On Randomness

Because it's entertaining, if not encouraging to writers with slightly higher standards, here is the most random thing I wrote today:

It was a path. Excellent. At least I wouldn't get lost in the woods and eaten by rabid elves.

And now you know the bitter truth about writing Nanowrimo. Sometimes it's easier to rack up the word count if you just go on autopilot and let your subconscious take over. Apparently, my subconscious is worried about cannibalistic magical creatures.

Should I go to counseling for that?

Art Imitating Life

And today's winner for best proof of writing what you know is:

"She smelled slightly of a damp sock left too long at the bottom of a laundry pile."

Yup! I need to do laundry.*

And in case you were wondering, that is the hero describing the heroine. Not exactly a romantic observation, is it? Hard to believe he actually kisses her less than two paragraphs later. I hope she brushed her teeth!

*To clarify, I don't smell like a damp sock but my bedroom definitely does.

Look! Look!

Cover and synopsis to the right. Now if only I put this much energy into actual writing...

So far, so good.

We're only one day into November, but I'm feeling optimistic about where I'm at. Definitely not hitting the 4k mark today (I just kind of hit a wall. I don't even have a good excuse.) but I'm still ahead of the game from a sheer numbers standpoint.

What's even better, I finally figured out a full fledged plot. It's still crap, but it feels good to be steering this old literary bus somewhere besides random word oblivion.

Keeping Me Honest - Day One

(A snippet from the crappy novel I'm writing. Quality is NOT guaranteed.)


Natalie’s Blog Entry
Sunday, November 1, 2009
I’m not a liar. Those who don’t understand the difference between what I do, and the villainous acts of those chosen few, have never met me. But then, that’s my own fault, isn’t it?
Comments 507

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Chapter One
Thompson’s Side of the Story
Three years earlier

“Where the hell is she, Cooper?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know. I swear it.”

The battered copy of Don Quixote flew out of Thompson’s hand and across the room to neatly crease the drywall behind Cooper’s head. Thompson moved nearly as fast as the book, putting his hand on Cooper’s neck and willing the skin to part so he could grasp those fragile bones in his hands and crush them to dust. Of course, he didn’t have that power. He never had the power he wanted, when he wanted it.

Every muscle in Cooper’s body tightened, but he didn’t move.

Thompson put his forehead against Cooper’s. It was an intimidation technique his father told him they used in war. Get inside the enemy’s space. Unnerve them, throw them off-balance and you just might get your answers.

“I know you saw her. I know she was here. That’s her goddamn book, Cooper.

Cooper pulled back and smashed his head against Thompson, who lost his grip and fell backwards onto the white leather couch. A dark pool began to form, dripping from the jagged tear above Thompson’s eyebrow.

It Begins!

And the best news is that I have a story idea. A very convoluted, unsteady sort of story, but a story none the less.

But what am I doing wasting words here?

788 words. Going to bed now, but I'd like to hit 4k by this time tomorrow.

I have no idea what I'm going to write.

And Nano starts in 4 hours. I'm screwed.

That is all. :)

Yep.

I know anyone who takes on Nanowrimo is insane. So what does that make me? I've got kids two under two, a cat that sits on my hands, and a dog that poops on the floor if she's left alone longer than two hours.

And I'm committing myself to writing. Surely I have more important things to do, right?

We'll see...