NaNoWriMo's Lessons

Okay, I admit it. I began NaNoWriMo this year because last year I crashed and burned almost instantaneously. I hate to lose, I'm stubborn, and decided to give it another try. And although I am hopelessly way behind, currently I am at 12,000 words. Yesterday before I began writing I was at 8,000 words. It's amazing what staying up until 3:30 in the morning will do. I wonder if I can do that every night?

Certainly, it's way too early to claim I will finish in time. I might be at the Thanksgiving table with my laptop in front of me instead of a plate of turkey and sweet potatoes. (Maybe this could be the NaNoWriMo diet plan? Write thousands of words instead of consuming thousands of calories...) But I have learned some lessons--already--from NaNoWriMo, and here they are:

1.  You can become a novelist. I write personal essays and occasional poems. I don't do fiction. However, once the risk is taken, I've found it's good to stretch my skills and write outside the box. (I cannot promise it will be an entertaining story, but it will be a work of fiction. More or less.)

2.   If you know the characters, they will drive the story. I began on November 1 with no storyline or plot. Oh, do I need one of those? I figured I did. Unfortunately, I went for a week just fleshing out the characters and still without a plot. Thankfully, a life-changing event dropped into my lap, and my story is meandering towards it.

3. Crime DOES pay. Last night, I broke into Lynn Obermoeller's house and stole her computer. I also took all her pencils, her pens, her lipsticks, her empty journals and her external drives. She must be stopped at all costs. A criminal, a word hog and hoarder, she has written so much already, she has finished crossed the 50,000 word finish line 3 times already, and was on her fourth lap before I threw a loose bolt into her creative cogs. Fuhgedaboudit, Lynn. Three will have to do it for you.

How do I know she has turned to crime?  There have been reports that she decided to make some money this year off NaNo. Police have gotten calls about people lurking at street corners, asking Lynn, "Can you sell me some words? I'm hooked. I want the good stuff." 

Stay tuned. On November 30, the exciting climax: will Sioux crash and burn, or will she be victorious? 

                                         or

Is that stink some burned turkey grease in the oven, or is it Sioux's NaNoWriMo novel?  

A Rare Sighting of the Donna Volkenannt is Expected

        There is a shy creature, indiginous to St. Peters, Missouri, who is often seen, yet the sound they make is hardly ever audible. Biologists have studied this elusive animal; some speculate this species is incapable of tooting the horn that is attached to its side. Other scientists claim the Donna is definitely capable of making noises with the horn, but only in celebration of others.

     What is the name of this animal?

             Donna Volkenannt
     
          And all you biology-buffs are in luck, because the Donna is going to appear at the event below, and rumor has it she is going to read her story (aloud) to us.

        The event benefits the Joplin tornado victims' libraries, and the anthology Storm Country will be available for sale (at $10, a bargain).  Other internationally-known writers that will be there are Linda O'Connell and Lynn Obermoeller.  

      So all you animal watchers, come to the Loop on Sunday (see below) to see the Donna Volkenannt read a piece of her own. It's rare indeed...

Sunday, November 13 • 7:00pm - 9:30pm

Regional Arts Commission

6128 Delmar Boulevard St. Louis, MO

Authors will read from their work and discuss their contributions to the anthology. Some of the authors scheduled to read include: Elaine Viets, Linda Austin, Lynn Obermoeller, Linda O'Connell, Donna Volkenannt, Anene Tressler-Hauschultz, Kelli Allen, Bill Hopkins, and others. Event is free and open to the public. Refreshments will be provided by the Missouri Writers Guild.

That Little Dickens!

         If you haven't found him yet, check out Doug Savage's daily post, where he plays "Chicken" every day.

        Obviously, Dickens never participated in NaNoWriMo. If he had, it would have been Tale of Forty-Two Cities. There would have been no talk of it being too  long.

        Sadly, I am still way behind but have not given up (yet). According to my stats, I have to write 14,638 words every day if I want to finish on time. Otherwise, I will finish on November 3, 2525. 

        Keep thinking good thoughts for me. And here's a message for those word hogs out there (and Lynn,you know who you are!): Loan me some words. Scratch that. Don't loan them to me, give them to me.  

        Please. 

It's Raining!

         Yeah, I know, it's really raining outside. If you spend hours and hours on your coiffure like I do (ha), this is not enjoyable weather for you. But you might not know this:  it's raining inside (for me) as well.

        These "droplets of joy" fell down on me today, when I am (now) thousands of words behind in NaNoWriMo. I am in such a state of desperation, when I revise a sentence I just wrote a moment ago, if it involves getting rid of a word, I sniffle and whine and cry a tear or two.  I'm trying to think of myself as the Little Engine That Could...IthinkIcan, IthinkIcan, IthinkIcan...and I tell myself that if I stick with it, when I emerge victorious on the other side, the process will have made me stronger.

        Right now, it's killing me.

        But as I checked my email this afternoon (it's a professional development day, which for teachers, is like a day off--at least from kids), I found not one but two emails that said "Yes."

        Who said "yes," you say?

                              Chicken Soup for the Soul
                                                  and
                                               Sasee 

       Of course, the Chicken Soup for the Soul collection might be a no later on, but right now, my story "The Ones From Zirconia Are Just as Nice" is in the final round for their Here Comes the Bride anthology,  due out on May 15, 2012. I'm keepin' my fingers crossed.

      It's a definite "yes" from Sasee.  My story about my money-making endeavors when I was a kid will appear in their December issue.

     And who do I have to thank?  The Coffee and Critique Group (especially Alice with her notorious red pen) that I met with a few times this past summer, for one. Even though some of the grumpy old men looked down their noses at the schmaltz of Chicken Soup-type essays (Doyle, I'm not talking about you), the suggestions I got from Donna, Marcia, Becky, Lou, Doyle and the rest of their gang really got me into the mood to submit. Merci!

    Also, the writing group that I am currently in is due some chocolate. (Or, maybe another cream cheese birthday cake? How about it?) They are a bit too subdued and dry and boring for my tastes, but what the heck--I'm not in it to be entertained and to get my pantyliners damp, I'm in the circle to improve my writing. Beth M. Wood and Linda O'Connell, both published in Chicken Soup and Sasee, encouraged me to send the childhood story in; Tammy and Lynn gave me wonderful suggestions to improve it as well. (The Chicken Soup one I did completely solo, which is a scary thing to think about, considering it is me we're talking about.)

    Barbra had it all wrong. DO rain on my parade.  I love this kind of rainfall...

WWWP Critique Group and SD Society or Beth M. Wood is Missing

         Yes, last night was another night of our Wild Women With Pens gathering, where we make suggestions and disturb...well, you know.

         Usually we're a rowdy group. Twice already, the police have been called on us; the neighbors reported loud snorting and guffawing, squeals of laughter, and strange screams, like:

• "I'm gonna get the top of George Clooney's head tattooed right here!"
• "Fargo him! Put him in the chipper and chip-chip-chip him away."
• "OMG! That story on flatulence was...explosive!"
• "I've never heard of a workout being so...hot!  Show me his picture again."

     Last night, we were subdued. Restrained. Proper. However, I can't figure out why the evening was so different. 

     Anyway, in spite of the low decibel level and the still-dry-at-the-end-of-the-night panties, I learned some things and was reminded of something.

1. Six or seven heads are always better than one. Even if someone makes a suggestion that you disagree with, the act of going back and rethinking and rationalizing your word choice/arrangement (usually) strengthens the piece.

2. Working for little or no money is not always a bad thing. If an author writes for an anthology that only pays $5 or $10, it's a way to support the editors/publishers, it's a notch on our publication belt, and you never know what connections you can make.

3. If you eat four pieces of birthday cake with cream cheese frosting, due to the high protein content of cream cheese, you're getting four servings from the "meat" group. Really. I'm serious.

4. When an integral cog in our wheel of fun is missing, it's just not the same...

      Hopefully our next meeting will find us back to normal. Oh, that's right. It'll be another one full of whispered advice. I suppose someone else could step up to the plate and take charge of the bawdy revelry. Linda O'Connell? You've been known to clear tables--at least of full glasses of soda. Are you up to the challenge?

      Just wonderin'... 

Magpie # 89

      Every week, Tess Kincaid provides a bit of visual inspiration. Those who participate in Magpie Tales create a vignette, a poem or whatever their muse dictates...

     After your piece is completed, you thank Tess and comment on her piece, you get linked to all the other pieces via Mr. Linky, and comment on the others. A fun time for all.

      So, without further ado, here is the photo and my poem:

she began with an old fashioned pen.

safe inside

was a tube of ink,

as black and glinting as her eyes.

the audibleness of it,

the scratching sound

of pen on paper,

was comforting.

crap!

pure crap!

she wadded the paper

and dropped it in disgust.

she hurled the pen.

it hit the wall, a splatter of writers' blood

sprayed and splayed in protest.

she then turned to a pencil.

its point broke as soon as she touched it

in contemplation.

dropping into onto the floor,

she ground it into pulp with the heel of her boot.

turning to the contraption, 

electrified and eager,

she whispered,

"third time better be a charm,"

as she caressed the keys...