Achilles’ Heels

Some of you might be wondering why The Lady Of The Blog™ hasn’t been posting on a terribly regular basis since the end of the year.

You might think that her hands have shattered under the sheer volume of words typed; and you’d be forgiven for being wrong. After all, 650,000 words is a lot of words, in a single year. That’s more than ‘War and Peace’ (587,287 words), which took 3 years; ‘Atlas Shrugged’ (either 565,223 or 645,000 words depending on source) completed over 6 years; Les Misérables (530,982) a staggering tome over 17 years; and more than half the size of the entire Harry Potter series (1,084,170 words), which—according J.K. Rowling—took 17 years for all of the books.

The Lady Of The Blog™ would never claim that these were edited, readable, coherent, or even the slightest bit planned, but I watched her writing, through every struggle and trial, in every environment and circumstance: suffering illnesses, making a pilgrimage to San Francisco for ‘A Night Of Writing Dangerously’, completing 49,430 words in a week (an iPad is a great carrot to dangle), a third-degree burn (on her hand, no less), thousands of words lost to software glitches, whiplash, writing a guest blog for the folks behind NaNoWriMo, a birthday party, losing 10 days of writing time attending a wedding, and a friend’s death.

So why in the world—with all that stunning determination—would she slow down? Is it because car died and she had to shop for a new one? Is she busy writing up a couple short stories for an application to Clarion? Is it because she’s feverishly editing the miles and miles of sentences?

I don’t know. But everyone’s got a weakness. 650,000 words are not hers.

 

Spreading sturdy, delicious, and fresh-out-of-the-fridge butter on a stout slice of sourdough… might be.

Image

NaNoWriMo Prep: Establish a Writing Practice

Note: I want to apologize in advance for the anemia of this entry, I have had a very long and exciting day. Make sure to go get a full meal from yesterday's post written by my lovely irowboat about discovering characters. His perspective is unique and astute.

NaNoWriMo is a marathon, and no one goes to a marathon without training. No one who wants to survive anyway.

We're closing in on the last half of October, only thirteen days until the Main Event. I know a lot of people getting ready for NaNo right now are focusing on their stories, trying to work out what to do and what to write.

But if you are not, don't worry. I promise that as long as we keep writing, it will work out. For all those about to NaNo, pantsers or planners alike will end up with what feels like a bunch of wet toilet paper held together with a vague idea and lots of words at the end. The rush comes from having that soggy little mess and knowing it is ours, we made it.

Don't worry much about the story just yet, it will come or it will be forced, but as long as we are relentless in the persuit of our goal, we will finish.

For now, practice.

Take time each day or most days and write. Not only to prepare to write your novel, but to research how you write best. Write in bars and coffee shops and breakfast joints. Write in different places in your house, with different music playing, at different times of day, with the television on or off.

We write to find out what environment we need, acting as anthropologists researching the writer within, see what makes them come out to play. Everyone needs something different; do not worry if your best environment is late at night with campy horror movies playing in the background. If it makes us write, it is what we need.

In writing practice we also learn what it feels like to sit down and write most days, some days, whatever works and is enough to finish. We learn that even when writing feels impossible, if we are trained, we can still eke out five hundred or a thousand words.

And trust me, an extra five hundred or one thousand words can make all the difference.

Learn now to sit and write on demand, or at least to carve the time for writing. Learn how the writer part of you ticks. Get in a habit of writing now, and know that you have the ability to sit down and do it when it really counts.

Practice writing without editing, without backspacing. Practice writing from the hip, practice writing crap, utter, total crap. Use a pen and notebook so there is no backspace key if you must, but get used to the idea of just writing for the words and the feel of forward momentum.

Do your best to write things other than your NaNo novel. Even a great idea will be old by the end of 50,000 words (believe me). Best to not tire ourselves out with it before the fun even begins. And really, don't you want those words to count toward the final 50,000 anyway?

 

Eight Down, Four (Five) to Go!

Like last month, I finished on time, but found that I needed a few days to recover. To be honest, I finished at four in the morning of the first after a long day of marathon writing, curled up on irowboat's sofa with a glass of bourbon and the UK version of Being Human playing in the background.

A lot happened this month that got in the way of writing – and that is why the blog has also been sparse. There were family health problems, sick cats, and I took several days off in a small mountain town about an hour away to celebrate my thirtieth birthday. Then, of course, several days to recover my brain cells after successfully celebrating my thirtieth birthday.

Regardless of the reasons and my best intentions, I ended up the month with a twenty thousand word deficit for the last day of August.

Of course, I did it. It was not pretty, but irowboat, coffee, and willpower managed to get me through.

It was a good win, a big win.

But what I count as the best part of all is that no one in my life, not my parents or friends (especially not irowboat), and not even I, had any doubts that I would finish.

It makes sense that at three quarters of the way through this year, I should have found a way to not doubt. And it makes me wonder if it was not an accident that I left so much for the end. I wonder if I wanted to test my resolve and my ability. Or maybe things just got hectic.

It's hard to tell, and I'm still too tired to think or write in anything but circles.

No matter what, I can be happy that I have written eight novels, most of which I am excited to continue editing and polishing. And I am positive now that I can handle writing two novels in November. I mean, twenty thousand words in a day, people.

Thirteen novels, here I come!

 

Writing Induced Insanity with Cat

Day Twenty Six: 37,202 of 50,000 words

Yes, this is a zombie post.

I’m finally catching up on writing this month, and it’s taking just about everything I’ve got left after even my relatively easy job. The need to keep putting words down is making me rather crazy. Well, crazier.

But, I’ve realized that I’ve neglected the blog. Petty much all month.

So hi.

How Is everyone?

Kilroy? How are you surviving your first month?

I feel like such an awful Internet neighbor. Actually, gazing out at the carpet of dandelions I’ve allowed to grow in my yard, I feel like a bad neighbor. But, yes, I’ve fallen behind on the blog completely and horribly, along with replying to comments, reading as many blogs as I would like to, and well, life.

Everything but writing is on the side right now. Because I have four days and 13,000 words left, and I’m getting tired.

I also figured out that it takes me until 30,000 words to really have a story dialed in. Every month, it’s fog and bread crumbs until I pass that threshold, then suddenly I can see what the story needs. Of course, this rule will probably be obsolete in a few months. Plenty to go.

And now I can say I posted on the blog, made my tribute to the Internet deities.

I should give them an offering.

How about a picture of my cat? The Internet loves pictures of cats, right?

There. Internet gods be appeased.

Back to writing.

Good Habits are Hard to Break?

I just really needed to share this with someone.

Because I may be a bit mad.

It is 2:30 am.

I had four hours of sleep last night.

I’ve written two novels so far this year, and have only two very short days until I must begin the next one.

So, what am I doing?

I’m awake. Writing more on the novel from January.

Because I missed writing.

My martial arts teacher always says “Good habits are hard to break.”

But seriously…

Two Down, Ten To Go!

Day Twenty-Seven: 50,685 of 50,000 words

Despite getting this month off to a rocky start, and thanks to a mild stomach flu that kept me relatively downed this weekend, I’m done. Done I tell you!

Well, you know, until next month.

In three days.

The disturbing bit is that despite the setbacks this month, I’m feeling like I might be getting the hang of this writing thing. Sure, my house is in a bit of disorder and my workout schedule is wacky, but I was expecting to slowly disintegrate by now. I thought I’d be wondering what on Earth I’ve gotten myself into.

I guess there’s still plenty of time for that though.

Like, ten months. And eleven novels.

This is where I stare blankly at the screen.

Anyway, in the next few days I want to post my daily word counts for both months – demonstrate my daily progress (or non-progress) – and if I’m feeling extra rambunctious, I’ll even see about editing an excerpt from each of them, though that bit might have to wait until the end of next month. We’ll see.

And until next month, I’ll be sleeping. And brushing my cat. And working out. And cleaning my house. And blogging.

Ok, I’ll be sleeping.

Booya

In Which the Writer is Too Tired to Make Sense

Day Eighteen: 33,024 of 50,000

I’ve fallen behind on my word count; I would prefer at least a solid 36,0o0, but life is life and it gets underfoot like a hungry cat.

Sometimes, a girl just needs her space. From the people who live in her head.

I needed to get away from the words for a minute and deal with some life pressure, get laundry done, pet my cat, return a few emails, and somehow fall incredibly behind on sleep.

I also needed to step far away from the story and let it mature, let it speak and whisper to me and to itself as I took a rest from creating it. It’s been a cranky teenager, and I’ve been the over-controlling parent.

Funny thing is, when my story finally sorted itself into a clear (well, clearish) line for me to follow, it looked a lot like the story I was getting ready to tell from the beginning. Only better. Much. Better.

Ok, confession time: I threatened my novel. I looked it in the eye and said “Look you little punk, there are eleven more stories coming after you, and I can just throw you in the fireplace if you don’t work out. Shape up or get ready for the incinerator.”

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking. I don’t know.

All I do know is that the novel has decided to play nice again, and there are some changes to make. This means I had some backtracking and re-writing of a few key scenes to do. I generally avoid scene re-writes in the first draft, but it had to be done for me to move forward.

Now, it’s grown so rich and detailed I’m worried that this story can’t be completed within 50,000 words this month. If there is a worry to have, this is the best of them.

I have also found a favorite line:

“I don’t know why I hit him. It made sense to my fist, and when I’m in certain moods I don’t argue with my fist.” 

Yeah, I like it.

That is all for now. We’ll be back to a more slept kind of blogging within a few days.

And until then, here is a beautifully lucid thought.

Goodnight.

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