NaNoWriMo Chronicles: Week One

Posting my notes for Week One a bit late (considering it is now the start of Week Three), but damn it, don’t judge me!  I’ve been busy with that whole “writing” thing, which is the whole point of this month, no?  After a rough start I’ve been (just barely) staying current on word count, all while still managing to accomplish a handful of things that real adults do on a regular basis.  Grocery shopping, taking the trash out, maintaining that whole “gainful employment” thing, and I even did the laundry!  (Please don’t ask if I folded it.  Leaving it in a nice, clean mountain is folding, right?)  There have been good days, there have been bad days, there have been write-ins, there have been nights alone in a darkened room, there have been good words and bad words, there have been a few angry naps and a handful of victory dances.  Shall we get to the scans, then?  Yes, let’s get to the scanned pages from my work-in-progress NaNoWriMo ’13 chronicle.


For goodness sake, I’m writing the sequel to my NaNoWriMo ’11 novel, so starting this one should not have been so freakin’ difficult! I know the story ‘Verse (yep, that reference is for Firefly fans, hi y’all!), I know the character better than I know myself, and the plot, subplots, even the damn themes are all in my head and ready to go. But the words…the words did not cooperate. There was much frustrated screaming and pulling of hair; my neighbors think I’m crazier than ever.


Day 2 much the same as Day 1, but Day 3…oh, blessed, blessed Day 3! I’d like to say that I drove to Barnes & Noble to write and then, if I wrote enough words, I would buy myself a book as a reward. That is what most people do; that is not what I did. No, I bought the book first. Because I’m greedy and prefer instant gratification. And yet I stayed in the cafe and successfully wrote a large chunk of the story, which is all that matters.


Fact: for some unknown reason, small children love me. Perhaps it’s because I’m small and non-threatening; perhaps they sense that maturity-wise, I’m on their level. No matter the reason, small children I’ve never before met will smile and run up to me and give me things, just like subjects to their queen. And there’s nothing quite like the moment when you realize you’re writing about a sociopath carrying out a contract killing while pausing to accept gifts of toy dinosaurs and plastic tea cups and occasionally reading books like “Just Like My Mommy” out loud. One cannot describe the ‘WTF’-ness of that moment, for the appropriate words do not exist. (Trust me on that. After all, I AM a writer.)


Every Tuesday in November I drag myself away from nap time and drive the 30 minutes to my mother’s house. Why? Because as a fellow WriMo, she likes to attend the weekly write-in only a few blocks from where she lives, and as it’s hosted by a pizza place, I can clock some mother/daughter bonding time that doesn’t require much talking AND get free dinner because my mother’s nice like that sometimes. Also: words get written. A bunch of people sitting around, stuffing their faces with pizza as they hunch over laptops and type like the wind. It’s excellent and, as proven by the word count scrawled across the bottom of this page, quite productive.


Maybe, maybe not, but my main character really will be the first snowflake that refuses to melt in hell.
And why procrastinate with Project Runway Australia? Simple: because American Project Runway isn’t on youtube.


The O’Shaughnessy Reputation: Put On Your War Paint is NOT a love story. However, the love between a man and his car deserves a thousand words (maybe even more, but I needed to move on), and honestly, this was far more than a little autobiographical, although I now have an awesome car as opposed to a battered PoS. No matter what, my car + me = LOVE.

There you have it, folks!  Week One of NaNoWriMo complete, word count hanging in there on par, all set to cross the 50,000 word finish line on November 30th.  With a little luck and a lot of effort, I should make it there, even if I have to drag myself on my belly across the ground with fingertips bloodied from excessive typing.  And the dragging.


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