Well, for somebody who burst on the scene of this year’s NaNoWriMo with the super-sekrit plan to pull a double, I damn near didn’t make the single. Considering I’d planned the whole thing as a lesson in pacing, that almost makes it a “fail.”
But it’s not. I learned from it. I learned how far I can go before I hit overload and melt into an obstinate crankypants who spends a rebellious week watching movies all day on the Hallmark channel instead of writing. Yeah, that’s right. I did that. Shut up.
Because then I picked myself back up and moved forward at a normal pace. So, for three out of the four weeks, I wrote every day. And for that last week, I pretty much did what I’m supposed to be doing year round, but never figured out how to do before.
So, obviously, I’m not doing a double NaNo. Or even the NaNo and a half, which was my revised plan.
The logic behind the plan seemed pretty solid. My day job is to write this book. I should be writing 2k a day already. Everyone else works a day job, then does NaNo, so I should be able to do the same.
Bzzzzt. Incorrect.
There was a hole in my logic. The rest of my writer buds went to work or school and did their work there, then switched gears to do NaNo afterwards. I’m not saying it’s been easy for them. I’ve watched everyone sweat through this. The day only has so many hours, and several Lawrence writers pushed themselves so hard they finished before Thanksgiving. (Way to go, guys! I am so proud of you all!)
I did pretty well for the first two weeks. I might have finished the first 50k by Thanksgiving too if I hadn’t bitten off so damn much all at once. But I had no downtime. I worked on it all day, then I worked on it again at night. Every waking hour was either writing this book or thinking about the next scene. There was no switching gears for me. No refresh button.
I lost my freaking mind. I shut off completely and barely wrote a word for nearly a week. So much for being way ahead of the NaNo word-count goals. It took a lot of days of not writing to get behind.
Had I walked into this with a cool head and said “Hey, I have a book due soon. How convenient that NaNo is here and my writer buddies can help me finish it,” everything would have been fine. I’d have breezed right through the damn thing without breaking a sweat. But I had to go all manic and think I could conquer the world.
So. Lesson learned. I’m fine now. I’ve got less than 8k words left, and three days to do it in. That’s only a little bit more than what I need to do on a regular work day. I’ll finish on time and walk away knowing my limits and how to organize a proper work day for myself so I can keep those habits forever.
It’s almost over. Everyone else will go back to their regular lives, and I’ll still be doing NaNo. Every day. Every week. Every month.
Because first NaNoWriMo taught me how to follow through, and now it’s taught me to stick within my limitations.
Here is a plastic giraffe in a tuxedo. Squids have six arms, but sea monkeys only have two.
So tired. The overhead lights beat down on my head. The sofa cushion has permanently taken on the shape of my ass.
The words have dried up. I’m at the climax scene. I have to kill someone I love, and my heart is breaking. I don’t want to go on.
Thanksgiving is almost here. I don’t have to cook. I made reservations. But I still must clean. They’re coming here afterward. I can’t let my family know that we live like this.
I write a few words. I hunt down all the moldy things in the fridge. I scrub the crumbs and coffee stains off the counters.
I need to write the words, but we also need food. The sound of my own voice is sharp, and I cackle maniacally at something the cashier says. She and the bagger exchange worried looks. I hope what she said was funny. I’ve already forgotten what it was.
I have an idea for another story. I could skip over this monstrosity and work on something new, right?
I have a new kitten. She’s very sweet and loving. My leg looks like it’s been through a meat grinder. Because she loves me so.
I’m tired. My white board is almost empty. Only a few index cards left. Maybe it’s not too late to save my beloved character. Why does anyone have to die?
I’m currently well over 30k words, but the gap between the regular NaNo goal and my spazzy personal goal is narrowing. I still hope to catch up and finish this first novel by next Monday, though. Not quite a two week NaNo finish, but damn close.
Still, this is about training myself to write every single day, regardless of whether I feel like it. Because it’s my job. Jane’s right about that, at least. I’ve had two or three days where I only managed to produce 1500 words, but other than that, it’s been 2-4k every day.
Every book I’ve written has, at some point, sent me into a spiral of self-doubt. Usually it begins right around the 30k mark. The fact that it didn’t hit me this time until about four chapters from the climax scene (at which point, it’ll be downhill, and I’ll finish quickly) must mean something. Either my ego has grown tremendously since the last one, or maybe, just maybe, this one is better.
But I seriously doubt it.
I look at what I’ve written up to this point and pound my chest in despair. It’s not funny enough. People expect me to be funny. This one is so dark. I’ve already cried twice since I started writing it. There are continuity issues that need to be fixed. One very important character doesn’t sound the way I want her to, except for rare one-liners. I have too many characters. My story has holes. I am the worst writer on the planet.
And I’d rather set my hair on fire than write another festering word.
And that, my friends, is the dreaded NaNo week two.
So, yeah. My progress has slowed. But that’s okay. I’m still making progress each day, even if it’s not at the pace I’d wanted. And I will still finish about two weeks early.
You know why?
Because I need a two-week break from this piece of crap before I start editing it into something I can send my editor a month later without her falling into a dead faint.
Welcome to Bootcamp, soldier. You will hate me by the time this is over, but deep in your lazy, pathetic heart, you’ll also thank me.
I see by your record you wrote a book last year. And one the year before.
Who the hell cares? Look around you. You see all these people sweating over their novels? You see them losing sleep, downing sugar and caffeine just to get another 100 words squeezed in? They’re writing a novel each year, too.
And you know what? They have jobs. Classes. Small children. Spouses who aren’t doing this with them. What’s your job, soldier? What do you do every day?
Oh, you’re a writer. I get it. You stay home all day to write because your husband makes it possible. For your career. Sure.
There. I said it. While most everyone around me is nervously putting together a plot and interesting characters for a brand new novel they can’t wait to start tonight at midnight, I’m just biding my time.
I’m about 30,000 words into book three of my Monster Haven series. Tonight, I will open a new document and start the rest of the book. 50,000 more words will get me to 80k by the end of the month, which will be the end of the novel. If not, I’ll write more than 50k. The important thing is not the 50k for me, it’s getting to the words “the end.”
This is how I’ve done it for the last two years, and it’s worked out really well for me. (more…)
Benny stood over the disemboweled body, his facial expression unchanged.
“Sonofabitch,” he said.
He backed up against the flimsy structure of the milk-bottle toss, making the booth shake.
“Hey,” Syd yelled from the other side. “Watch it!”
Benny peered around the corner at Syd and signaled him to come over.
“Problem?” Syd flipped his sign to “closed” and jumped over the counter. He followed Benny and looked down at the body. “Holy shit.” Syd’s face remained passive, but he hopped from foot to foot, and his eyes darted around the small space between game booths.
Benny nodded. “That’s the third one this week. We have a definite problem.” (more…)
Writing is the easiest hard thing I’ve ever done. Or maybe the hardest easy thing. Either way, it has its ups and downs on the difficulty spectrum.
Ideas are easy. We’ve talked before about ideas and how they tumble over each other to get attention. They’re a dime a dozen and show up at all hours with little work.
Hard? Turning ideas into a cohesive story.
Easy: Cranking out 500 words during a 15-minute word sprint when everyone around you is doing the same thing.
Hard: Cranking out 500 words in an hour when it’s just you in the whole house, you have no idea where the story is going, there are dishes in the sink, and someone on Twitter is being particularly witty. (more…)
MAURICE: Hello, everyone! Welcome to another episode of Hidden Hangout. As always, I’m your host, Maurice the Closet Monster.
(Theme music accompanied by awkward dancing around the set)
We’ve got a fantastic show lined up for you. In our cooking segment, we’ll be showing you some great tips for saving money on your grocery bill by shopping from your neighbors’ garden when they’re not home.
We’ll be talking with treasure expert, Bruce the Pygmy Dragon. He’ll be sharing his favorite brass polishing tips, as well as some advice on how to shop for the best deals on antiques at flea markets.
And , yes, you’ve probably already heard about it. We have Yanni in the house today! (more…)
I am extremely spoiled by the support I’ve received from my family and friends. The only negativity I’ve ever received came from the girl in the mirror. She’s pretty good at it, though, so it was plenty to keep me from following through for a very long time.
Norman Rockwell’s “Girl at Mirror”
My parents never laughed at anything I wanted to do. As a kid, I wanted to be a writer. In high school, I looked forward to getting a degree in English. When I got to college…well, that’s a long story. I’ll try to keep it short. I moved around a lot. I changed colleges with every move. And I changed majors frequently.
First, it was film. I wanted to be a producer, though I had no idea, really, what producers did. But they had a lot of money. When I shot my final project at the wrong speed, I panicked and dropped the class. I hadn’t written it to be in slow motion. Nobody laughed, though. They encouraged me. Even though I quit the rest of my classes, too, and moved away.
Business is smarter. If you want to get rich, major in business.
Did you know they’ll make you take accounting? I was getting a C in the class, but still had no idea what the hell I was doing. I quit. And yeah, I moved again. But it was okay. Follow your dreams, right?
We’re not even going to discuss marine biology. I love the ocean. Whales are awesome. Living near water might have helped this move along better than it did, but let’s just call it a non-starter and press on.
I did other things. Started businesses doing weird things like desktop publishing and making stuffed bears dressed like people. But writing was always there. I just didn’t think it was smart to make it a career.
Thirty-six. That’s how old I was when I went back and finally declared myself an English major. My husband was proud of me. My kids were proud of me. My parents were proud of me. It all slipped into place. I wrote stories and finished them. I went away for a week to a writer’s workshop. I had a few things published in the university’s literary magazine.
Everyone beamed with pride. The encouragement was incredible. For Christmas, my brother presented me with a copy of the year’s Writer’s Market, telling me “It’s time.”
He was right. I took the next steps, and when I became a neurotic wreck from submission-related waiting, my family rallied around me, soothing my fears, making me eat, and telling me constantly that I’m a great writer and something good was bound to happen.
And now? They still rally around me when I’m afraid, neurotic, depressed, or obsessed. The kids make sure I eat when I’m on a writing bend. My husband doesn’t complain when he can’t find clean socks. My friends understand if they don’t see me or hear from me for weeks. The whole house goes silent if I’m on a deadline.
Nobody’s ever laughed or told me I was foolish but me. And even the girl in the mirror, though not exactly encouraging yet, no longer voices objections.
Well, for somebody who burst on the scene of this year’s NaNoWriMo with the super-sekrit plan to pull a double, I damn near didn’t make the single. Considering I’d planned the whole thing as a lesson in pacing, that almost makes it a “fail.”
