Okay, so I've been absent from the blogging world for a bit. (You should see how behind I am on the scrapbooking blog). I have forsaken all other hobbies, I have neglected the book I'm supposed to be finished reading for our book club meeting on Sunday, and I haven't touched my scrapbooking (except for a fabulous retreat with my Mom and sister-in-law). Haven't used the treadmill. Haven't even sat in front of the television. Neglected the housework and menu-planning... Basically, after my kids fall asleep, I sit down and the computer and start typing. And typing. And typing.
See, this is the second year I've signed up for NaNoWriMo. Check it out at
http://www.nanowrimo.org/ . Basically, you commit to writing a 50,000 word novel in November. It's crazy and stupid, but also incredibly amazing when you realize that you have the makings of a manuscript (albeit a short one) and you've done something that most people only talk about doing ("I should really write a book some day"). The rules are easy, it has to be fiction, it has to be at least 50,000 words long, and it has to be written between 12:01am November 1 and 11:59pm November 30th. And you're not allowed to edit as you go. It's all about the word count... quantity not quality. This year there were almost 200,000 participants worldwide! That's a lot of creative writing going on!
Last year I did it just for the heck of it because I like to do things for 30 days and then quit. I wrote 50,000 words about a woman's relationship with her mother. This year I tackled something that I've been thinking about writing since my second son was born in 2007, but never really got past the planning phase. I even signed up for an online novel writing course last January but dropped out in March due, partly, to my procrastinating tendency not to do the homework and partly to other reasons.
Anyway, I did it. I typed my 50,000th word (it was "the"), validated it on the website and WON for the second year in a row! My 'mess'terpiece is over 200 pages (double-spaced), 54,000 words long, rambling and full of typos, loose ends and plot holes all over the place, very unpolished, and very unplanned prose. And I think I love it.
And a HUGE SHOUT OUT to my cousin, Rebecca Carter (sorry, girl, you'll always be Becky to me!) who decided to play along with me and be my NaNo buddy this year. She was a great cheerleader and she hit 50,000 before I did and I'm excited to read her novel.
So here I am publicly declaring my goal to finish it this story in 2011, before next November --- cause I already have an idea for next Nanowrimo, so I've got to be done with this story by then! :) Hold me accountable... I work well with deadlines and public humiliation.
Anyway, here's a teeny little teaser (be kind, I did no proofing or looking back as I pumped out the pages)! You'll have to read the rest of the story if I ever get published! :)
Daniel was an unhappy man. It stood to reason. He had a job he hated. An apartment he hate. A cat he hated. A car he hated. Daniel hated everything about his life.
It hadn't always been this way. There was a time that Daniel had passion. He fervently believed in what hd did at work, day after day, fumbling through the forms, bringing joy to those he stamped "approved" and charity to those he stamped "declined". Daniel worked at the Department office as a senior advisor for The Project.
Daniel's love affir with Smirnoff began seven years ago. He got a familiar phone call, two words, "she's here", and then a soft click. Daniel sat down, put his head into his hands and sobbed. His shoulders shook with the force of his angst. Confusion swirled in his head, black spots danced before his eyes, his temple throbbed. "She's here", he kept repeating, trying the words out with his tongue, twisting them around until they no longer made sense, sounding instead like a phrase uttered by one not quite familiar with the English language. "She's here". It could have meant anything, and yet only one thing.
It's a girl. Daniel fumbled on the coffee table for his keys, and grabbing his wallet he shoved it roughly into his back pocket. He turned off the loight, closed the door behind him, locked the deadbolt, and headed out into the street. Daniel had been drunk before. This wasn't the first time he had tried to escape the thought of a girl by drinking himself stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Daniel drank until he ran out of cash. He considered getting more out of the machine, but when he slid off the bar stool, unsteadily, the black spots returned. He turned and staggered out of the building.
Daniel didn't remember getting home that night, he just rememberd the mother of a hangover he had the next morning. His head ached and roof of his mouth was fuzzy and thick. Daniel groaned. Then he remember the phone call. "She's here". Shit.
