you do when your son tells you that his big sister was eaten by a vampire clam?
Is this a Vampire Clam Massacre or is that my new band’s name?
P.S. He doesn’t HAVE a big sister. Quite possibly because she was eaten by a vampire clam.
P.P.S. Yes, thank you, I am aware of the euphemistic implications… and planning to use them in my short story.
Fourteen days left to write, so says the CampNaNoWriMo page, and I am less than 10,000 words from my goal. Woo!
I decided to go easy on myself this year, what with the abundance of responsibility the real world has heaped on my tiny shoulders, and shoot for 25,000 words written. It’s a reasonable goal and I’m happy with my progress. More than half-way there with two weeks left to go? That’s a nice place to be.
And you know how much I love to see that graph line go up uP UP!
No offense to the OG A-TEAM but I love me some Liam Neeson.
Happy NaNoCamp Eve, writer friends!
Anyone else suffering the dread of not having the right idea or temperament or schedule or brain space?
I am not at all prepared for this!
You know when you have a pretty clear couple of hours that you had intended to spend writing but then…
I should just check Twitter first.
This email has been sitting in my inbox for a month. Now seems like a good time to read it.
You know, I really haven’t checked out the new offerings on edX lately.
Maybe if I just start a new photobook on Shutterfly, I’ll be able to finish it later.
I really need to find a matching toothbrush holder for my bathroom.
Not sure what’s happening here but it captures my feelings of frustration with myself as well as my love of cozy-necked sweaters.
I wrote two actual sentences in the last 45 minutes.
I just signed up for CampNaNoWriMo again but THIS TIME, I am writing something new instead of attempting to edit!
Also, I’m not pregnant, so that might help. But I have two children now and that will not.
So winning is not a given… is all I’m trying to say. But it’s a good chance to switch WIPs without completely abandoning one to work on the other.
Well, I certainly did try to edit my NaNo project into something cohesive and I’m not saying I’m ready to give up on it. But I do believe it needs some space to breath.
This is true for most of the things I write, that I need some space between the writing and the editing, but especially so for a mostly true story about a totally shit time in my life.
So I’ve started something new! Something fun! Something that started out as a merry jaunt through time and space, an attempt to recreate a nostalgic event in the lives of the main character’s parents… but then… my mind went to the dark place and so did the story. Now the main character will share her story with her mom who’s been reading a lot about the #TimesUp movement and following coverage of a fictionalized version of that scumbag gymnastics doctor’s trial and reexamining some of those nostalgic events through the lens of a more cynical and much more informed adult eye.
Also… woo! Road trip!
The last dream I had before I woke up this morning was of living in an unstable tower-type building, trying to find an appropriate outfit to go get a hot dog and pick up my mom from work. I had just plugged in my long-sleeve white bathing suit, not to wear but so that it would be charged for later, and was marveling at the length and breadth of my favorite jeans as they eclipsed my legs and feet. For sure not hot dog getting wear, I thought.
Home sweet… whoooaaaaaa!
As I dug through the pile of cleanish clothes on the floor in my tower bedroom, wind blew or an earthquake quaked or an explosion exploded and the building began to rock. That happens when you live in an unstable tower building but usually, it straightened itself out, I reminded myself. I scrolled through the hot dog menu in my mind, considering a more classic relish and mustard or a more exotic chili and pineapple.
But my thoughts, my piles of clothes, my reassurances were all interrupted by the disequilibrium that wasn’t re-equalizing. The tower leaned too far to the left. My body rotated in space until I was looking straight ahead at the floor. My stomach flipped over and warmed slowly like a toaster until my breakfast was burnt. I thought, “this is it,”
and “I’m going to die now,” and “Goddess bless my children and keep them safe. Help the people who love me to grieve me without too much suffering…”
But then the building jerked up straight like those dancing balloons outside the car wash. My white bathing suit was fully charged and stain resistant. And I remembered that hot dogs don’t get themselves.
Fully charged, surprisingly stain-resistant
Then my son woke up–my real son in the waking world–and called for me. So I woke up, under the dark cloud of impending doom, and have been feeling this way ever since.
Happy Monday, everyone. May your day not be overshadowed by subconscious gloom.
Happy last day of NaNoWriMo 2017! If you haven’t finished, may all the words unburden themselves from your finger tips and your editing brain take a little break until you’re done.
I’m proud to announce that despite a buttload of obstacles (and by buttload, I mean the actual unit of measure equaling a barrel of wine which I cannot drink because I am nursing) I got my 50,000+ words thereby making me a…
I mean, I’m a winner no matter what because I look my mirror reflection in the eye every morning and tell her so, but it is gratifying to accomplish a goal and get a t-shirt so I can brag about it.
What I cannot brag about, however, is having a finished manuscript. Far from it. I can imagine the chapter I’m currently writing as being the last one but I have the kind of ending that’s like… “the only change was in my mind and I still haven’t decided what to do about it. The End”
True to life, man. Because I think I’ve finally emerged from the dark cave of baby blues–or at least found the exit, if I haven’t quite made it through the gift shop yet–and I don’t know what the hell to do with myself now. This WIP, this challenge was the thing that was keeping me going. After today, I don’t know. I’ll just have to use “getting through the holidays” as my motivation to keep moving forward until I find something else to cling to.
Maybe I’ll put an effort into finishing my NaNo project. Maybe I’ll start something new. Either way, I’ll definitely be doing it from a better mental state than I started this month.
I’m having trouble with this chapter in my NaNo WIP because it’s a mental/emotional breakdown scene and I’m just. not. there right now.
Having just resurfaced after a particularly difficult time, I don’t reeeeeally want to put myself back there just to write about it. And the stuff I wrote while I was there isn’t enough to make the chapter work. So what do I do?
I tried locking myself in my room, turning the sad music up to eleven and getting to a bad enough place to start the chapter but both children were crying downstairs, my husband was getting frustrated, and I couldn’t NOT go check on my lovebugs. I ended spending the next 20 minutes nursing, 30 minutes after that playing LEGO house, and then it was just about time for our bedtime routine.
Today, I’ve got to start thinking about Thanksgiving and Christmas shopping, the projects at work that I’ve been putting off because of that whole maternity leave/postpartum pseudo depression stuff, and cleaning my house since we finally fired our officious cleaning lady.
How DOES one find the time to recreate a depressive episode?