I think I negated the breezy...

Nanowrimo is long over and I haven't written a single word on my book since November 30th. Now is the time to change that. I'm posting this from my phone rather than try to fight with the Internet on my computer and get distracted from the open Word document staring at me from the screen. This is go time. But first, a short request:

Some of you commented or tweeted or emailed that you'd like to be beta readers for the half finished, unedited, first draft of a Christian fiction romance novel about death and babies and lawsuits. If it still appeals to you after that descriptor, I am ready to have it read. I kind of cannot believe that I willingly typed that, but there it is.

So. If you're interested, please send an email requesting it to Elise dot M dot Seaton at gmail dot com and I will reply with a cumbersome attachment or a link to a google doc and bare my naked soul to strangers and friends on the Internet and then I will crawl into a closet and not come out until I need to catch my flight to PJs at TJ's. *ahem*

I mean, like, whatever. Ain't no big thang. I want you to read it, you know, if you REALLY want to. Just let me know. I'm breezy...

And the Crickets Keep Chirping...

I didn't mention it here, mainly because I haven't been mentioning much of anything at all for the last several months, but I participated in NaNoWriMo again this year. Some of you might remember last year, when I attempted to write my first novel in 30 days while also posting here every day. And even thought I accomplished both, I think it broke me. My posting had not been regular here since.

Anyway, I did NaNoWriMo again this year. Everything was going well for the first week and a half--I was even consistently ahead in my word count by a full day or more. I was thinking of upping my goal from the baseline 50,000 and trying for 75K or even a 100K (when I'm feeling optimistic, I get a little ahead of myself). Then I got SLAMMED with insomnia. For over a week, I tossed and turned until 3:00 am. I could barely function during the daylight hours, which BY THE WAY are incredibly short at this time of year. I was also volunteering pretty heavily at my church and caught a couple babysitting gigs, so my novel sat on the back burner. Then there was turkey day and family time and what it all comes down to is that I had 25,000 words left to write in five days.

That's HALF of the goal. But for some reason, my brain shielded me from that concept and I just jumped back into writing it. I thought, I'll just have to do 5,000 words a day. That's not THAT hard. Ha. Haha. But, as my last post informed you, I've had a rough year and it only seems to be getting rougher. So I desperately needed a win. Or, more accurately, I wasn't sure I could handle another failure. 

Ignoring all the stats, I put fingers to keys and just took off for five days. Yesterday night, I managed to write 9,916 words to finish NaNoWriMo with an hour to spare! AND I figured out how to verify it, which means that I'm an official winner. Unlike last year when I really did finish, but didn't know I had to verify it so it looks like I just logged on every day to type in progressively higher numbers until I hit 50,000. So I'm a two-time finisher, only a one-time winner. And I'm trying not to be bitter about it.

The story is only about halfway done, which is fine, because the type of book I want to write is between 300-350 pages. 50,000 words is a little over halfway there. So I still have some work to do. But, again unlike last year, I actually LIKE this story and it's going well. I'm not sure it's worth publishing or letting anyone read, but it's worth it to me to finish it--if only because I've never finished a story and I'd really like to. And while the win doesn't feel ALL that winnish (it was all a little anticlimactic what with the story not being finished), I know I would feel terrible today if I had given up, so I keep focusing on that.

The only difficult part of the whole thing (you know, other than needing push out 25,000 words in five days) was that the topic is incredibly sad and is somewhat personally relevant, since I took a real life thing and asked the question "What's the worst that could happen?" Since November was such a rough month for many other reasons, I tried to bury myself in the novel. But it often just felt like trading one kind of sad for another. And that was incredibly hard on me. It wore me out and it pulled me down. But I really think that the characters are more believable and relateable because of it. I hope.

Anyway, some of you have requested to be beta readers. I am so worried about sharing my work, but I also am kind of excited to get some feed back from people who aren't related to me and therefore are practically required to be nice about my creativity. So. If you are interested in reading an unedited first draft of half a romantic/family drama with Christian values, speak up now. Why am I hearing crickets? There are no crickets in Far North.

Who Does Steve Roach Think He Is?

FIFTY THOUSAND WORDS! I wrote 50,000 words this month. Actually, that's not true, because my blog posts are, on average, 800 words and I'm not even counting them in the 50,000 total. Actually, I have no idea if that average is true, but it sounds about right. Where was I? Oh, yes. MY NOVEL. You guys, I finished it! Actually, that's not true either. Apparently, I have become a liar.

Here is the truth. This month, I have written:

• 30 blog posts (of questionable entertainment or literary value)
• 50,000 words in novel form (also of questionable entertainment or literary value)
• 6 post-it notes about nothing
• 1 Christmas list
• My name on credit card slips, more often that I care to admit.

My novel is not finished, but I did reach 50,000 words. Exactly 50,000. Because I am a little bit compulsive about numbers. And I am a little rebellious about writing assignments--I will DO IT, but I will do it to the limit and NO MORE. I'm not sure what that's about. I'm sure if I can ever afford a therapist, she would have some interesting things to say about that.

Anyway, I finished NaNoWriMo!! I really wasn't sure it was going to happen there at the end, but I managed to pull  it off. And I'm so happy I did. First of all, failure and I? We don't get along well. Secondly, it was an excellent way to do the thing I'm always TALKING about doing, but I never actually DO: write. The story has some major flaws and there's so much of it left to tell, but I feel like I've accomplished so much already.

So thank you, for all the words of encouragement you left in the comments. They pushed me on like nothing else could have. Except for Sister, who occasionally threatened to lock me in my room and sometimes withheld TV time until my words were done for the day. Thanks, everyone. You all made this an awesome experience!

This post also marks the end of NaBloPoMo! I can't believe I didn't miss a single day. I mean, I might have missed the mark some days, but I never missed a POST, so that's something. Some of you have asked if I'm going to keep posting daily. And I am! To the best of my ability and Internet connection, I am. Except on Sundays. Because I need an occasional break. And the Sunday posts were lame anyway. I would encourage you guys to go back and read them to verify the veracity of my previous statement, but they aren't worth the effort.

Thank you all for showing up here day after day to read my stuff. I know I tear it down more often than I say anything nice, party because a lot of it IS crap. But I am so glad I started this blog and I am incredibly grateful for the friendships I have made in this community. I'm also very grateful to have a place to share my thoughts with the world. Thanks for being willing to listen. And laugh at my lame jokes.

So now, on to the real post. I know, minds boggle at the fact that the preceeding 500 words were not the actual post. But it's true. I have a story to tell you.

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Last night, I wrote over 7,000 words on my novel. I don't remember if I shared it with you at the time, but my previous daily word record was about 6,200 words. And I thought that was amazing. But last night, I just let it all flow from my fingertips. Because I was on a deadline. And I was not going to fail. And for once, the words were there. I crawled into bed at about 3:15 in the morning. But I was still incredibly jazzed from the writing experience. And probably some of the caffeine I'd consumed throughout the day (I totally tried to give it up this week and my brain almost exploded).

Anyway, I was in bed, kind of jittery and pretty excited about where the book was headed. To calm down, I read about 50 pages of magic pantsiness and then my eyes were SO SLEEPY. But I still had all this pent up energy buzzing through my limbs. I have been here before. So I grabbed my phone and started catching up on my feedreader. I read Temerity Jane's cosmo post. And I tired not to wake up Sister with my laughter, which started from the first paragraph and didn't end until long after I put my phone down.

Seriously, go read that thing. It's AMAZING. I'll wait.

I finished reading and decides blogs are too stimulating at that hour. I needed some sleepy-time music. I could feel myself calming down and sinking into my pillows, but I wasn't not quite there yet. I left my stereo remote across the room and even though the stereo is PRIMED with sleepy-time type music, I am too lazy to get out of bed and got get it. Instead, I found some headphones on my nightstand and had a brilliant idea. Because Pandora ALWAYS has what I ask it for. Except for a station based on my lullaby by Josh Kelly called "23." Sad about this, but still tired, I typed in "lullaby" and clicked on a station that DIDN'T say "toddler" or "child."

This station's called "Soundscapes & Lullabies." At first, it was just simple instrumental music. The next song sounded like flowing water, with piano played over it. It was at this point, I thought I might need to pee. The next song was very soothing, but the one after that was kind of strange. It sounded kind of New Agey, but also kind of futuristic. And there was this weird sonar pinging in the background. So I turned on the phone to figure out what THE HECK WAS GOING ON. And I saw this:

I took this picture today (since I had paused the song last night) which is why the time looks wrong. I swear I would never lie to you! I know you're all too smart to buy it.

Leaving the weird cave painting of an alien superimposed over what seems to be the internal structure of a computer out of the discussion, what the HECK does this mean? Seriously, Steve Roach, what the heck kind of title IS that for an album?

I mean, "dreaming..." is not a terrible title for an album, poor capitalization and ellipsis use aside. But you don't stop there, do you, Steve Roach? No, you don't. I don't even really know what the rest of this MEANS! Seriously, "now, then"  "a retrospective" "1982-1997"? Is this the musical form of all of your dreams between 1982-1997. It would kind of explain the cover art, to tell you the truth. But raises some serious questions about your dreams, Steve Roach.

But as I lay there in bed, staring at this image, all I could think about was TJ's commentary about Cosmo's view of sex. Apparently, Cosmo thinks sex has changed SO MUCH in the last year that they need to distinguish their sex tips by putting them in a "best of the year 2011" category. Because last year's sex tips are so out. Or something. Anyway, having just read THAT, all I could think about this nonsense was, "CRAP! They've changed sleep, too!"

I wasn't too worried about them changing sex--I'm sure I'll catch up when the time is right. But sleep? I LIKED sleep! HOW HAS IT CHANGED and WHAT DO I NEED TO KNOW? Come on, Steve Roach! I need ANSWERS!

Oh Fishsticks!

I am currently curled up on my couch with a glass of sweet red wine, type-type-typing away on my novel. I need to complete a minimum of 5,000 words today and tomorrow each to get finished on time. I just crossed the 43K mark, so I still have a lot of work to do. But as much as I hate my novel right now, I cannot imagine getting to midnight on Thursday morning and realizing I failed NaNoWriMo with less than seven thousand words to go. That would be ridiculous.

However, getting to the same time on Thursday and realizing I failed NaBloPoMo by only two days would also be excruciating. So, I'm taking a break from typing that to type this. You're welcome? Probably not... Anyway, I thought I would tell you the sad sad story of Lola Betty, the Betta Fish and her true love Marty Allen, the Bluest Betta.


Lola Betty was my beautiful magenta betta fish... Wait, I should back up.

It was the summer between Junior and Senior year of college. Roommate and I had just moved into our new apartment, finally escaping Liar and the financial havoc she had inflicted. What with the move and finals and jobs and LIFE, we had kind of skipped over Roommate's birthday. I mean, we went to dinner and celebrated, but I hadn't had time to get her a super cool awesome present. Okay, who are we kidding? I am an awful gift giver. They are rarely super, cool, or awesome and are most commonly books.


Anyway, after ages of struggling to figure out what to get her, I just asked. I said, "Roommate, tell me what you want and I will take you out and buy it for you and hand it to you outside the store. And you can just pretend I was thoughtful and also that I wrapped it." Because I am an awesome gift giver.


It was around this time that we had been (half-)joking about getting a puppy--Roommate is not big on cats. But we knew our apartment wasn't really set up for either kind of pet. Plus we had no money and not a lot of time. And? Roommate had never had a pet (I know, right?!), so she was leery of starting with something so complicated. So I would say, "Let's get a kitten!" and Roommate would say, "No cats. How about a puppy?" And then I would say, "We have no money and no time!" and she would say, "Maybe a fish?" So for her birthday, I offered to buy her a fish.


She wanted a goldfish, but I had heard that they were actually rather finicky and died easily and you had to clean their bowls a lot. So when we got to the pet store, I steered her towards the bettas. I knew they were pretty hardy, so she was less likely to kill her first pet, which would be traumatizing and might ruin her for all pets in the future (hint... hint...). We also toyed with the idea of getting a plant first and seeing how it went, but I had great faith in her. So we looked at all of the teensy-tiny cups of bettas.


And look, I know they say bettas need very little space, but I think we go a little crazy with that concept. It's just mean! There were quite a few dead in those tiny cups and others looked nearly there. We wanted to rescue them all. But, like I said, we had very little money. So I ended up picking one for myself. A beautiful magenta female, with long flowy fins. Roommate kept wandering over to the goldfish and I kept telling her, "I'll buy you whatever you want, but I'd rather buy you something that won't die right away." Because I am an excellent gift giver.


Finally, she settled on a dark blue male betta. We carefully picked out glass bowls, rocks, plants, and decorations. I got glow-in-the-dark plastic rocks and a plant that we later discovered (in a very sleepy and strangely terrifying incident) also glowed in the dark. Glew in the dark? No. Glowed in the dark.


When we had everything we wanted, we took our fish and I paid for it all. And right before we got out of the store, we saw that there were some visiting shelter puppies up for adoption. I almost returned the fish--I'm just being honest. On the way home, we discussed names. We couldn't pick just one favorite name and they ended up with middle names. Which is a lot for such a little fish. She had Marty Allen and I had Lola Betty.

Because bettas tend to fight, we set them up in separate bowls. But we had this elaborate and ridiculous (and we knew it was ridiculous, but we thought we were hilarious anyway) story about how they were husband and wife, their love forever hindered by two pieces of glass and four inches of counter space. Sometimes, we thought they might even be communicating, since they would gravitate toward each other, watching through the barriers of their bowls. I'm not sure how often we leaned down to the counter and made stupid fishy-kissy faces at them, but it was a lot. They probably thought we were morons. 


We took great care of those fish. We had a feeding schedule and everything. We took turns feeding them. We had a whole system for marking that one of us had fed them. It helped my flaky brain and satisfied Roommate that she wasn't going to kill her first pet. Our friends used to mock us, saying we were like a married couple with kids. "Did you feed Jimmy breakfast?" "Who's picking Sally up from school?" We didn't care. We loved those fish. And we both agreed it was nice to come home to something living at the end of a long day of work, school, and junk.


We had them for almost six months. Then Christmas rolled around. We were both leaving town for two weeks to see our families. It was the first time we were going to be away from the fish for more than two days. We went out and bought vacation feeders for them and Roommate arranged to have a local friend check on them halfway through the break. We finished finals, packed last minute (like always), and headed out of town. In the flurry, we forgot to give the friend a key. "Oh well!" we thought. "They have fresh water and vacation feeders. They're bettas. They'll be fine!"


There were two things we did not take into account. First of all, we had turned down the thermostat to save money while we were gone. Second, a huge storm hit our normally temperate city. The entire city was shut down for over a week due to snow and ice. Roommate's friend couldn't have gotten there to check on them anyway. In the end, all of the details conspired against us. When Roommate got home, she found their bowls covered in a thin layer of ice.

Lola and Marty were no more.


I felt incredibly bad for Roommate, who did everything she was supposed to do as a first time pet owner. We were so worried about forgetting to feed them or not cleaning their bowls often enough. I don't think either of us expected them to freeze to death. And I feel even worse, because when she called me to tell me, I think I made her think it was her fault. I was pretty much only mad at myself.  Sorry, Roommate. You were an excellent fish parent. Don't ever doubt that.


It's kind of depressing to think of them slowly dying in the cold water. I imagine Lola shivering and Marty reassuring her that we would come home soon and rescue them. And even though it might be cruel to laugh at the expense of the pet I killed, I have a strange brain. All I can imagine of their last days is an epic, Titanic-style death scene. Freezing slowly, calling out their love for one another. Saying sappy things like, "I'll never let go!" I imagine few of those musical fish from that song on The Little Mermaid probably played a tiny string quartet as the water got colder. Lola wishing she was a salmon and built for this kind of water, Marty wishing he had a tiny fishy door to put Lola on...


Wait, I think I took the metaphor a little too far. I think NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo have broken me.Anyway, that is the Tragic and Totally True Tale of Lola Betty and Marty Allen, the Well-Loved and Very Loving Frozen Fish. The end.

My Failures and Potential-Failures So Far This Week

Here is a blog in unrelated paragraphs. Because I am a REALLY GREAT blogger. 

NaNoWriMo ends on Wednesday... I only have 40,000 words and things are not going well in my plot. I really want to finish, but failure feels eminent. I am regretting every plot choice I ever made. So, you know, nothing really new.

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I restarted WeightWatchers today. I'm not going to go to meetings anymore, because all the ones near me are so lame that they make me want to cry or hit someone, which is not really conducive to losing weight. I think this was part of the reason I did so badly the last time--I hated going to my meetings and, therefore, began to resent the plan altogether. Well, that and my soul crushing job with saboteurs. Instead, I plan to weigh myself at home every Monday between 9:00-10:00 am and do all my tracking online. I've done really well so far today with the points. Also, when I weighed in this morning, I was so afraid I would be heavier than my original starting weight from 3 years ago (which was over 300 lbs) and have been mentally preparing for the awful number. Praise Jesus, I am not over 300 lbs! But it's close enough. So it's a good thing I'm starting again.

However, I got an e-mail from WeightWatchers today that said that the program would be changing next Monday. I have to say, I got a little bit pissed. On the one hand, how could they know that I was planning on restarting exactly one week before they changed everything? They couldn't. So calm down, self. But on the other hand? They changed the plan around Thanksgiving last year in such a major way that I basically threw my hands in the air and gave up. So to get that e-mail on the Morning of My Renewed Commitment To Avoid Being Fat was slightly discouraging. But I bucked up, because it's either go with the flow or be 700 lbs by the time I'm 30. I think you can see this was not a terribly difficult choice.

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Sister and I have finally finished LOST. It took us longer than most shows, but I think it was worth it. I've loved that show for a long time and Sister seemed to enjoy it, too. I know a lot of people hated the ending, but I thought it was kind of poetic and beautiful (even if it IS diametrically opposed to most of my personal theology) and had a nice symmetry with the pilot episode. Also, I'm not sure how they could have worked it out with any kind of closure with the rate that they killed people off, except for the way that they did it. So, in pathetic summation of a not-really review, Sister and I enjoyed it.

We had kind of already moved on to the most recent season of Big Bang Theory in the middle of the sixth season, just to lighten things up, so we finished that on the same day. We were wondering what to jump into next, since we have both now seen every single episode of every single show we own on DVD. But then I bought the first season of White Collar and we're back in business. For another twenty episodes, at least. Then hopefully we'll get something new for Christmas or we'll find something on good sale and be off again. Or there's always rewatching... West Wing, perhaps?

But I could use suggestions in the comments, if you guys have a TV show you like and want to share.

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Remember when I told you about how our furnace was acting like a melodramatic emo teen girl? Well, we seem to have fixed it. Except that it still FEELS about 67 degrees in here, but the thermostat SAYS it's 70. I think we may have reached the secretive and lying teenager phase.

Also, every once in a while, there will be a really hot smell coming from the vents. Like when you turn the furnace on at the end of the summer and it has to burn away some of the dust, since it hasn't been used in a long time? Except that NO, furnace, you were on TEN MINUTES AGO--there should be no accumulated dust to burn off. So Sister and I periodically have to run around like crazy people and climb into the half-basement to make sure the HOUSE IS NOT BURNING DOWN (because the one time we don't check, it will be...). So I think we have also made it to the "Teen smokes periodically and secretively in the basement" phase.

Pretty soon, I expect the heating vents to start yelling things like "You're ruining my life!" and "YOU! Are a MURDERER! Of LOVE!!!!"

[Name that quote and I'll make you my BFF for a day.]

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Last week, I used one of my favorite insulated polka-dot cups to make myself iced coffee, which was DELICIOUS. But I forgot to wash it out and the last tiny bit of coffe-milk and the melted icecubes have sat in it getting really nasty for several days. Because I keep these things all around the house with water in them, I didn't notice for a little while. LUCKILY, I did not try to drink it--I think I just gagged a little even thinking about it. But it was pretty gross when I opened it, so I had to scrub it really well with hot water and a lot of soap--something I don't do very often if all it carries is water.

EXCEPT?

I totally forgot that Sister had replaced the sponge on our little scrubby thing (you know the kind, with the scrubby sponge and the liquid soap all conveniently stored in the handle?). And the scrubby part of the sponge was all EXTRA BRAND NEW SCRUBBY and I totally scratched the heck out of the inside of my cup. As in, it's no longer transparent, only translucent. In a sad sad translucent way. And every time I go to take a sip of water, it makes me sad. And a little mad at myself for not seeing this coming.

I think my world has gotten really small since I quit my job....


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Do you remember when I told you that Satan's Cat has started watching the ice dispenser on the fridge for drips because of that one time I overfilled a cup and she thought the dripping water was a toy? You don't? Well, I'm not going to link to the post, because I'm pretty sure that story is an obscure side-reference anyway and you'll be all confused when you click on the link and the post is all about me quitting my job. So, just remember that she used to watch for drips to chase.

Well, now, she also wants ice cubes. I'm not sure what she thinks she'll do with it if we were to give her one. Sister thinks she might like to chase it across the wood floor and is afraid of it getting stuck somewhere and melting and warping the floor. I think she's more creative than that. Maybe she's trying to make herself a Jack & Coke. We are totally kitty-buzz-kills. And? If she's satanic normally, I fear what she would be like with lowered inhibitions.

Anyway, every time we run the ice dispenser, she comes running and then stands under it crying when we don't let her have one. We have turned the tiny kitty tables on her though. Anytime we need to leave and she's hiding to avoid being put away (it's not like that has EVER kept her from being put away, but it has occasionally made us late for things, so I guess she's still winning), we just run the dispenser for a moment and she appears, as if by magic.

There was one day recently that we couldn't find her anywhere. None of her usual hiding places were occupied, she hadn't gotten locked in the laundry room, she was NOWHERE. We were wandering around, kind of bemused as to where she could have squirreled herself away, because there was NOWHERE we hadn't looked. Then I ran the ice machine and there she was. Magic Cat.

We're hoping that if we do this enough, she will learn our trick and stop showing up at the fridge when we want ice. It might make her harder to find in a time crunch, but we're really tired of making ourselves something to drink with an angry cat blocking the fridge.

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Okay, now that I've warmed myself up on this failure of a blog post, I think I'll try my hand at noveling. Again. Only 10,000 more words to go and I still haven't gotten them CLOSE to being in love. I am THE BEST AUTHOR EVER!

Sundays Are The Hardest Blogging Days

As I've posted before, my Sundays are pretty simple: church, lunch, nap, different food, TV, more food, more TV, bedtime. Admittedly, Sunday laziness is not that different from my current everyday laziness, except for the nap. I don't really nap on weekdays; although I totally could, I just...don't (I think I may be wasting my time of unemployment. I'm now rethinking things...). Also, going to church and doing my media job is actually more work than I do during the rest of the week put together. Which is very pathetic, but true.

Ever since I was a small child, Sundays have been a day of rest. I mean, it's not like there was some kind of Sabbath Code enforced in my house or anything. But after church, we usually gathered for a large-ish meal. And then we would all scatter to parts of the house to do our own thing: watch TV, read a book, do homework, whatever. There was always the expectation that whatever we chose to do would be quiet. Because, inevitably, someone would be napping.

Mom would "rest" her eyes, which really meant a nap. But some kind of magical nap in which she still knew what was going on in the house and could coherently answer the pestery questions of children who apparently did not understand the notion of LEAVE HER ALONE SHE'S SLEEPING! She rarely scolded us--she just answered the queries patiently with her eyes still closed. It wasn't until many years later, I realized that, though her answers were coherent, they were not always conscious or remembered, which was QUITE a trick. Dad would usually settle into the couch with a book or something on the History Channel. And promptly snooze. And all of us kids, in one form or another, would end up with a small rest or full-on nap. When I was younger, I fought naps--it nearly drove my nap loving mother out of her mind. But by early high school, I craved them. And Sundays were ALWAYS nap days.

When I got to college, I had ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD to nap--I had hours between my classes and I never thought to use that time for studying. But I learned pretty quickly NOT to nap, if I wanted to get to class on time and sleep on a regular schedule. It's kind of embarrassing to show up to a 3:45 pm class with pillowcase lines on your face and bleary eyes.

But Sundays? Oh, Sundays. Even when I wasn't going to church (because public transportation was really difficult for me) and the dorm was NOT all quiet and restful like my parents' house had been, Sundays held a strange sleepiness for me. It was like my body knew that it was Sunday, the Day of Napping. It REQUIRED a nap every seven days. It was weird. But who was I to deny my body what it needed?

Now that I live back in my hometown and I refuse to go to bed a sane hour for no good reason other than I'm stupid, Sunday naps have become a staple. Sometimes, Sister and I have naps for lunch on Sundays, instead of food. But since I've been sleeping until 11:15 most days recently, I decided to forgo today's nap in the hope that I will be extra tired tonight and will go to bed earlier. Because I need to spend ALL DAY tomorrow working on my NaNoWriMo novel, which kind of got forgotten over the holiday and is all the sudden TOTALLY BEHIND and I feel like I'm never going to finish by Wednesday. And writing ALL DAY is not nearly as effective if the day STARTS at NOON!

And this is why Sundays are the hardest blogging days. Because the only topic I can think of to post about is napping. Which is like a snooze-fest of words and letters. You're all probably napping by now. Which, if your Sundays are anything like mine, I guess you should thank me for... Yeah, still boring. Because I want a nap. And Sister IS napping. And I'm sleepy. And nothing else really happens on Sundays. Sundays are hard. When NaBloPoMo is done, I'd like to continue with daily posts. But I think I will use Sundays as a Blogging Sabbath. It will be better for all of us. I will get Sundays off and you won't have to read the drivel I try to come up with for Sunday posts. We all win. You're welcome.

This Is More of a Somewhat Inspiring Journal Entry Than a Post

Yesterday, I was able to write over 6,000 words on my novel for NaNoWriMo (side note: you know you've spent too much time on twitter when you unconsciously try to add a hashtag to things like NaNoWriMo on your blog). That's more words that I've ever written in one day before. It brings me up to 37K. By the time I hit midnight, I was exhausted. Which was crazy, since I had barely moved from my couch. But my brain was SO tired. 

Unfortunately, I have been unable to write AT ALL today, due partly to the fact that I slept until 11:00 am (I went to bed at 3:00 am, so it's NOT that lazy... or so I tell myself) and partly due to the fact that I spent my afternoon at Sister-In-Law's house baking for the holiday. Tomorrow, I'll post the recipe and a few progress shots for these rolls. It's a recipe that I kind of stole and then made my own. I had a great time with the girls, even if I was FREEZING. I think I've mentioned that Sister-In-Law keeps her house a chilly 65 degrees. This may or may not have affected my bread's ability to rise.

So, no NaNoWriMo today and probably not much tomorrow. I'll take the laptop to Sister-In-Law's parent's house tomorrow, but I'm not sure how much I'll get done. Likely as not, they'll make fun of me for being on my computer when I'm with company. But half of them will be napping in front of a football game, so it's not like it's rude or anything. We're all family anyway. But I'll still get made fun of, because that's how it is when you're the youngest, excluding the grandchildren. And, actually, I'm now rethinking having my laptop near the grandchildren... Hmmm...

Anyway, I'm making progress in a way I haven't managed in over a week. I reworked some of the sections and changed my timeline a bit. I did some *gasp* editing, which is a NaNo No No. But I restrained myself and only edited where I needed to add new material to keep things consistent. And even though I found myself obsessing about typos, structure, word choice, and pace, I left most of it alone. If I thought that I was typing something inconsistent, I checked and fixed what I could and highlighted the rest. There were things that made me cringe and things that made me think, "Who the heck wrote that? Because it certainly WASN'T me..." I'm feeling simultaneously optimistic and defeated.

I've been saying for weeks that I really should be aiming for about 75K-90K words, instead of the requisite 50K. And that's never more clear to me now. First of all, 50K is only 200 pages--a lot of the books I read and enjoy are more like 300-360 pages. So there's that already. And then there are many (including Stephen King, I think) who say that your second draft is just your first draft minus ten percent. And what with these DAMN PUPPIES, I think my second draft will probably look more like minus thirty percent. So maybe 100,000?

Right now, in the throes of this, I feel like the book is going nowhere. Even after finishing what I think is an excellent scene or finding JUST the right words to get my point across, I will sit back and think, "Yes, but as a whole, it sucks..." I have these great dreams of writing a story that people read and think about long after they finish it. I dream of writing a story that touches someone deep inside their soul and changes how they look at the world, if only for a few days. And every time I back up from the immediate scene, I know this book isn't even close to accomplishing those things. And that's so discouraging.

But you know what? This is my first novel. And I'm actually writing it. It might will probably never get published. It may never get a full edit, unless the many of you who offered to read it and rip it to shreds were serious. And even then, I'm not sure it will ever be good enough. But I'm writing it. I'm going to finish it. I WILL write 50,000 words by November 30th. I WILL write all the way through the final chapter, whatever that contains. Everything after that is just cake, right?

So for those of you doing NaNoWriMo along with me this month, STICK TO IT. I'm just as lost as you are. But we're doing it! And so many people have already given up and will give up before next Wednesday. But you and me? WE'RE STILL AT IT. And I am so proud of us. 

For those of you who didn't think you were up to the challenge this year, I encourage you to get writing anyway. Don't worry about 50K. Don't worry about November 30th. Just write. Because we all have words in us. We all have stories to tell. And who know what? Yours might change someone's life. It would be a shame if it never got written. 

Phoned-In Face Photo

I'm hard at work on NaNoWriMo, finally making progress for the first time in days. I'm actually excited about where these new chapters are taking the story and I'm afraid I'm going to lose momentum if I stop to blog now. But I don't want to fail at NaBloPoMo, either. I TOLD you this could be an issue and that I'd likely fail at both. So, you know, no whining. In order to try to keep both going, today, on the 22nd day of NaBloPoMo, I am posting my very first "phoning it in" post.

Shut up! I have NOT phoned it in so far. I mean, I've written posts on my PHONE (including this one), but I haven't "phoned" it in. Seriously. Stop it. Those other posts may have been lame, but they still took effort! Ummm... I'm uncomfortable with the direction that sentence is going to take me. So I'm going to pretend you all get what I mean and get to the point.

Do you all remember when I wrote that post about seeing faces everywhere? No? I thought a post about my paranoia/love of accidental faces would be more memorable. Okay, fine. Click here to read it again. Or for the first time, I guess, if you're new. I'll wait.

Did you read it? Seriously, GO READ IT!

Okay, last chance.

Well, here's the phoning it in part of the post. This is all very anticlimactic, by the way. Well, I'm sure you're aware of that. If you're still reading this. Which you probably aren't. I believe the word you're looking for is anyways....

Here's a picture on another face.

This is Brother and Sister-In-Law's old kitchen sink. when they remodeled, they replaced it and put it on the back porch to take to the landfill. It snowed before they could and I think it looks like a sad, lonely old man. What do you think?

Prophetic Slap-Happery

Happy Six O'Clock in the Morning to you all!

That's right. It's 6:00 AM. No, I did not get up this early. I haven't gone to bed yet. I wish I could impress you with fabulous tales of my NaNoWriMo pursuits, how creativity struck right before bed and how I dragged myself to my (almost-iconic) purple couch and wrote passionately until the wee hours of the morning, unable to resist the siren call of the muses (I think I may be mixing mythology here...). But, alas. I cannot.

Here's the real story:

10:32 PM

Sister and I begin watching LOST. We've been doing other things all day--Her: Shopping with Mom and pinning crafty things on Pintrest; Me: Not writing.

11:14 PM

I begin doodling idly in Microsoft Paint. I've been reading a lot of Hyperbole and a Half and This Is Not That Blog lately, so I guess I think I can do it, too. I cannot. But that does not keep me from doing it anyway. This is probably why and how my novel will get written.
 
12:07 AM

Sister and I finish the last episode of Season Five of LOST. Now, anyone who owns television series (serieses?) on DVD knows that it is almost physically impossible to finish a season finale and NOT put in the next season's premiere when IT IS SITTING RIGHT THERE (RIGHT!THERE!) on your shelf. Especially when the finale was a cliff-hanger. Which, what show doesn't end the season with a cliff-hanger these days? The View? Probably. Anyway, I'm off track.

So even though it's late, we'll watch just one more episode, to make sure that people had really died/hadn't really died and all of that. We figure, "Tomorrow's Saturday! We never leave the house anyway. It's not like we work or anything!" Or at least I figure that. I have no idea what Sister is thinking and I shouldn't put words in her brain. I actually don't know how I'd go about doing that, but it sounds tricky and kind of messy. But that's beside the point. The point is, I fail to remember that the Season Six premiere is a two-episode-time-block-mega-episode-extravaganza, so it's over an hour and a half before we find out who's dead, who's alive, and that we really know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AT ALL ABOUT THIS STINKING ISLAND (well, Sister is maybe confused... I've seen them all, so I'm not that confused... only a little bit confused).

1:58 AM

We retire to our separate rooms--Sister to her peaceful slumber and me to my fitful tossing and turning (SPOILER ALERT! Oh wait, I already told you how this ends... Never mind, move along). I crawl into bed and do as I usually do: mess around on my iPhone and then read a chapter or two of my latest book. Right now, it's Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants #2, which I've already read, but I need to re-read because I haven't read #4 (I don't think). Plus, it's been awhile and I really want to read the newest one: Sisterhood Everlasting. Because Sister said it made her cry and she never cries. At books, at least. It's not like her heart is made of stone or she's Cameron Diaz from The Holiday or something. But if a book made her cry, it's probably worth reading.

2:38 AM

I can only get about ten pages before I want to noogie each character (this is not a reflection of Ann Brashares' work, but my own inability to deal with TEENAGERS right now). I turn out the light.

This is a pretty late hour for me most of the time, but recently, it's become the kind of late that 12:30 used to be. It's not obscenely late or anything. But it's definitely time to be asleep. So I close my eyes, turn on my left side, and snuggle close to my stuffed monkey named Cranston ahem, my extra pillow.

3:00 AM -ish

I toss and turn for a while. Then I lay with my eyes open, doing a pretty routine mental exercise that's half-fantasizing and half-book-plotting. Tonight, I'm wondering what it would be like if I (and by "I," I could mean either my actual self or a character like me) fostered-to-adopt a safe-haven baby. Please don't ask me where I come up with this stuff; heaven only knows and probably not even that.

I lay there, mentally redecorating Sister's library (the room we often refer to as Godson's room) as if I owned the place, putting the crib against one wall and the changing station with the baskets of cute-but-gender-neutral cloth diapers on the other wall, trying to decide if I want an old fashioned rocker (nostalgic, but tough on the carpet) or a glider/rocker (more functional, but takes up a lot of space), and imagining bringing this stranger-baby into my home forever and ever.

3:42 AM

Since sleep has detoured on the way to my house tonight, curiosity gets the better of me and I grab my phone. To start researching what safe-haven laws say about adoption. Yeah, really... I know. Just... I know.

I spend an inordinate amount of time and brain power dissecting the psychology of what would make a mother desert her child like that and the likelihood of her coming back to reclaim custody. Because I don't have a job, I don't own my own home (or even my own car!), and I'm single. So, yes, the trials and joys of adoption are EXACTLY what I need to be fretting over in the middle of the night. But usually these kind of mental rabbit trails are a good way to get my mind to disengage from the day and drift off to sleep. Unless I get into the storyline. Then all bets are off.

4:00 AM

I get up and go to the bathroom, hoping it's my bladder keeping me up.

4:05 AM

I crawl back in bed, blind in the dark because of the bathroom light. I re-tuck my covers, which have become ridiculously twisted from the turning and the tossing and the God-knows-what-else-ing. I hear the sticky notes that comprise my plot map becoming unstuck from the back on my bedroom door, one by one. I make a mental note not to use that surface anymore.

4:20 AM

I scavenge a string cheese from the kitchen. I'm feeling kind of shaky, almost hypoglycemic-ly.

I am not actually hypoglycemic.

4:26 AM

I think that maybe I should be using this insomnia episode for something productive. Like writing. Since I battled with my characters all evening and am not-quite-sure-but-almost-there-just-wait-one-more-minute-I-think-I've-got-it-oh-wait-no about my plot and my killer, I don't really feel up to it. I beg the gods of sleep to stop torturing me. I will tell them anything they want to know, just let me sleep.


4:44 AM

I play another round of Josephine on my Card Shark app.

4:51 AM

I begin composing this post in my head.

5:00 AM

I force myself to close my eyes and deep breathe, with the promise/threat that if I'm still awake at 5:30, I'll get up and get something accomplished. BUT! Only if I keep my eyes closed and really concentrate on sleeping.

5:27 AM

I don't want to blog this early. Desperate to use my last three minutes wisely, I turn on my lullaby.

5:29 AM

I realize OH HEY NO! It's not insomnia hypoglycemia. It's not my bladder or my eyelids or my left knee cap or my hypothalamus (although it IS kind of warm in my bedroom). It's not even an imagination/will-power issue that can be fixed by soothing music.

It's the pint of Starbucks Java Chip Frappuccino Ice Cream I ate while watching television.

You know, the ice cream made with REAL COFFEE?!

The kind of coffee with REAL CAFFEINE?!

Yeah. That one.

5:30 AM

Resigned, I get up and creep down the hallway to the living room, where my computer is plugged in. I grab my insulated polka-dot cup, because I am not worried about my bladder anymore. I decide NOT to fill it with ice, but just the coldest water my kitchen tap can give me, so as not to wake Sister.

5:31 AM

I manage to gather cup, laptop, and power cord without making a sound.

5:32 AM

I bash my giant rear end into an old glass of water on the side table, which crashes noisily to the floor. Noisily and wetly. Niiiiiiice.

5:32.5 AM

I stand cringing and wet-footed in the dark of the living room, praying Sister does not wake up and think she is being burgled. Again.

5:34 AM

I set the laptop on a flat surface (I almost use the back of the couch, quickly see this turning into an episode of the Three Stooges, and think better of this plan). I flip on the light, grab a few dirty towels, and whisper swear words to no one but myself as I clean up another mess caused by my inability to locate and manage all the parts of my GIANT BODY at the same time.

5:36 AM

I settle into my bedroom as quietly as possible and open my computer. I find the drawing I did earlier:

Who knew it would be a prophetic self portrait?

I Don't Know How to Kill Them. Or WHY!

This is going to be a quick update, because I'm running out of time today and I'm at Brother and Sister-In-Law's house watching the last Harry Potter movie. I think they will get annoyed by my constant typing if I go on as I usually do. So I'll just update you on how my novel is going. I apologize to those of you who just don't care about my fiction. I apologize, but this is still what I'm going to talk about today. So, you know, leave at will. But if you do, you might miss out on an opportunity to kill people. I'm just saying, is all...

Today I passed the 26,000 mark, which is a little behind schedule, but far more than I have ever written on a single novel before. So I feel a great sense of accomplishment! That has been quickly squashed by the overwhelming sense of OHMYGODICAN'T! But I have now discovered a few things about my characters. My leading man started out as a detective, but has now become a former Army MP who lost a childhood friend in battle and has both physical and emotional wounds because of it. My leading lady is more twisted and broken than I had originally conceived, which is interesting, since she was pretty messed up to begin with. I have finally gotten rid of the litter of puppies she accidentally adopted and have figured out how to connect her to the detective's case.

What I don't know is WHO KILLED NICKY SPARGO? He's my original victim. I've got bodies piling up all around him. I've killed off a judge and an ADA. I'm pretty sure I'll be killing off my leading lady's estranged father, connecting him to all the other victims. I've even connected this case back to my detective's very first homicide case. But I don't know who killed those people EITHER! OR WHY! So now I have to figure out creative ways for all of these people to have been murdered while linking them without making it look like they're linked or at least withholding that information until the opportune time and OHMYGODICAN'T.

Or at least I think I can't. And then I keep going. I keep writing. I get through a few more hundred, a few more thousand words. And I don't feel so bad. Until I remember all the time and words I wasted on those STUPID PUPPIES and I worry that I'm going to have to write over 100,000 words just to have enough book left when I cut out all the bad parts. And pacing. Oh, the pacing. It's bad. It's awful. It's... nonexistent.

But then I remember that all of those rules for writing: show, don't tell; don't give it all away at once; don't use adverbs when referring to dialogue; don't info-dump; make every scene meaningful; et cetera. The problem with these rules is that they're really rules for second drafts. And then I read a really awesome post by Near Normalcy that makes me feel like maybe I'm not so crazy after all.

But my point is, the time for letting the story flow around me has passed. I'm close to halfway through the novel and it's now time to start making some decisions and revealing some secrets and forming it all into a cohesive story that connects you to the characters and makes you fall in love with them and makes you remember my story long after you put it down and OHMYGODICAN'T. But... Who knows?

And most of this post has probably made little sense or served little purpose. For that, I am sorry. I needed to get some of this off my chest. I'll be back to being witty(?) and funny(!?) and interesting(heh...) tomorrow. Until then, if you know of any ways to kill someone or some very interesting and twisty motives for murder, which will OF COURSE be used only for fictional purposes (I think...), please leave them in the comments. Mkthxbye.

Schlumpy Funks and Their Antidotes

I've spent the whole morning watching LOST with Sister. And then I washed piles of gross dishes so that Sister-In-Law can make meatloaf at our house. Why? Because I hadn't done dishes all week and there was no counter space. Oh, you mean why is Sister-In-Law making meatloaf at my house? Because her house is inexplicably out of power. And her husband is finishing up a 14 hour shift. So, he will be hungry. And there will not be warm food at his house.

Then Sister and I fought with my computer and my Internet and all of the things I need to get this here post... posted. Because our house is some kind of Internet VORTEX OF DOOM.

But even with the laziness, the dishes, the bad technology, and the fact that I probably need to put pants on when my brother comes over, this has still been a better day than yesterday. I've only used capslock twice in this post so far, and one of the time it was because that's the naming convention of the show. I think.

And the thing was, yesterday wasn't so much bad as it was WEIRD. But you guys caught that nuance, right... I was pretty sure you did. It was difficult to tell, but you guys are pretty perceptive...

In addition to the WEIRD incident, I spent most of yesterday evening in a draggy, schlumpy kind of mood (it's a thing, I promise). I wrote maybe 100 words on my novel, which is kind of funny, since yesterday was the first day I started on track. Apparently, I cannot write if I'm not behind.

But here are a couple things that were good about yesterday (these may or may not have happened the night before, but yesterday was so WEIRD that I can't keep the details straight):

1. Sister joined Twitter. Follow her @NBNickleby!

2. I joined Goodreads. Follow me as NotBagels!

3. I figured out why my novel sucks and a possible fix. I haven't written anything yet today (of course...), but as soon as I eat dinner, I'm headed into the Writing Nook. Oh, and you can totally be my NaNoWriMo writing buddy here.

So I'm back on track, I think. Although, Godson's mom texted me and wanted to do lunch and I wasn't showered or ready and I could have gotten ready, but it would have been a rush and then I would have had to drive somewhere. In the snow. That has been plowed off the streets for days, but still. So I asked for a raincheck. So maybe I'm not as out my funk as I should be...

But if I can just jump back into writing this novel and make one of my characters a little more CRAZY, like she's supposed to be (instead of the whole Elise-vibe she's got going for her right now, by which I mean cautious and boring) and to make the other character a little more loving and less OBNOXIOUSLY SELF-RIGHTEOUS, like he's turning out to be, I think things could start picking up again.

Now, because I like this blog to be interactive and it hasn't been lately, I have a question or two for you. First, what is the WEIRDest situation you've even been involved in? Use as many details as you would like. Second, how do YOU pull yourself out of a funk (not sad or depressed or even any emotion, just... schlumpy)? Tips and tricks are helpful, but mostly, I'd just like to start the conversation. TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF!! Please?

Today's Word Count: 0 (so far)

Monthly Total: 11,931

Apparently I Enjoy Labeling My Furniture

I posted this picture last night on twitter:

The Essentials of Writing

I called it The Essentials of Writing (as my "clever" caption denotes). And, in the spirit of my nightstand, I'm going to label the heck out of this picture and tell you more details about my writing process than any of you probably care to know.

I know I've been posting about NaNoWriMo and writing in general a lot recently. And I would apologize to those of you who are not writers, but my content is almost always useless information anyway, so you kind of knew that when you signed up. Or, well, kept coming back. Which I thank you for, by the way. You guys are the best readers a girl could ask for and I'm totally grateful. I only sound like a jerk in my writing. Which is always. Oops. Er... Whatever. The only other post topic that I can think of is a really sad story and I'm not up for it today. So you get heavily labeled photos and bad writing advice instead. Deal?

So, without further ado or continued jerkiness on my part, here's the labeled picture:

The Essentials of Writing, now with excessive labels.

Let's just jump right in, shall we?

1. Night/darkness, when I do my best writing. Which is why most of you don't see my new posts until the next day.
2. Skullcandy Pipe and iPod Nano. Set to an instrumental playlist, including my lullaby by Josh Kelly ("23"). Not that he wrote is specifically for me or anything like that (I wish!). But you got that, right? Every once in a while, I set it to a different style to influence my mood and put me in a character's headspace, especially when I needed to access my ANGER or my DEVASTATION buttons.
3. Candles. Smelly, flaming ambiance setters. This particular one is by Chesapeake Bay Candles and is "Jasmine Lily" flavored. Or scented. Whatever. I'm also burn their "Tropical Escape" jar candle. And another (tiny) jar candle by someone else (the label fell off) called "Garden Rain." All at the same time. This is so detailed in case would like your home to smell the exact same variety of what-the-crap-is-this? as mine does.
4. Soft light from a (cheap, Target variety) torchiere lamp. Also an ambiance setter.  I have two on either end of the couch and I put them on their lowest setting and turn out all the other lights. Except the candles. Of course.
5. Down (probably fake down) throw blanket that is soft and warm, but never long enough to cover all of me. So I put it on my lap and wear a sweater. Because writing makes my toes cold. Okay, life makes my toes cold. My future husband is in for a real treat in the middle of the night; they're like flesh-covered ice cubes.
6. The ever present, all magical PURPLE COUCH. I really don't need to say more than that, right?
7. Old pillows too flat and lumpy to be on my bed anymore, covered in nice silver pillowcases and repurposed as throw pillows. For the back support, not for napping. Rarely for napping. Okay, sometimes for napping.
8. The Laptop of Sketchy Internet Connection and Impossible to Find Apostrophe Key. I swear, all week, I've been writing crap like "don;t" "won;t" "it;s" and "Fischer;s." It's like someone MOVED it on me! Or my right pinky is suddenly deformed... Anyway, as I'm sure you're all aware, this is where all the Writing Magic happens. And by magic, I mean drivel.
9. Handy-dandy laptop desk with adjustable/foldable legs and mouse-pad-area-thingy. Mainly used when sitting upright (okay, mostly playing Sims 3), not lounging. Which is how I usually write. Still incredibly helpful, though.
10. Orange 4G USB drive. I would make some comment about using this to back up my work like a responsible adult writer. But mostly, I just use this to move old, bad writing from my old, bad computer and put it next to my newer, less-bad writing on my newer, less-bad laptop.
11. Beautiful mahogany side-table Foldable TV tray useful for holding beverages. Or laundry. Or a cat.
12. Teapot. This teapot was left to me by my Nana, who was brilliant and classy and loving and witty and slightly crazy (in the best, most creative way possible) and always wished I would grow up to be a lawyer. Who recently passed away and is the subject of that sad post I'm not willing to write right now. Who was also the leader of our tea party shenanigans and who, I hope, would love that I was writing a novel about a brilliant and classy and loving and witty and slightly crazy woman named Colbie. This teapot adds immeasurable inspiration to my writing, er, nook? cubby? couch? Writing SPACE: Inspired by Teapot, coming to a room near you...
13. Sweet 'N Low packets. For the tea. They'll probably kill me some day, but so will diabetes if I don;t get my sugar intake under control. (I'm totally leaving that "don;t" typo, just to show you I wasn't kidding in number 8)
14. My handy new ceramic mug with a silicon lid, which looks like an average to-go cup, but is washable and reusable and makes me happy. I cannot really explain why. But I love it. So it goes writing with me.
15. My handy insulated cold cup, when the tea is too warm or isn't quenching actual thirst. I love this thing so much that I bought two. This one has green and yellow polka-dots. The other one has red polka-dots. They were $4 each. Did I mention I love them?
16. Spot where my missing bottle of wine and polka-dot wine glass should be. But the wine glasses have not arrived from Pampered Chef yet, even though my consultant friend said it would only take four days and it's been a week and a half. Or two? I'm not sure. Begin unemployed means I don;t (SEE?!) know what day it is. Whatever the case, I did not have wine anyway. It made me sad. But without wine to be had and only normal, non-polka-dotty wine glasses to drink it out of, I was stuck. So, imagine there was wine. I know I did.

So that's where I write. What about you guys? If you're a blogger, what do you need to have around you to get it all done. What about you novelists? And for those of you who don't write, tell me about your hobbies and the stuff you need to get them done. I like hearing about you guys even more than I like writing inane trivia about myself.

Aliens Stole My Brain So I Can't Remember

I just woke up from an unintentional two-and-a-half hour nap. Well, the nap itself was intentional, but the length of time was not planned. So I woke up pretty disoriented. The time change thing did not help AT ALL, because it's much darker than I expected it to be. I could probably go on a reasonably sized rant about Daylight Saving Time vs standard time, but Swistle already accomplished it much better than I ever could. With a handy print-out!

I'll just sit here quietly until about 3:00 am, unable to sleep due to both the time change and the nap. On the bright side, I might have some extra time to write. Which would be pretty nice, since I went straight to church this morning, got tacos right after, and napped before I had even begun digesting--it's not appropriate to whip out a laptop and begin novelling during a sermon, it's really hard to type and eat tacos at the same time (the lettuce tends to get between the keys), and I have yet to perfect unconscious story-boarding. So you can see why I've had so little progress. Next Sunday, I'm doing this differently. Somehow...

Here are a couple updates:

1. Snow Anxiety: I was doing okay for a few days, until it snowed about seven inches this weekend. I spent last night's ride home from Brother's house with my eyes scrunched closed. I used the same tactic on the way to church this morning and I read my feedreader on my iPhone for the drive to tacos and home. These distractions seem to help some and the anxiety has never been as bad as it was that first day, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to need a little more time to acclimate.

2. LOST: Sister and I have made it into the middle of the third season. We're moving much slower with this series than we ever have before, but I think it's for the best. It gives me time to write, I'm not so overloaded with creepy/suspenseful imagery right before I sleep, and we're making it last longer, which means we don't have to go in search of a new series every other weekend. We have no money, remember? This is a very good thing for our budgets.

3. Jobs: No calls yet on either of the interviews, which I think it pretty ridiculously rude. Cue job search rant: I understand if you don't call if all I've done is apply--you probably got upwards for fifty applications and a lot of them don't meet the basic requirements. It would be cumbersome to call each one (although a nice form letter is really professional and earns my respect for your organization, because many don't even do this). But if you've called me in for an interview? It seems like you should call me back, whether I got it or not. And if I've made it through TWO INTERVIEWS for your organization, it's pretty much expected that you will call. If you offered me the job and I didn't call back for THREE WEEKS, you wouldn't give me the job anymore. If you had clients you were dealing with and you didn't return their call for THREE WEEKS, you probably wouldn't have clients anymore. So why is it okay to do the opposite? It's not. But because I need the job, I'll probably suck it up and take it if/when you call.

4. Weight-Loss: Yeah. Right. Check back after the holidays. I might be 300 pounds again by then.

5. Satan's Cat: Still as Satany as ever. A little less buckety this week.

6. Guest Post From My Mother: She wrote one back in September, when you guys requested to hear from her. And I really liked it! I read it on the way to my retreat. And then I promptly forgot to post it. Even during the times when I wasn't posting anything at all and it would have been nice to put SOMETHING up on this site and the Mom Post would have been an AWESOMETHING (see what I did there? clever? no? hmmm....). This all happened because I fail at details. I'm working on that. I plan on posting it soon. Or asking her VERY NICELY to write me a new one if what she wrote references too many things that are already over. But I think we can make it work.

7. Finding A Husband: Yeah. Right. There are no men. Ever. Let me know if there are any near you. Now that I'm unemployed, I'm more open to moving.

8. I can't think of anything else I need to update you guys about to fill this one in. That's not because I don't need to update you on other things. It's because I took a long nap today and I think aliens snuck in, reached through one of my ears, and stole my brain. I wouldn't know if they did, though. Because they took my brain. So, if you think of anything you want to know that I promised to tell you (or even if I didn't promise, but it isn't against the Rules for me to tell you), please let me know in the comments. It will give me something to post about tomorrow.

9. Is anyone else doing NaBloPoMo and finding it kind of difficult to come up with something NEW every day? Or is it just me?



UPDATE: Now with word counts!

Today's Word Count: 3053

Monthly Total:8784

Necessary Inventions, Unnecessary Details, and Tea

I'm kind of stuck in my novel right now, so I thought I'd change the channel on my mental TV and tell you guys a story.

There once was a girl who was unemployed, single, and childless who decided to write a book. She failed. She remained unemployed, single, and childless for the rest of her life. The end.

Just kidding! It's actually going well. Or it's going okay... I'm not exactly sure. This is one of the first times I've just let the characters lead me, instead of having a plot and trying to make it all happen. I think this is a better way, but it totally makes me sound a little crazy when I say things like, "I didn't know you were in the ARMY!" or "How the heck did you end up in a crime scene? I thought I was writing a romance, not a crime thriller!" But at least it keeps things interesting.

In that vein, I have an invention, a service of sorts, that I would like one of you to develop. Preferably in the next week or so. It would be like the Butterball Hotline (which they apparently call the Butterball Turkey Talk-Line, but I'm not getting paid by them or anything, so I'm going to be lazy and leave it as it is), but instead of free advice on cooking turkeys, it would be free advice/brainstorming help with other writers who have no agenda, but simply want to help you discover what's already in your own mind. It would go something like this:

CHRIS: Writer's Block Hotline, my name is Chris. How may I help you?

CALLER: I'm writing a book. It's kind of a romance, but it's set during World War I and is really more of a mystery/whodunnit. 

CHRIS: Okay, I'm sending you over to Brenda over in Historical Fiction. She's our resident expert on World War I. She'll set you up on a conference call with Debbie, one of our romance novelists, and Peter, who has sold over a million copies of his latest mystery "Who Didn't Shoot J.R.?" They'll help you talk out your plot points and see if we can't some new synapses firing. Please hold.

That? Would be AWESOME. So somebody get on that, would you? I'll be over here, trying to figure out if I'm dealing with a serial killer, a disgruntled lover, or a time machine.

**********

This is really apropos of nothing (when has that EVER stopped me?), except that I mentioned the Butterball Hotline and so now I ask you to go watch this clip, which ranks pretty high on the list of my all-time favorite West Wing moments. No, seriously. Go watch it. Now. I'll wait.

**********

Did you watch it? I thought you might not. Seriously, go watch it and I'll wait right here.

**********

Also in novel-related news (if one can squeeze "odd factoid about Elise" into a the category "news"), I have recently found a tea that I love quite a bit. Now, I grew up drinking tea all the time. My Nana was a tea enthusiast and we had tea parties (actual tea parties, not political rallies, which I guess makes me a tea hipster or something, since I was tea partying before it was cool... or something...).

Anyway, while I was on relocation this year, I discovered a new tea. Bigelow: Green Tea with Lemon (And I'm not sure why they feel the need to specify it as gluten-free. I was unaware that was a common tea ingredient, but, then again, I've never lived with a food allergy, so no complaints or anything). Now here's the "odd factoid about Elise" part: I don't like green tea and I NEVER take my tea with lemon. But for some VERY strange reason, this tea is DELICIOUS to me. It might be gluten-free, but I fear it's not crack-free... This stuff is addictive.

And before you ask, yes. I did think that maybe my tastes had changed and I have tried both green tea and also other teas with lemon. Still gross. But? This tea still tastes good. I'm pretty sure it will become the one of my Writing Staples. Not like the metal things that will fasten together papers that I've written on--tea leaves make extraordinarily poor binding agents. I mean that this tea will probably become something that I need to have to help me write. Like some people need a giant bowl of M&Ms and others need particular music. But I think you probably got that, huh? Moving on.

***********

I know I'm not usually one to talk about current TV shows (much) or give away spoilers or anything. but can I just say, "Private Practice, where are you GOING with this? ANY OF THIS? Because I don't think it's any place good and I'm not sure I want to go with you..."? Because all of those things need to be said and I have a blog, so I'm saying them. And I apologize to any of you who are enjoying the current season or are waiting for it to come out on DVD. Please don't let my rant spoil your good time. I may not know what I'm talking about. All I know is that I needed to say these things and I happen to have a platform. So, yeah. Done with that...

***********

I hinted at it in yesterday's post and I'm only going to hint about it again. My former job is not as former as I would like it to be. There are certain circumstances, which have to remain secret (both for the original Rules reasons, but also because what is happening is kind of confidential), that have my blood pressure rising and are reminding me of all the reasons I quit in the first place. It also been a pretty good reminder that I really don't want to be in that particular section of my field for a good long while, so this may have answered my quandaries about a possible job offer I vaguely alluded to in a DIFFERENT post. 

That whole paragraph has served as nothing but a waste of your time, probably, because of how vague I have to be and I maybe shouldn't even post this because you don't know what I'm saying and it doesn't really help me to say it so vaguely, but I'm going to leave it because I typed it and I'm supposed to be ignoring my delete button this month for NaNoWriMo and I would hate to get into a bad habit so early in the game. So chalk this up to another "Unnecessary Detail" and forget I said anything, okay.

Someday, I hope I'm able to tell you all of these secrets I'm keeping. Except that by the time that happens (if ever), it probably won't be interesting to any of us anymore, so it would be kind of anticlimactic anyway. So, sorry for that. And for the above paragraph. Again.

**********

I'm going to Brother and Sister-In-Law's house for dinner tonight with the whole family. We have to leave in an hour and I'm not wearing any pants. Okay, I'm wearing yoga pants. But I always say, "If you're not allowed to wear them out of the house, they don't really count as pants." This dinner thing means I have a perfectly valid excuse for not reaching my word count goal for today. Except that I was already behind. So EVEN THOUGH it is COMPLETELY LEGITIMATE, I'm having a little bit of The Guilt. So I should end this post and see how much further I can get before pants are no longer optional. 

Have a good night and a good weekend. I'll see you all tomorrow!

**********

[I was not paid by Butterball Turkeys, NBC, Aaron Sorkin , Bigelow Teas, ABC, Shonda Rhimes, or Vague Job Industries for any of the preceding statements. I have not, at any time, received compensation for statements I have made on this blog, unless you count Sister slipping me a twenty to keep me from telling embarrassing stories about her (which actually never happened... the stories or the twenty). All of the opinions expressed on this blog are the sole opinions of the writer and probably not even that. No one would pay me to type this drivel. But if the would, I'd totally take it. As long as the didn't ask me to do any REAL work....]

 

Today's Word Count: 1560

Monthly Total: 4887

Writers write, right?

Do you guys remember those promises I made that I wasn't sure I could keep? About NaBloPoMo. And posts about Satan's Cat and my new Winter Car Phobia. I think I've kept all of those promises pretty well, don't you think? More or less, right?

Well, I also kind of broke a reverse-promise. Or a negative promise. Or something. Anyway. I told you all that I would NOT be doing NaNoWriMo this year. Because I didn't think I would be able to keep up with the blog AND the book. But then I got to thinking: I'm unemployed; I'm single; I'm childless; I'm kind of bored of television. If there were any time in my life that I would be able to write a book, it would be now. Which is kind of a kick in the pants. And also kind of daunting, because if I DON'T do it for some reason, does that mean I NEVER WILL? And if I do it now, will I be able to again? And what happens if I fail so publicly? Burning questions all.

But Sister said I was making excuses not to start. So she helped me flesh out a couple characters that have been wandering around in my head for YEARS, begging to be put on paper. We came up with a trajectory and path for their love story. I have no idea what the rest of the book will be about. Like, you know, all the things they're doing and accomplishing WHILE falling for each other. You know, a plot? But it's a start. I want this book to be ABOUT something, not just a common love story. I want people to remember it long after they put it down. I don't know how to accomplish this, but I'm going to try.

And so, with much fear and trepidation, I joined NaNoWriMo last night.

And so, with much coffee and instrumental music, I started writing today.

It's going well so far. But the beginning is always easy for me. The endings are usually decently nice to me as well. It's all the STUFF in the MIDDLE that I struggle with. You know, plot? But I've been told again and again just to start writing and see where it takes me. I'm hoping my characters will tell me where they need to go and what they want to do. Because no one else is going to tell me. And if, at the end of 50,000 words, it's a pile of crap... Well, that's not something I care to think about right now, but I figure I won't have DIED or anything even remotely close, so it will all be okay. Right?

With all of this in mind and an eye toward accountability, I'm going to figure out how to install a tiny widget on the sidebar to track my word count. I am neither techy nor can I find someone else who has ALREADY BEEN techy on behalf of all NaNoWriMo-ers, so it may take a few days. Until I find a widget, I'll post each day's word count and the month's total at the bottom of each post. I'm also going to try to tweet my word count every day.

I know I can sound incredibly self-deprecating or self-defeating sometimes (it's part of my charm), but I really do hope that I succeed at this. For once in my life, I would like to FINISH something. And what's a month, really? Maybe I get a job in the middle of this, maybe I don't. But come December, it's over. For better or worse. And then the weeping and moaning and gnashing of teeth can begin. I wonder where I can find some sack-cloth and ashes... (See what I did here, with the self-deprecation? Charming, right?)

I may need some support from you guys through this process, but I see no problem in getting it. You guys were awesome when I was being all secretive and cagey about the mess at my job (which is coming back to bite me and that's all I can really say right now, but just know that things may be grumpy around here from time to time). You guys are awesome! Thank you for all the wonderful comments and e-mails and love. Keep them coming!

And for those of you a little averse to fiction on a personal blog, don't worry! I won't be posting anything fiction here. I'm way too chicken (I think all those other bloggers who do it are incredibly brave). So it will be the same old drivel and obnoxion here, regardless of my book. If any of you want to join me with (or are already doing) NaNoWriMo, let me know via comment or e-mail and we'll meet up in the forums over there. And if anyone wants to be a proofreader at the end of all of this (Who is also NOT RELATED to me. Because I'm a big fat chicken, that's why, Mom. Strangers make better proofers), let me know and I'll send you my pile of crap (is it still charming?).

And now I'm off to write. Or put on pants and do something productive. It's like Russian Roulette over here.

Until tomorrow,
Elise

Today's Word Count: 3327

Monthly Total: 3327