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  • NaNoWriMo Standings – Week 4

    It’s Saturday at the Confabulator Cafe. Many of our writers are participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), so let’s take a moment and give a special shout-out to all our writers who have already crossed the 50,000 word mark! Great job Jessi, Paul, Christie, Jason, and Ashley. Keep writing!

    As of last night at midnight, here are our standings:

    Jessi Levine (54,598 up from 47,710 words)

    Paul Swearingen (52,899 up from 47,599 words)

    Christie Holland (50,752 up from 33,473 words) — Municipal Liaison

    As we’re lead down more stairs, I want to kill the architect of the building.  I realize that it’s a government building.  It’s a place of business and not a place of entertainment and all, but this is ridiculous.  All the walls are the same color.  And not a color like white, which is boring but at least clears your head.  No.  The walls are an ugly shade of light grey.  It’s a color that drains your will to live and makes you forget what the sun looks like.  Combine it with the floors, an awful grey speckled linoleum, and you don’t even need a torture room for this facility.  Just let someone sit in a room , all by himself, with only the walls to look at, and he’ll be ready to spill his guts for you in a matter of hours.

    Ashley M. Poland (50,713 up from 34,239 words)

    “They’re really fucking fast,” Rod says. He has wet bits of Val all down the left side of his face. For the first time JQ sees the slash along the side of his neck, and the blood gone dry in the hollow below his lip.

    Jason Arnett (50,388 up from 36,805 words)

    This is life, Albert. And I’m a badass thief who’s dealt with this kind of person a lot more than you have. I’ve always been successful at this sort of negotiation.

    Always? Never had a moment where you didn’t see something coming? Never been surprised?

    Ted Boone (43,076 up from 28,061 words)

    Einstein’s theory of special relativity had nothing on human emotion when it came to time dilation.

    R.L. Naquin (38,179 up from 35,546 words)

    “The purifying ritual, technically, is for show. That’s all rituals are, you know. Show. They help the user focus her energy so she can tap into the magic. If doing the chicken dance for five minutes is what you wanted to do first, it would work, as long as you concentrated on it while you did it. You’d look pretty stupid, though.”

    “I make the chicken dance look elegant, I’ll have you know.”

    She patted my hand. “Next time you’re in a church ceremony, feel free to substitute, then. I’m sure everyone will be impressed by your razzle dazzle.”

    I pictured myself flapping my arms during the baptism of a friend’s baby. “You know, sometimes it’s probably best to conform.”

    Aspen Junge (36,712 up from 25,630 words)

    Sara Lundberg (35,311 up from 24,053 words) — Municipal Liaison

    She darted behind one of the heaping piles just in time for another shit cannonball to hit. Shit made a very distinctive noise when hitting more shit, she decided. Something like the sound of taking a dump in an outhouse or portable crapper. The long drop and then the moist, liquidy sound of shit on shit and piss.

    Larry Jenkins (34,635 up from 23,716 words)

    With a quick flick of my wrist, I sent the blade of the shovel arcing in a semi-circle and brought it down on top of Scott’s head. I’d intended it to be a gentle love tap, more of a warning than anything else, but I am not the most graceful of ninjas.

    Kevin Wohler (26,069 up from 21,948 words)

    Jack Campbell, Jr. (22,050 up from 12,430 words)

    I helped myself to the real scotch. It didn’t burn near as much this time. Old habits came back easy, like riding a bike. You never forgot how to be a lush.

  • Prepare for Your Weaknesses

    I’m sorry this is running a bit late in the day; my family just took off, and I’m only just now remembering that I have things to do on the computer. My bad, y’all.

    Thing is, I knew that the second my family hit town, I would forget to do anything online. My family doesn’t live too far — only about three or four hours away, depending on much of a lead foot you have — but I miss them dearly. They usually only come for a day or two, so I pretty much focus on doing things with them.

    Knowing this, I decided that I would hit 50K by Wednesday. It was sort of rough there for a while. I got tired. I got frustrated. But Christie and Jason were going along with it too, and all three of us hit 50K. (I got it done at 11PM on Wednesday, but damn it, it got done.)

    Of course, the novel isn’t done. I pretty much decided to validate and jump right back in to dinner prep. Which was worth it, as dinner was well-received, well-loved, and sent our family right into the throes of a food coma so intense, that I was nodding off at 10PM. It was a great night of delicious drinks and pleasant company. We played Cards Against Humanity, wherein we learned that while my mother might be too nice for it, she would occasionally just drop a vulgar card right when you weren’t expecting.

    Frankly, I would delete my whole novel for more nights just so good. Thankfully, no one expects that.

    That said, NaNoWriMo doesn’t end just because you hit 50K; it’d be against the spirit of it. There are still write-ins to attend, friends to cheer on. I still intend to make every effort to finish this novel before NaNoWriMo ends.

    There’s probably more real life to deal with now than there was pre-Thanksgiving. The mountain of dishes alone is staggering. But Week Four is worth the effort.

  • Pantsing Rules!

    Pantsing. Outside of NaNo, it’s not a word you hear in the common vernacular. I looked it up on Urban Dictionary while writing this post, and the definitions you find there are not what I mean. At all.

    During November, Pantsing is short for, “By the seat of my pants,” which means you’re writing your story with little to no plan, allowing your characters and plot to evolve minute by minute, word by word. (an aside: the phrase is apparently rooted in aviation history. Huh! The more you know!)

    I am not a planner. I am also not a pantser. I’m a middle-of-the-road kinda guy, as previously discussed here on Confabulator. If I plan too much, I lose momentum. But if I don’t plan enough, I lose direction. So I dance down the razor’s edge between the two, and see how things turn out.

    My point for this week is that when pantsing works? It’s fucking awesome. Head-exploding, Bill-and-Ted/Jeff Spicoli kind of awesome.Here’s my example from this year’s story:

    Early, I wanted to describe digging through data in an interesting, visual way. Writing SQL queries does not exactly make for interesting fiction. The first idea that struck me was to describe things as a caver, or spelunker. So, I did. My data miners dive into caves of data, and use their spelunking tools to find interesting tidbits of information amongst the various dross of data.

    Not bad.

    Then I thought, how else can I visualize data? Specifically taking encrypted data and decrypting it?

    Weavers.

    The word hit me, and I typed it. Who are the Weavers? How do they work? I had no idea. Not when I typed it.

    Later, it turned out the Weavers are humans that have gene-modded themselves for low-gravity environments: long, thin limbs, big eyes, thumbs-on-feet kinda thing. And their computers use fiber optic cables stretched across vast chambers. The Weavers, floating in zero-gee, constantly rearrange the fiber optic strands to produce different programs in the computer, much like the original computers. They “weave” their programs.

    It’s totally ridiculous and inefficient, but who cares? The imagery is pretty cool.

    With me so far?

    Okay, so an overarching idea in this year’s story is that one of my original Martian settlers takes it upon himself to create huge, incredibly elaborate alien artifacts. The first is so convincingly crafted, scientists and experts completely fall for it. More artifacts are discovered, and humanity’s all: “Awesome! Totally awesome!” Some humans are so excited about the findings, they…genetically engineer themselves to look like the aliens that must’ve created the artifacts in the first place. Weavers.

    Bing! Headsplosion!

    Eventually, the hoax is revealed. Most people are rightfully pissed off. The Weavers, however, embrace their new forms. They even retrofit one of the fake artifacts and create a working Weaver computer.

    One used by my main character to decrypt a super-secret message.

    A message that might prove that her father, the hoaxer that created the fake artifacts, wasn’t responsible for all the artifacts after all.

    That one artifact, in particular, might be real.

    WHOA.

    That, my friends, is the magic of pantsing.

  • The First Finish Line

    What’s the most wonderful time of the year? During NaNoWriMo when I cross that first finish line.

    It’s the end of week 3 of NaNoWriMo and hey – look! I broke 50,000 words on Wednesday.

    While I’m VERY proud of having done this for the second year in a row, I’m not done writing. My plan for this book was to get a good novel-length story told as quickly as possible in order to go back and edit it into something I could be even more proud of.

    So I’m not done writing.

    But because I finished early and there’s no one clamoring for this book (it’s a sequel to last year’s) I can slow down into a nice rhythm of writing about 2K per day. If I do that I will have written about 66,000 words for the month. And that would make me very, very proud indeed.

    See, NaNo teaches you the mechanics of how to be a writer:

    1. Sit down. (Or stand up if you’re Ernest Hemingway.)
    2. Put your fingers on the keys.
    3. WRITE. Make your daily word count and don’t whine about it.

    Everything else, EVERYthing else, is secondary. Just get in the habit of writing, of putting one word after another into a line while making some sort of sense.

    I’ll get more into this in the post-game when that comes up, but my biggest headaches so far this month have been making sure I don’t head-hop and trying to put some variety in my sentences, structure-wise.

    But see, that’s just whining.

    I’m enjoying the fact that I wrote 50,000 words so quickly, just as quickly as last year. I’m very happy with my story and how it’s coming along. I like it and it’s getting exciting. Stuff is happening. My goal this year was to write more in the month than I did last year. At one point I was on track to write nearly 75,000 words. I don’t thing I’ll make that but I could conceivably hit 70K+.

    So I want to reward myself. I’m allowing that I have some other work that needs to be done now that this major milestone has been reached:

    1. I have to revise last year’s novel for passivity and resubmit it.
    2. There are plans to be made for the coming calendar year in regards to writing.
    3. And yeah, some downtime.

    It’s been a great NaNoWriMo so far, but it’s not over. I’ve got seven days left. A week is a long time. That’s at least 14,000 words.

    Pretty sure I’m gonna make the goal I set for myself.

  • (Peer) Pressure and (Face) Time.

    What is it that keeps me writing 50,000 words of only slightly mitigated crap through November? Peer pressure, of course [0].

    The Lawrence Wrimo group is amazing. The Lawrence Wrimo group is so amazing that people who have moved away to other parts of the country still participate— on Facebook, by email, through our blog, on IRC [1]. I fully expect that once the first Lawrence Wrimo goes to that Great Thank God It’s Over Party in the ceiling [2], they will still be logging in to talk smack bless us with their presence.

    We have thrice weekly write-ins through the month of November. We have nearly nightly chat-ins [3] which are raucous parties in their own right. We hold monthly Writer’s Nights Out year-round, and if all goes well may start scheduling the occasional Writer’s Movie Night [4].

    What was wholly unexpected when I started doing Nano lo these many mango seasons ago, is that we keep getting together because it turns out we like one another. And through that liking we support one another, suggest ideas, provide escape hatches for those who have written themselves into a corner, cheer on successes, mourn the loss of ideas that seemed good at the time but simply could not be brought to life, and hold one another accountable to our word/page counts.

    For something stereotyped as an introverted, solitary pursuit, writing is surprisingly social.

    [0] True story: I did not volunteer to be a Confabulator. I became one when Sara fixed me with her beady eye and said, “Pick a day to post. Saturday is open.” I was too intimidated to say no. [0.5]

    [0.5] Seriously, Sara, I love you. I just needed the kick in the pants.

    [1] That’s Internet Relay Chat, the great-granddaddy of texting, to you youngins.

    [2] Or basement, depending on how well they’ve studied the scripture according to Strunk and White and followed the tenets of good grammar.

    [3] I’m trying to get an early morning version going for those of us who do our best thinking before 3:00 PM.

    [4] The Hobbit, definitely. Anna Karenina or Les Miserables, possibly. Cheesy musical seventies porn based on fairy tales, there will be plenty of booze. Anything from the Twilight series, oh dear god no. There is such a thing as standards.

  • Dispatches from the Trenches – Week 3

    Although the NaNoWriMo tradition suggests that every day should be filled with writing, it’s Thanksgiving in America. I know this day will be spent with my family. I’m even writing this post in advance, so I won’t be distracted on the big day.

    NaNoWriMo 2012

    For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been posting my correspondence from the front lines of NaNoWriMo. As the battle to finish my story rages on, I’ve shared my triumphs and losses. But not today. Instead, I want to take a break from the war on words and talk about why this holiday really means a lot to me.

    We all have our particular Thanksgiving traditions. When I was a kid, Thanksgiving always meant an extra trip to church, followed by a big family dinner that my mom would prepare — often skipping out on the church service because the turkey needed to be basted or the potatoes needed to be mashed.

    I remember rushing home from church to catch as much as possible of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. For me, the holiday season couldn’t start until I saw all the balloons and floats — and, of course, the jolly old man himself, Santa Claus — march down New York City’s 34th Street.

    Macy's Believe MeterThese days, Thanksgiving is a time for me to share with my wife and family. My wife and I wake up early on Thanksgiving morning. We have coffee while we watch the parade and slowly get ready for visiting family members.

    She and I still delight to see our favorite childhood characters represented on floats and as gigantic balloons. We love to see the Muppets, and the characters from Sesame Street. She cries when the Radio City Rockettes perform. We still wave to Santa at the end of the parade.

    Why? You might say it’s because we’re still children at heart. We still believe in magic. And when the Believe Meter in front of Macy’s goes from “Imagine” to “Believe,” our hearts swell with happiness and tears come to our eyes because we believe in the promise of hope that comes with this season.

    I think that’s what I’m most thankful for — this year and every year. I’m thankful I have a wife who shares my hopes and dreams about the future. I’m thankful that she is a writer, too, and understands my need to tell stories. I’m thankful she still believes in magic. And I’m thankful that she refuses to grow up, even as we grow older together.

  • Dinosaurs and Sushi Bars

    NaNoWriMo, day 21,537,832.

    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?

    The ice cream is all gone. I ate it. Sorry.

    Alfalfa sprouts.

  • Plodding Forward

    Last week brought you tales of joy and birthday celebrations. I rode that high for a week before it ultimately had to come to an end. And like most highs (and I’m talking about my experiences with sugar and caffeine highs here, peeps), that end met with a definite crash.

    Last week it was good to be me. This week, I’m willing to offer up a trade. Any takers? No? Fine… I guess I’ll turn all my bitter disappointment into fuel for my writing. And two thirds of the way through NaNo, I finally feel like I’m ready to write again. If I can hold onto that feeling (and all the feelings roiling inside of me) until after Thanksgiving, I might be able to get a start on a new novel. Because I need to get these words out before I burst. Or say something really stupid to the wrong person.

    Last week wasn’t all bad, though. Friday night was the Halfway Party. I felt a bit guilty for showing up, since I’m sitting this year’s NaNo out, but the best thing about my writer’s group is how welcoming and supportive they are. Well, maybe Sarah minded… but that’s only because we talked her into a tequila shot that I think she regretted. The face she made after taking it sure made it look like she regretted it.

  • The Magical Week Three

    Last week I talked about how my word count would have to suffer while I put the rest of my life back in order.

    Well most things are now ordered, so I am pushing hard to get back on track with word count. With Turkey Day being this week, I’ll have both down time and busy time, so I should be able to keep on pace.

    I am a little terrified, however, because I just got my final exam for my grammar class, and it’s due by December 3rd. And it looks HARD.

    Anyways. That’s where I’m at in life and word count. Let’s talk about much more pleasant things. Like where I’m at in my story.

    I just have to say, that regardless of the year, the third week of Nanowrimo always ends up being magical. My story is picking up speed. The words are easy to write. My characters are developing themselves. Unexpected plot twists emerge in each word sprint. This. The things that start to happen in Week Three are what I love about being a writer.

    It just takes two weeks of hammering your head against a wall to get to this magical point.

    (more…)

  • Don’t Lose Sleep Over it: Oh, Wait. You have No Choice.

    All right, so we’re nineteen days in and here’s the biggest takeaway I’ve learned so far: NaNo is a jealous and vengeful god. If you ever want to have a relationship with something that does not give a damn about the way you feel, I encourage you to participate in NaNoWriMo.

    Don’t get me wrong, the people involved are great, and it’s the support and camaraderie that suckers us in year after year and convinces us that we’re having fun in this collective misery. And I think we are having fun, at least most of us are, but I can’t help but wonder if we’re not the best judges of what constitutes a good time.

    You know how when you’re really tired even the lamest joke can sound funny?

    I think that’s where a lot of us are right now. We’re teetering on the brink of exhaustion, but it’s a shared experience, so that makes it somehow better. I, for one, have only hazy memories of the previous eighteen days. But I also get a general sense of warmth when I try to recall this month, so I’m sure I’ll be on board again when next November rolls around.

    (more…)