Some final stats...
Word count in MS Word: 51,140
Word count in NaNo validator: 51,175
Cups of tea: 29
Cups of coffee: 10
Characters killed: 1
Chapters: 27
Days not written: 5
Days written over 5K: 2
Farthest behind I've been: 8,205 (35,128/43,333)
Farthest ahead I've been: 1,550 (24,883/23,333)
(Keep in mind these aren't final novel stats, just final NaNo stats. The story is far from finished.)
Monday, November 30, 2009
And CUT!
Done! Yay! Finally! With an hour to go until the deadline. Whew. My NaNo stats graph looks pretty damn entertaining this year.
I'm a weener, as Grandpa would say!
I'm a weener, as Grandpa would say!
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The #5Kday Challenge
I'm so far behind I've had to take up Chris Baty's Twitter challenge: #5Kday (5,000 words a day). I only managed 3,000 yesterday, but I hardly spent any time at all writing, so I actually didn't do badly at all. Guess I'm aiming for 7k today to make up for it...hoo boy. And tons and tons of homework and grading to do.
Current word count: 39,116. Today's goal: hit 45k! Then hit 50k tomorrow, and not worry about NaNo on Monday. Wish me luck...I'm going to need it. You can follow me on Twitter @kb1qwb.
No excerpt today. I'm rushing so hard the writing quality is going out the window, and I'd be ashamed to show off most of it.
Current word count: 39,116. Today's goal: hit 45k! Then hit 50k tomorrow, and not worry about NaNo on Monday. Wish me luck...I'm going to need it. You can follow me on Twitter @kb1qwb.
No excerpt today. I'm rushing so hard the writing quality is going out the window, and I'd be ashamed to show off most of it.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
The Death of Free Speech
Final word count for Monday: 33,107.
Excerpt of the day:
“Fighting doesn’t have to mean using violence,” Gainor said. “I’ve fought plenty of battles and never once have I hit or shot someone.” He walked back to the cabinet and sorted through the drawer until he realized that he had no idea what he was looking for and couldn’t think of a reason to be looking for anything. “Hell, I’ve never shot a gun at all.”
“This is a different battle you’re fighting now,” Bill said. “This is the battle that happens as a last resort, now that all the lobbying and protesting you’re used to has failed. We’re past the point of peaceful dissent. Staging a protest and speaking your mind will get you locked up these days.”
“Locked up?” Gainor asked. “I remember what Jamie said about the constitutional rights, but I can’t imagine the police are really going to blindly enforce everything the government feels like handing down.”
“What police?”
“Huh?” Now thoroughly confused, Gainor asked, “What do you mean, ‘What police?’ The people in blue uniforms that make arrests and hand out speeding tickets. I don’t know of any other police.”
Bill crossed his arms and stared Gainor down. “Good luck finding your police these days,” he said.
“Finding them?” Gainor demanded, growing impatient. “All I have to do is go to the police station, or call 911, or drive ninety miles an hour down the interstate. I’ll find them. Though usually I try to avoid them.”
Bill shook his head. “Go to the police station tonight,” he said.
“Why?”
“Just go. Find your police, and I’ll show you the death of free speech in America.”
Excerpt of the day:
“Fighting doesn’t have to mean using violence,” Gainor said. “I’ve fought plenty of battles and never once have I hit or shot someone.” He walked back to the cabinet and sorted through the drawer until he realized that he had no idea what he was looking for and couldn’t think of a reason to be looking for anything. “Hell, I’ve never shot a gun at all.”
“This is a different battle you’re fighting now,” Bill said. “This is the battle that happens as a last resort, now that all the lobbying and protesting you’re used to has failed. We’re past the point of peaceful dissent. Staging a protest and speaking your mind will get you locked up these days.”
“Locked up?” Gainor asked. “I remember what Jamie said about the constitutional rights, but I can’t imagine the police are really going to blindly enforce everything the government feels like handing down.”
“What police?”
“Huh?” Now thoroughly confused, Gainor asked, “What do you mean, ‘What police?’ The people in blue uniforms that make arrests and hand out speeding tickets. I don’t know of any other police.”
Bill crossed his arms and stared Gainor down. “Good luck finding your police these days,” he said.
“Finding them?” Gainor demanded, growing impatient. “All I have to do is go to the police station, or call 911, or drive ninety miles an hour down the interstate. I’ll find them. Though usually I try to avoid them.”
Bill shook his head. “Go to the police station tonight,” he said.
“Why?”
“Just go. Find your police, and I’ll show you the death of free speech in America.”
Monday, November 23, 2009
Family Secrets
I got so far behind last weekend thanks to my Internet Programming midterm, which involved hours and hours of beating Drupal upside the head, and then doing the same to one of GoDaddy's servers. After much puzzlement and frustration, the site is finally live at The Everyday Epicure.
So after my big surge ahead on Saturday, I wrote nothing from Sunday to Saturday. Eek! I got as much as 10k behind, then spent a few hours on Sunday (yesterday) catching up. I got down 6k, so as of today I'm only 5k behind, with six more days to go. Unfortunately, this Thanksgiving "break" is going to be filled with homework, so I won't be able to relax and hang around and novel constantly. I'm still determined, though.
Current word count: 32,399.
All recent research has consisted of asking Craig questions about servers, so no pages to show.
Random excerpt:
Gainor focused his attention on his food for the rest of the meal, talking just enough to keep Joyce talking. Ivy couldn’t tell if he was listening to her or not, but she knew he was unhappy about something. She also knew that she didn’t stand a chance of finding out what was bothering him with her mother in the room.
After dinner, Ivy loaded the dishes in the dishwasher and went back upstairs, while Gainor and Joyce retired to the living room. She closed the door and flopped down on the bed again.
This is wonderful, she thought. Like we haven’t been through enough crap already, now dad’s hiding something. She tried to think of what it could be, but couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer.
He lost his job. No, he wouldn’t keep that a secret. Besides, he would probably be glad to get rid of that commute. He’s having an affair. No, he wasn’t the type for that. He was so devoted to her mother it was disgusting sometimes. He’s… But she was out of ideas. What the hell is he trying to hide?
So after my big surge ahead on Saturday, I wrote nothing from Sunday to Saturday. Eek! I got as much as 10k behind, then spent a few hours on Sunday (yesterday) catching up. I got down 6k, so as of today I'm only 5k behind, with six more days to go. Unfortunately, this Thanksgiving "break" is going to be filled with homework, so I won't be able to relax and hang around and novel constantly. I'm still determined, though.
Current word count: 32,399.
All recent research has consisted of asking Craig questions about servers, so no pages to show.
Random excerpt:
Gainor focused his attention on his food for the rest of the meal, talking just enough to keep Joyce talking. Ivy couldn’t tell if he was listening to her or not, but she knew he was unhappy about something. She also knew that she didn’t stand a chance of finding out what was bothering him with her mother in the room.
After dinner, Ivy loaded the dishes in the dishwasher and went back upstairs, while Gainor and Joyce retired to the living room. She closed the door and flopped down on the bed again.
This is wonderful, she thought. Like we haven’t been through enough crap already, now dad’s hiding something. She tried to think of what it could be, but couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer.
He lost his job. No, he wouldn’t keep that a secret. Besides, he would probably be glad to get rid of that commute. He’s having an affair. No, he wasn’t the type for that. He was so devoted to her mother it was disgusting sometimes. He’s… But she was out of ideas. What the hell is he trying to hide?
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Those Games
Friday's final word count: 21,043. I'm caught up again - almost.
Excerpt of the day:
The tiny, fragile body of his little boy, mostly covered by sheets, didn’t even look real. It occurred to him that maybe someone had replaced him with a wax figure and was just playing a cruel joke, that the real Kevin was hiding in the next room and would suddenly jump in and shout, “Boo!”
But life doesn’t play those sorts of games. It takes the coldest, darkest moment of your life and drags you through it face-first, drawing out the suspense and the pain and the anger until you think you can’t take it anymore, and then it keeps pulling you until you can’t even think anymore.
Many hours had probably passed before Joyce slowly pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed the funeral home. Gainor watched from his place on the ceiling, over his own head, while she told them to come pick up the body. He could scarcely believe it when they showed up only seconds later. Gainor’s body exited the room with his wife and his daughter. His heart stayed behind, locked in that room of horror, and his head made itself conspicuously absent.
Excerpt of the day:
The tiny, fragile body of his little boy, mostly covered by sheets, didn’t even look real. It occurred to him that maybe someone had replaced him with a wax figure and was just playing a cruel joke, that the real Kevin was hiding in the next room and would suddenly jump in and shout, “Boo!”
But life doesn’t play those sorts of games. It takes the coldest, darkest moment of your life and drags you through it face-first, drawing out the suspense and the pain and the anger until you think you can’t take it anymore, and then it keeps pulling you until you can’t even think anymore.
Many hours had probably passed before Joyce slowly pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed the funeral home. Gainor watched from his place on the ceiling, over his own head, while she told them to come pick up the body. He could scarcely believe it when they showed up only seconds later. Gainor’s body exited the room with his wife and his daughter. His heart stayed behind, locked in that room of horror, and his head made itself conspicuously absent.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Higgs
I didn't write much yesterday, between being stymied for information on Christian youth groups and my writing room smelling like cat shit. So we'll skip yesterday's embarrassing stats and move right along to today.
Thursday's final word count: 18,393.
Today's research:
Thread on Christian Youth Groups
Map of Cuba, Florida, and Jamaica
Excerpt of the day:
“Nervous?” she asked, pulling away and unzipping her coat.
“Nah,” he said with a big grin. “What’s to be nervous about?”
She shrugged, and was saved from coming up with an answer when Higgs clapped his hands to draw everyone’s attention. “All right!” he called, and the group slowly quieted down. “Everybody grab a chair.”
His name was Ray Higginbotham, but even the kids who were capable of pronouncing his name couldn’t usually be bothered, and so he became known as Higgs. It stuck so well that the adults started calling him that as well, and half the congregation couldn’t even remember his given name.
Thursday's final word count: 18,393.
Today's research:
Thread on Christian Youth Groups
Map of Cuba, Florida, and Jamaica
Excerpt of the day:
“Nervous?” she asked, pulling away and unzipping her coat.
“Nah,” he said with a big grin. “What’s to be nervous about?”
She shrugged, and was saved from coming up with an answer when Higgs clapped his hands to draw everyone’s attention. “All right!” he called, and the group slowly quieted down. “Everybody grab a chair.”
His name was Ray Higginbotham, but even the kids who were capable of pronouncing his name couldn’t usually be bothered, and so he became known as Higgs. It stuck so well that the adults started calling him that as well, and half the congregation couldn’t even remember his given name.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Dying Alone
Final word count for Tuesday: 16,782.
Today's research:
Congenital Heart Disease
Excerpt of the day:
“I’m very sorry to have to tell you this,” the nurse said, sounding genuinely regretful. Joyce’s heart sank. “But Kevin passed away just now.”
Those words couldn’t be real. It wasn’t right. What have we ever done to deserve this? To be stuck on the side of the highway, being searched by pitiless soldiers for something they certainly didn’t have, while their little boy died by himself in a cold hospital, suffering from a disease that only eight in every thousand children ever got?
She didn’t realize she was on the ground until hands and voices pressed at her from all sides, touching and pulling and asking if she was okay. “No!” she wanted to scream at them. “No, I’m not okay! How can I be? How can we ever be okay again? The world just ended and you don’t even give a shit!” All that came out of her was an animalistic wail.
Today's research:
Congenital Heart Disease
Excerpt of the day:
“I’m very sorry to have to tell you this,” the nurse said, sounding genuinely regretful. Joyce’s heart sank. “But Kevin passed away just now.”
Those words couldn’t be real. It wasn’t right. What have we ever done to deserve this? To be stuck on the side of the highway, being searched by pitiless soldiers for something they certainly didn’t have, while their little boy died by himself in a cold hospital, suffering from a disease that only eight in every thousand children ever got?
She didn’t realize she was on the ground until hands and voices pressed at her from all sides, touching and pulling and asking if she was okay. “No!” she wanted to scream at them. “No, I’m not okay! How can I be? How can we ever be okay again? The world just ended and you don’t even give a shit!” All that came out of her was an animalistic wail.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Surrender Your Weapons
NaNo's website is down, so I can't enter my word count. I'm hoping it will come back up by midnight so my words for today will actually show up as having been written on Monday in the widget.
Monday's final word count: 15,068.
Today's research:
S&W Shotguns
Excerpt of the day:
“By order of the President of the United States, we are here to collect any firearms and ammunition that you possess.”
Bill frowned. “And what good is my handgun going to do the President?” he asked. “I believe he has more than enough money to buy his own, should he desire one.”
A swishing and clinking noise whispered through the men on the porch, and there was a general sense of making their rifles more obvious to the dense man behind the door.
“It’s a matter of national security,” the soldier answered. “The President has ordered that all private gun owners surrender their firearms and their licenses immediately.”
Monday's final word count: 15,068.
Today's research:
S&W Shotguns
Excerpt of the day:
“By order of the President of the United States, we are here to collect any firearms and ammunition that you possess.”
Bill frowned. “And what good is my handgun going to do the President?” he asked. “I believe he has more than enough money to buy his own, should he desire one.”
A swishing and clinking noise whispered through the men on the porch, and there was a general sense of making their rifles more obvious to the dense man behind the door.
“It’s a matter of national security,” the soldier answered. “The President has ordered that all private gun owners surrender their firearms and their licenses immediately.”
One Pet Monkey
Final word count for Sunday: 13,545.
Excerpt of the day:
Their parents had stayed out in the hallway to give them a few minutes to themselves. Ivy wanted to spend what time she could with her brother before...she tried not to think that this could easily be the last time she would talk to him at all.
“So guess what?” she asked, as much to distract herself as her brother.
“You got a monkey?” Kevin guessed. Ivy’s smile was a little easier to force this time.
“No,” she said. “Guess again.”
“You won the lottery?”
“I wish!” she said fervently. If she had that kind of money, Kevin would be in a private hospital, getting the best treatment that money could buy.
“Um…I give up. What?”
“I’m suspended from school for the week,” she whispered, like it was a big secret.
Kevin’s eyes grew wide. “Wow. For what?”
“Fighting.” Ivy stuck her tongue out at him.
“Sweet!” he said, grinning. “Did you kick some ass? Who was it?”
“Damn straight I did,” she said, feigning offense that he could think otherwise of her abilities. Then she winked. “But you should see the other guy.”
Excerpt of the day:
Their parents had stayed out in the hallway to give them a few minutes to themselves. Ivy wanted to spend what time she could with her brother before...she tried not to think that this could easily be the last time she would talk to him at all.
“So guess what?” she asked, as much to distract herself as her brother.
“You got a monkey?” Kevin guessed. Ivy’s smile was a little easier to force this time.
“No,” she said. “Guess again.”
“You won the lottery?”
“I wish!” she said fervently. If she had that kind of money, Kevin would be in a private hospital, getting the best treatment that money could buy.
“Um…I give up. What?”
“I’m suspended from school for the week,” she whispered, like it was a big secret.
Kevin’s eyes grew wide. “Wow. For what?”
“Fighting.” Ivy stuck her tongue out at him.
“Sweet!” he said, grinning. “Did you kick some ass? Who was it?”
“Damn straight I did,” she said, feigning offense that he could think otherwise of her abilities. Then she winked. “But you should see the other guy.”
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Teenage Girls
Final word count for Saturday: 12,063.
Excerpt of the day:
“I think they were in a hurry this morning,” he said. “Still figuring things out, you know? I suspect they’ll open another lane when they’re satisfied that everyone’s under control.” He pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge and poured two glasses, setting them on the marble island in the middle of the kitchen, then walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Naomi!” he called. “Come set the table!”
“Coming,” came a faint reply from behind the closed door upstairs. It was a mystery to Bill why she hid in her room every second that she wasn’t required to be outside of it, but some of his coworkers who also had teenage daughters had said that theirs all did the same thing. One of those phases, he thought. I suppose it’s better than the terrible twos.
Excerpt of the day:
“I think they were in a hurry this morning,” he said. “Still figuring things out, you know? I suspect they’ll open another lane when they’re satisfied that everyone’s under control.” He pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge and poured two glasses, setting them on the marble island in the middle of the kitchen, then walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Naomi!” he called. “Come set the table!”
“Coming,” came a faint reply from behind the closed door upstairs. It was a mystery to Bill why she hid in her room every second that she wasn’t required to be outside of it, but some of his coworkers who also had teenage daughters had said that theirs all did the same thing. One of those phases, he thought. I suppose it’s better than the terrible twos.
Breakfast Bread
This stuff is amazing. It's super easy to make, doesn't take many ingredients, and is much tastier than it sounds from the recipe. It's really more like a cake made into a bread shape; somewhat like banana bread, if you've ever had that.
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup milk
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour 9x5-inch loaf pan. Using electric mixer, beat sugar, eggs and butter in large bowl until well blended. Beat in milk. Mix flour, baking powder, cinnamon and salt in medium bowl. Add to butter mixture and beat just until blended.
Pour batter into prepared pan. Bake until golden brown and tester inserted into center of bread comes out clean, about 1 hour. Transfer pan to rack and cool 10 minutes. Using small knife, cut around sides of pan to loosen bread. Turn bread out onto rack and cool completely. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Wrap in foil and store at room temperature.)
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup milk
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour 9x5-inch loaf pan. Using electric mixer, beat sugar, eggs and butter in large bowl until well blended. Beat in milk. Mix flour, baking powder, cinnamon and salt in medium bowl. Add to butter mixture and beat just until blended.
Pour batter into prepared pan. Bake until golden brown and tester inserted into center of bread comes out clean, about 1 hour. Transfer pan to rack and cool 10 minutes. Using small knife, cut around sides of pan to loosen bread. Turn bread out onto rack and cool completely. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Wrap in foil and store at room temperature.)
The Skateboarder
Final word count for Friday night/Saturday morning: 9,778. Almost caught up again!
Today's research:
Pencil Spinning (If the link doesn't work, just look up "pencil spinning" on Google Video.)
Excerpt of the day:
Ivy wasn’t the only one sitting in the in-school suspension room. She was a little peeved that she was, in fact, still sitting there. She had listened while Mrs. Young had called her dad, and it seemed from the conversation that they were going to come and get her. Apparently they had changed their minds. Perhaps they wanted to punish her by letting her sit here all day and cool her heels. She knew better than to think they’d forgotten about her; it was definitely punishment. They could’ve at least asked me what happened, she thought irritably. Then if they want to punish me, they can have at it.
What truly surprised her, though, was her company. There were five of them in the room; that alone wasn’t surprising, nor were the three notorious trouble-makers sitting against the left wall, who were currently plotting something to do with stink bombs and rats. The surprise was the fifth person in the room. She was as out of place in a room for punishment as a skateboarder on a ski slope.
Today's research:
Pencil Spinning (If the link doesn't work, just look up "pencil spinning" on Google Video.)
Excerpt of the day:
Ivy wasn’t the only one sitting in the in-school suspension room. She was a little peeved that she was, in fact, still sitting there. She had listened while Mrs. Young had called her dad, and it seemed from the conversation that they were going to come and get her. Apparently they had changed their minds. Perhaps they wanted to punish her by letting her sit here all day and cool her heels. She knew better than to think they’d forgotten about her; it was definitely punishment. They could’ve at least asked me what happened, she thought irritably. Then if they want to punish me, they can have at it.
What truly surprised her, though, was her company. There were five of them in the room; that alone wasn’t surprising, nor were the three notorious trouble-makers sitting against the left wall, who were currently plotting something to do with stink bombs and rats. The surprise was the fifth person in the room. She was as out of place in a room for punishment as a skateboarder on a ski slope.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Synopsis
I also wrote a synopsis today so my Novel Info page didn't look so blank.
Gainor Hassy just wants the best for everybody, and is willing to go out of his way to make sure they get it. He avoids confrontation and advocates peace. He even does his best to be friendly with a loud-mouth coworker, Bill, whose politics he finds reprehensible. After all, everyone is entitled to their opinions.
Then the President declares martial law, and America erupts into revolution. Gainor knows which side he stands on - until his ten-year-old son is mercilessly killed at the hands of an unsympathetic government. His wife Joyce starts rallying even harder for peace, but to Gainor, suddenly Bill doesn't look quite so crazy anymore.
Is it family loyalty to help your wife in her noble cause? Or is it family loyalty to turn your own values upside-down in the pursuit of justice for your dead son?
The Sniper
Thanks to my busy Wednesday schedule, I've gotten a little behind, but I'm managing to keep it under two days. Final count for Thursday night/Friday morning: 6,797.
Excerpt of the day:
No research today...just poking through my plot cards and trying to figure out which one to attack next. And asking a couple of procedural questions of Craig, who I'm beginning to think should be writing this novel instead of me!
Excerpt of the day:
Looking up at the soldier’s face as he took the card back, Bill glanced over the man’s shoulder and was greeted with an alarming sight. Up on the hill, on this side of the razor-wire-topped chain link fence, was a large gun aimed straight at his face. He couldn’t see anyone behind it, but he was sure at this point that someone was back there, probably more than one someone.
“Thank you,” he was told abruptly. The little car shook as the trunk was slammed shut, and a soldier on the far side of the barrier waved him through. Feeling as though he had just taken a trip through an alternate reality, Bill drove out from the between the concrete pylons and onto the deserted far side of the highway. He reached the parking garage, left the car, and walked into his office in a haze.
No research today...just poking through my plot cards and trying to figure out which one to attack next. And asking a couple of procedural questions of Craig, who I'm beginning to think should be writing this novel instead of me!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
The Orange Juice Reserves
Tuesday's final word count (accomplished ten minutes into Wednesday morning): 5,067.
Excerpt of the Day:
“Look around us.” Ivy gestured with both arms, her floor-length coat spreading out around her like wings as she did so. “Does this look to you like we’re on the verge of war? Come on.” She tossed her head so her hair flew over her shoulder. “The only war we’ve had in the last twenty years never even reachedUS
Today's Research:
Army Ranks
Map of Fort Sill
Excerpt of the Day:
“Look around us.” Ivy gestured with both arms, her floor-length coat spreading out around her like wings as she did so. “Does this look to you like we’re on the verge of war? Come on.” She tossed her head so her hair flew over her shoulder. “The only war we’ve had in the last twenty years never even reached
Today's Research:
Army Ranks
Map of Fort Sill
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Chocolate-Chocolate Chip Muffins
2 cups flour
3 tsps. baking powder
2 tbsps. sugar
3/4 tsp. salt
1 egg
3 tbsps. butter, melted
1 cup milk, warmed
2 tbsps. cocoa
1/2 cup chocolate chips
1 tsp. vanilla
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Combine the flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. Melt the butter and add it to the warm milk. Stir the butter mixture and the egg into the dry ingredients and whisk until just blended. Add the cocoa, the chocolate chips, and the vanilla. Whisk until the cocoa is not entirely blended for a marbled look. Bake 20-25 minutes. Makes ~12 muffins
3 tsps. baking powder
2 tbsps. sugar
3/4 tsp. salt
1 egg
3 tbsps. butter, melted
1 cup milk, warmed
2 tbsps. cocoa
1/2 cup chocolate chips
1 tsp. vanilla
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Combine the flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. Melt the butter and add it to the warm milk. Stir the butter mixture and the egg into the dry ingredients and whisk until just blended. Add the cocoa, the chocolate chips, and the vanilla. Whisk until the cocoa is not entirely blended for a marbled look. Bake 20-25 minutes. Makes ~12 muffins
Writing Spaces
I've been reading the writing spaces thread, and am considering what it would require to set up a real writing space for myself. Currently I'm parked on one end of the couch with my laptop in my lap. However, we added a desk to the spare room upstairs about a month ago, and I could probably do something with that.
Things I need or would need...
1. Index cards
2. Post-It Notes
3. String lights (I've got those around here somewhere.)
4. Chair (That should probably have been item #1, huh?)
5. Decorative thingies, yet to be defined
6. Place to post the index cards and/or Post-It Notes
Things I need or would need...
1. Index cards
2. Post-It Notes
3. String lights (I've got those around here somewhere.)
4. Chair (That should probably have been item #1, huh?)
5. Decorative thingies, yet to be defined
6. Place to post the index cards and/or Post-It Notes
Theater Skulls
Yesterday's final word count: 2,000-something.
Today (well, Monday)'s final word count: 3,328, although my NaNo site time was set wrong and it only attributed 2,288 words to Monday and the other 1,100-some-odd to Tuesday.
Sentence of the Day (All-New Feature, Now For Your Reading Pleasure!):
By the time the bell rang again, the sad skull was satisfyingly depressed, but the happy one just didn’t want to smile.
Today (well, Monday)'s final word count: 3,328, although my NaNo site time was set wrong and it only attributed 2,288 words to Monday and the other 1,100-some-odd to Tuesday.
Sentence of the Day (All-New Feature, Now For Your Reading Pleasure!):
By the time the bell rang again, the sad skull was satisfyingly depressed, but the happy one just didn’t want to smile.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Last Thing I Googled
I just ran across a thread in the forums entitled, "What was the last thing you Googled?"
"NaNo has now begun, which means that it's time to google those little facts that you never thought you needed to know. What's the last thing you googled for your novel?"
Here's a sampling of my recent research:
I Need A Heart Transplant?!
Military Bases in Oklahoma
Most Common Surnames in the US
"NaNo has now begun, which means that it's time to google those little facts that you never thought you needed to know. What's the last thing you googled for your novel?"
Here's a sampling of my recent research:
I Need A Heart Transplant?!
Military Bases in Oklahoma
Most Common Surnames in the US
NaNo 2009...Day One
The last time I kept up this blog was for NaNo 2007, which was my first year doing this psychotic project. I also did it in 2008, but kept the blog elsewhere, in a more public space so my family could read about it. Unfortunately, I got some comments that were less than inspiring.
They weren't critical exactly, but my mother kept posting comments to the effect of, "These stories really make me wonder." Why must my stories make you wonder about me? A story can be a reflection of the author's own self, but doesn't have to be. When you read my writing, mother, I want you to read it for the story it tells, and not for any imagined pieces of psychological blackmail you can pick up on me.
So I've moved the NaNo blog back here.
I stayed up last night (well, technically this morning) to start writing at midnight. I realized at 11:57pm that I had been so caught up in my political research that I had completely forgotten to research heart transplants and reasons a person might need one. My MC's son dies early in the story of congestive heart failure when he is refused a transplant. So I did some quick research and started a few minutes after midnight. I made it to 1,303 before going to bed.
My boyfriend Craig and I were up early this morning to help my best friend Marie and her boyfriend Dan move into their new apartment. She had borrowed a rickety home-made trailer from her dad, which, when filled with furniture and a mattress, threatened to fall to pieces. We used rope to tie down the load, and then ratcheting straps to hold the trailer together. To get the straps to stay, they had to be wedged underneath the tail lights...which promptly started to come loose. I was watching those lights the entire way while I was following her, ready for the moment when they might suddenly shift and the entire trailer and all of its contents would disintegrate all over the highway.
Fortunately, that didn't happen (though I will say it would have been entertaining). The whole move went pretty smoothly, and I got more of a workout than I've gotten in a long while, carrying the heaviest two of the three cardboard boxes up the three flights of stairs myself. Well, I didn't actually carry them. I developed a complicated system of bracing, hip-checking, grabbing and nudging to navigate the staircases; and when I hit flat carpeted floor, I pushed on the top edge of the box and ran behind it, gathering momentum to try and minimize the friction with the carpet. It was, as I said, quite a workout.
We got home a little after 6:00pm, and I took a shower and sat down to write again. I made it to 1,700 (Precisely! My OCD is so pleased!) without much struggle, then wandered off to forum-hop. Next thing I need to do is get up and make soup.
They weren't critical exactly, but my mother kept posting comments to the effect of, "These stories really make me wonder." Why must my stories make you wonder about me? A story can be a reflection of the author's own self, but doesn't have to be. When you read my writing, mother, I want you to read it for the story it tells, and not for any imagined pieces of psychological blackmail you can pick up on me.
So I've moved the NaNo blog back here.
I stayed up last night (well, technically this morning) to start writing at midnight. I realized at 11:57pm that I had been so caught up in my political research that I had completely forgotten to research heart transplants and reasons a person might need one. My MC's son dies early in the story of congestive heart failure when he is refused a transplant. So I did some quick research and started a few minutes after midnight. I made it to 1,303 before going to bed.
My boyfriend Craig and I were up early this morning to help my best friend Marie and her boyfriend Dan move into their new apartment. She had borrowed a rickety home-made trailer from her dad, which, when filled with furniture and a mattress, threatened to fall to pieces. We used rope to tie down the load, and then ratcheting straps to hold the trailer together. To get the straps to stay, they had to be wedged underneath the tail lights...which promptly started to come loose. I was watching those lights the entire way while I was following her, ready for the moment when they might suddenly shift and the entire trailer and all of its contents would disintegrate all over the highway.
Fortunately, that didn't happen (though I will say it would have been entertaining). The whole move went pretty smoothly, and I got more of a workout than I've gotten in a long while, carrying the heaviest two of the three cardboard boxes up the three flights of stairs myself. Well, I didn't actually carry them. I developed a complicated system of bracing, hip-checking, grabbing and nudging to navigate the staircases; and when I hit flat carpeted floor, I pushed on the top edge of the box and ran behind it, gathering momentum to try and minimize the friction with the carpet. It was, as I said, quite a workout.
We got home a little after 6:00pm, and I took a shower and sat down to write again. I made it to 1,700 (Precisely! My OCD is so pleased!) without much struggle, then wandered off to forum-hop. Next thing I need to do is get up and make soup.
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