Nvl 917

DAY 9, TWC over 5000

2010-11-09T20:44:00.000-05:00

Proceeding at a snail's pace, I am nonetheless writing daily. I have recovered from last week's medical disaster which unfortunately I believe was caused by toxins from all the acrylic paints I've been using. After not painting for a week I am feeling a little better and sleeping a little better. So, the painter has retired, sadly, sadly, and I hope the art quilter is born. The art quilter is currently negotiating for a good deal on a longarm marchine, an indulgence I have wanted for many years. It's an industrial style machine where the quilt mounts much like the warp on a loom. The machine hovers over the quilt and you move the machine rather than the fabric. The work being done by some quilters is spectacular. I'm hoping just to have some fun, and I'm grateful to have the room to put the monster. I'm getting the snallest table offered, and it checks in at 10x4 feet. I hope that I am able to make the deal. In the meantime, my fiction brain is not working. I have arrived at a scheme on how to proceed, but it has taken me days. Finally i have some words to post. I don't know what happens next, if I'll be able to write this or not. But I'm going to try. Talking with my old Nano buddies from last year has been great.

Cindy

Day 2: UGH wc 250 words twc 1350

2010-11-03T00:59:00.001-04:00

I don't want to go into it. It was just ugly. For a pretty public face version of the day, here's my post on the Book in a Week website:

"mama said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this my mama said."

Like the fire department coming to get you off the floor after spending an hour paralyzed and hanging over the very hard arm of a metal chair, MIL in the house, unable to see me because my head is under the table and my sweater looks like an afghan?

Moan and groan, moan and groan. so I felt rotten today and now I am going to bed to sleep to some sweet music and an aromatic candle and think how lucky I am to be here. In fact, I think I'll get the dogs out of the laundry room and take them with me and we can all get cozy. If only I could drink hot chocolate . . . oh well. Chamomile with valerian it is.

I hope people are doing well. If not, pick you butt up tomorrow and reapply to chair. You only have one life.
Cynthia
ps if you still can't apply butt to chair? forgive yourself.
pps and if it's very late and you are very tired and you find yourself lecturing to perfectly wonderful people, hope they forgive you.

Day 1 wc 1010 words, twc 1010 words

2010-11-02T00:23:00.001-04:00

However, I stupidly entered my text twice so it reads 2020, over my daily goal of 1500-2000 words. In actuality, I am tired, it's late, and I really only wrote 1010 words. it will self-correct tomorrow, which will look like a short day. Hurray! The fist dent in the car is over with. Ding! Now I can relax.

I also dictated quite a nice scene into a little tape recorder this morning. Then I couldn't find the tape recorder, then I discovered I did something wrong-- the lovely scene was not recorded. Double ding!!

It's been a good day.

C.

p.s. for those of you who missed the announcement on www.clcrane.com, this year's book is . . . drumroll..... Nvl 918.

To my credit it took several weeks last year to get the rest of the title. Nvl 917: the Point.

I have my whole title already, Nvl 918: Points of Confusion. That's it for the moment at least.

til tomorrow.

Errata

2010-05-05T02:29:00.000-04:00

I tell ya, I'm a class act all the way.

You may have noticed (someone did), that the link in a previous post to my journalling blog does not work. That's because I don't know the name of my own blog. And while I'm confessing, I'll admit I habitually spell journalling the British way with two l's. Or maybe that's just wrong. I don't know. But there are, for better or worse, two l's in the website's name. Thank goodness for links: http://www.openjournalling.blogspot.com/.

Been Thinkin' of Late, yup, yup, even me had a thought.

2010-04-18T05:11:00.000-04:00

It's been a while since I thought about this poor orphaned book. I had given up. November wore me out. The winter has been a health trainwreck for me and too many people I love. My brain cannot cope with such detail and complexity anymore. My mind cannot encompass changes in my own world, much less make up a brand-spankin' new universe at the same time.

But, but . . . suddenly it's looking interesting again.

Can't explain it. Hate to drop a project? Could be. There's something there worth saying? Possibly. Plain old stubborn? Probably. Depressed at the thought of abandoning yet another novel? No doubt. Want to play with my giant whiteboard, huge sketchbook and maybe some cool software? Absolutely. Still enjoying my writing-music discovery of last November, The Ahn Trio's lovely "Music for my Favorite Insomniac"? That could have something to do with it.

Don't place your bets yet, but at least I'm driving toward the stables.

Okay, I was wrong

2010-04-13T07:40:00.003-04:00

I was going to stop this blog at the end of NaNoWriMo.

But the book isn't done.

So neither am I.

Though I am distracted. That seems like part of the writer's life, too. Nvl 917 is about discovering our basic human nature. Part of that discovery, for me, is that I do not do well focused on one thing at a time.

And then, too, life just keeps coming and getting in the way.

So the blog changes direction a little, for the path of the novel parallels my own. This still is not my story. I am, probably, even the antagonist in this story, for it is the vicissitudes of my life that keep the novel, for the moment, from moving forward. This is the story of Nvl917 as much as it ever was. It's just resting for the moment, but lying fallow isn't dead.

My head is still full of this book. It's my days that are not. Follow here, or join my other adventures as well at www.clcrane.com and http://www.openjournalling.blogspot.com/.

I'll be back.

THE LAST DAY: WC 10,192 TWC 85,595

2009-11-30T21:28:00.001-05:00

I honestly didn't know if I could do it, and I did it anyway. I feel exhausted and triumphant.
My day's notes:
10 am: 1744 words
11 am: 2792 words.time for a snack and a nap. Repeat twice, plus a little and I'm done. Don't know if my head will hold up, though.
1 pm 4156 words . still trying to get to nap.
5 pm 4727 words--all snagged up
5:45 pm 6170 words. I love Write or Die
7 pm: 7676 words. can I write 2324 more words? that alone would be a good day for me. Probably not. stopping now for dinner.
9 pm : 10,192 words! Personal best. and if I ever listen to that album I've been listening to over and over again today, I think I will shoot myself. Nano, good-bye until next year! Going to post my words and take a nice hot bath.

9:30 pm Total posted and official.
to my sponsors: I wrote 1700 words or better 27 of the 30 days; I wrote 500 words or better 28 of the 30 days. Thank you so much for your support.

Day 29 the pen-ultimate day WC 8782 TWC 75,462

2009-11-29T20:27:00.000-05:00

Nano seems to have aroused the sleeping beast. Having succeeded already beyond my expectations, I decided to go full-out today and tomorrow and try to achieve my personal best. At close to 9000 words tonight I admit defeat for the day, but triumph at having passed the 75K mark. Tomorrow I will add as many words as I can. I don't know why I care, but I do. And now it is time to put this exhausted writer to bed. The story just gets better and better, but I need my beauty sleep. I succumb to my physiology after a valiant day-long battle.

Day 28 WC 2300 TWC 66,600

2009-11-29T01:22:00.000-05:00

That TWC is not a joke. Good thing I'm not superstitious.

As for my day, the children cooked an incredible feast for 15, which 6 people sat down to eat. My day went as follows: eat, write until I follow asleep, nap; eat, write until I fall asleep, nap; ad infinitum.

I want to express my gratitude toward dialogue for today's word count. Ah, dialogue. Just make your characters really not understand each other. They can go on forever. Back and forth. Back and forth. You can really drag it out. Honestly? Yeah, you'd be amazed; you should try it. Maybe I will, IF I ever try to do something so foolish as to write a novel. I am NOT foolish. I didn't say you were foolish. You just said I was foolish. You're picking a fight here. Am not. Are too. Am not--I'm building Word Count--to everyone's benefit. Oh. See? Yeah; thanks. No problem. By the way, what's with the 666 up there? I have no idea. I hope it doesn't mean anything. Me too. Maybe it's a sign. Maybe it's a coincidence . . . . (me) you hardly have to punctuate in a draft. Truly a gift to Wrimo's everywhere. Also, when you have aliens as some of your characters, this is not even implausible.

Day 27 WC 1731 TWC 64297

2009-11-27T22:13:00.000-05:00

Once again writing this at the edge of exhaustion before bed. I had a fun evening with my friends in the write/chat room. One woman was in a rut, so we each spent 5 minutes writing the other person's book. It was terribly enlightening about what we know and what we don't. I'm too tired today for a grand word count: spent hours with the new neurologist, and a little time with the family. the kids are seeing friends tonight. The news from the neurologist may be good. He thinks the episodes are being driven by a complex tick disorder, which is genetic. I hold off the movements as long as I can, then fall apart. However, that ability to hold off the movement is what defines a tick and I learned today they can be large and complicated, not just simple movements. He still does not know whether or not the deeper attacks are actually seizures, but he changed my meds this week to help suppress the ticks (I find this hard to believe, but he showed me the medical definition and I have to say it fits the way my episodes began, and begin now) in the hopes that the spells themselves will subside if I am less tired from holding off these complex ticks. I'll see him next week to see if there was any success. What makes sense to me is that if I have the underlying mitochondrial disorder and the cells are not metabolizing properly, then they would be, and feel as though they are, exhausted just by getting through the day. If you add to this a movement disorder it makes sense that my brain just wears out. He thinks the right meds and the neurofeedback can help me a lot. Having been through so many approaches and theories I am wary, but I do like this man and would like to believe him. We'll see how his approach works. In the meantime, I am trying to use this emotional medical week as grist for the mill. And having said that, I am off to bed.

Day 26 WC 2870 TWC 62564

2009-11-26T21:47:00.000-05:00

It's great to see Chris and Rachel, but man, am I tired. Today I finally delved into a scene at the end of the book which I have been putting off. I keep telling myself I need to know more, but I don't. Once the necessary style came to me, the words poured out in relatively little time. Lots of them.And I"m not done yet. So how you feel and what you write have little to do with each other (within, I have to say, certain limits). Right now I'm on my way to bed but wanted to happily post these numbers. Four more days of writing. I guess it's far to make 75,000 my goal after all. I never dreamed. To think like Dave, that's 50% more than was required. I'm definitely picking up fluency. Of course, I could crash and not make 2500 a day for four days, but you never know. Maybe I will. Baby steps, baby challenges.

Day 25 WC 2215 TWC 59,694

2009-11-25T20:56:00.001-05:00

I got so much done today. Chris and Rachel landing for Thanksgiving as we speak. Much of the house picked up, at least to some extent. A scene I thought I could not write I got a very bad draft of. Now too tired to keep my eyes open. Happy thanksgiving to everyone tomorrow. We will be celebrating on Saturday; Chris and Rachel will be cooking. Wasn't this an excellent post? I am a fascinating writer, even in my sleep. If I were more awake I'd write the last 300 words to pass 60,000 tonight. That would feel good. But, nah. I'll get there tomorrow.

Day 24 wc: 1736 twc57479

2009-11-24T23:49:00.000-05:00

Ever been so sleepy you can't stay awake? Well, that's me. My last couple of hundred words were nearly useless. I'm going to bed.

I was thinking tonight that a few people have actually shown interest in my progress this month, so I made the big $10 plunge and bought a domain name. On December 1 or 2 this blog will be dismantled. If you want to continue to follow me, I'll be blogging about my writing at www.clcrane.com. It will take a few days for the link to work. If it doesn't work when you try, enter www.clcrane.blogspot.com and you will be redirected. The real link should work by the time this blog closes, however.

It's wonderful to watch my new Nano friends winning one by one this week. What an experience, and a story for another time.

Day 23 WC 1861 TWC 55,749

2009-11-24T06:15:00.000-05:00

Once again today is yesterday. It had to be. After the final push Sunday night came the inevitable crash: an exhausting day in which I got very little done and spent way too much time in bed sick and on way too much valium. Naturally, then, I woke up at 2 am not exactly raring to go, but at least prepared to choke out a few words. And choke them out I did. The writing is ugly, but oh my, a new character showed up, a lovely Southern grandma who serves tea and Sara Lee poundcake to her guests. The kicker? When they ask how she knows aliens took the house, which they think is a preposterous theory, she calmly speaks the ultimate cliff-hanging end-of-chapter line. Which of course I'm not going to share with you. You have to wait until you pay for your own copy of the book to know what she said, but don't forget, she's more than pretty wallpaper. (what exactly she is, I don't know yet . . . she just dumped this line in my lap. Now I have to figure out what in the world to do with it. Honestly, these people just will not stick to plan, or even the invitation list.)

Day 22 WC 4883 TWC 53882

2009-11-22T19:52:00.000-05:00

A win!
Nothing more to say. Will keep writing this week as I please, but right now just basking in the relief and gratitude toward my NaNo buddies and everyone else who's cheered me on and picked up the slack around the house while I did this, especially Dave who's propped me up in every possible way, from the physical to the emotional, especially over this arduous weekend. Thank you all, and congratulations to my buddies who also finished this weekend.
Now, to dinner, celebrate, and relax!
The novel is far from done, but completing my goal of finishing this challenge, and finishing it this weekend, feels pretty great.

Day 21 WC 5177 TWC 46,436

2009-11-21T21:53:00.000-05:00

Thanks to the tender care of my doctor and nurse and lots of IV fluids, I am over the horrors of yesterday, and determined to complete my dare against myself. I worked hard today; wrote two different scenes I have been putting off because of the difficulty. One, the end of the story. Another, first contact between Beverly and the alien who is, am sorry to say, my main character, not Beverly. I almost hate to tell you the truth. I did not know it would work this way, but it has to. She is the activating character, the one who makes the plot move along, but the alien is the one who makes the key decisions, and who is changed the most at the end, though of course Beverly has a story arc as well. You might as well get to know him (it? I haven't decided yet). Have I mentioned him before? I don't know. He has a very original name: Small. He is pursued around the universe by Large, and Beverly accidentally gets caught up in their game of cat and mouse, and everything changes for all involved. Just who do you think took her house? Small of course. Beyond that, I am mum. The last chapter was difficult to write though, sad and joyful at once, and I have been procrastinating on that. Likewise the first time they knowingly encounter each other. It feels good to get drafts of those two chapters down.

Time now to put this old body and brain to rest. Let's hope tomorrow my health holds. Just minor symptoms now, but then I haven't done much but sit here all day and write.

I have a new favorite album, with a title irresistable to me: The Ahn Trio "Lullaby for my Favorite Insomniac." New music for the book. Can I write 3500 words tomorrow and win my bet against myself? If I haven't killed myself today, and I don't think I have. Keep your fingers crossed.

By the way, sponsors, I am not going to stop writing when I pass 50,000. I'll just keep chugging for the next week, might as well while I'm on a roll. But I also have a plethora of appointments, etc., so I'm expecting these large word counts to go down. Tuesday night is a fund-raising night for NaNoWriMo. I will make my donation then and a guess about what those of you who have volunteered sponsorship will send me. Anyone else want to jump on board? The money goes not only to NaNoWriMo and Script Frenzy in the spring, but also to writing classes in schools. And if you are sponsoring me, I am sending half your money to CaringBridge, since it's been such a wonderful way to stay in touch over the last months. Thought I might give a little nudge to those who've been waiting me out to the end. The end is near. If you'd like to help, many others will benefit, as I have. When I feel better I'll do an entry on what I've learned this month. Lesson one: take care of your body. Signing off, then, with love.

Day 20 WC 0 TWC whatever it was yesterday

2009-11-20T21:09:00.000-05:00

So much for cocky. Woke up today with some evil virus, possibly flu. In any case, my neuro symptoms really bad. Doctor taking away my laptop (virtually of course) until I'm a little better. I'm hoping it won't be reneging if I postpone my bet a few days. I have to get well and can't worry about this project now. From the highs of yesterday to the pits today. Just letting you know. I will update you tomorrow. Writing this wore me out. Not a good day.

Day 19 A Plum Good Day In Novel Land: WC 3,344 TWC: 41,259!

2009-11-20T00:09:00.000-05:00

Realizing that the end is near, and since I actually have so little of my plot written into the manuscript so far, I actually find myself excited about this whole thing. It has definitely engaged my competitive streak. Since Charlotte is in a Word War with a city in California with approximately the same number of participants, and since we are losing by just a tad, I have decided to put forth a little extra effort this weekend and go for the guts. I've challenged myself to reach 50K by Monday morning. As an added incentive, and I have posted this publicly on the Charlotte boards, and I am posting it publicly here, so I can't weasel out of it, I am betting myself that if I DON'T reach 50K by Monday morning, I will donate $100 to a charity I totally disagree with. I'm not going to name it, because you might agree with it and secretly sabotage my efforts. But believe me, I really do not like this group. I do NOT want to give them anything at all, much less $100. So I am well-motivated to do this. Then I can cruise through Thanksgiving week and on into the end of the month just wracking up as many words as I want, but not feeling that I need to kill myself to finish or stay away from the kids too much (Rachel and Chris are coming home). I will still have plenty left to write when I reach 50K. It would be nice to finish the rough draft. That would be a worthy goal once I reach this one. But for the next three days (having surpassed my evening goal tonight of 3100 words and a total of 40K) I'm going to stick this out and help beat those darn Californians, who are getting rather uppity and full of themselves on our board. Must sign off now, past bedtime.

Day 18 WC 2085 TWC 37915

2009-11-18T23:58:00.000-05:00

Fueled by exhaustion, the feeling I'm getting a cold, which I seldom do but often start (strange immune system), and anger at the health insurance industry and the slow-moving cogs of health care, I managed about 400 words in the first hour or so of writing, then built some momentum and slogged the rest out fairly quickly. And today is still today. For the first time in a while I can go to bed with a clear conscience and not feeling blocked and inadequate. Tonight I wrote key scenes for several of the major characters, scenes from their past, that I can pull out as flashbacks when I need them, or bits of them, while rewriting. It felt good to move away from the story itself for awhile and just be entirely intuitive and character-driven. I really got quite a lot done in terms of development. I used to consider that kind of thing notes, but no more. I realize such passages can be used as is or dissected or revealed bit by bit as necessary. It's actually vital that they be in the manuscript, though granted, they are going to appear and disappear out of nowhere, completely interrupting the flow of narrative in this draft, but you aren't going to read it. So I don't care. Did you know the Chief of Police in Waxhaw is actually a closet poet, who has to publish under a pseudonym so no one finds out? Stay tuned, more odd bits to come . . . .

Tomorrow, I really want to pass 40,000. Why? Because it's there. I can't believe that barring disaster I am actually going to do this. It feels great.

Day 17 WC 2500 TWC 35830

2009-11-18T07:39:00.000-05:00

Day Seventeen. Dr. Wicked's Write or Die ate 1000 words, but I found them. Then the NaNoWriMo refused to take my update because it said another user had made it, but I fixed that. I've been up all night for 2 or more nights in a row, because I dream about the book, wake up, and can't get back to sleep. I might as well get the writing down as lie there frustrated. Between 6:30 and 7 am this morning two different friends called. I should not have made my hours so public. Most nights, at least, I get to go back to sleep for awhile. Like now. Seventeen Days. I cannot believe it. I've hardly made a dent in the plot. Really. Obviously it will have to be heavily edited. Good night.

addendum

2009-11-17T07:52:00.000-05:00

Looking back at titles of previous posts, I see have two Day 15's. I guess that makes up for the lack of Day 11. What can I say? Numbers are obviously not my thing. I be shamed. Or amused with myself.

DAY 16: TOUGH DAY; cheating. WC 1824 TWC 33,323

2009-11-17T07:48:00.000-05:00

All right, I confess, 7:30 am of the following day is a little late to still make today yesterday. But I'm going to cheat. I was too sick last night to work. I really did try, but it only made things worse. Probably putting on James Taylor and actually dancing with my aide was not such a good idea, but it got me out of a solid funk from dealing with doctors and insurance and how expensive all that is. So I was up early again this morning and for the first time, actually outlined chapter by chapter. There is plenty of wiggle room for change, but I feel much more solid on my feet for having done this. I knew the beginning, the end, and vaguely the middle, but really had not put it down. So today's entry is really narrative synopsis. I think of it as the rosebud. So I'm counting the words. They may be the most important words I've written so far. They represent a commitment to a certain direction, which I've been unwilling to take until now. Two days ago I made a major discovery in physics, one which will permanently change our thinking about the universe and set the whole discipline on its head. Last night I made the decision to reveal this discovery in this book. Finally I had enough gaps filled in to write a synopsis. Not scene by scene, but the whole plot, which is how it's revealed to the reader, as opposed to the story, which is what happens to the characters. I have to admit, even I am curious to see how it works out. I know I can finish the book now by the 30th. I also know it will have great gaps of detail I will want to fill in with further research and thought. I did not know when I started if I would care about this book or not. Now I've bitten my own tail and can't let go. It's called an orobouros. Look it up, or wait for the book to come out (maybe lack of sleep is making me dreamy . . . )

Day 15: WC 4000, TWC 31,499

2009-11-15T21:41:00.000-05:00

Boy am I sick of words. That's all I got to say.

Interim Update

2009-11-15T14:42:00.000-05:00

passed 30,000 words at approximately 2:40 pm today. I think I've joined the cult.

Day 15: Boy would I like to just stay up longer and pass 30,000. WC1943 TWC 29440

2009-11-15T06:13:00.000-05:00

Today was the perfect NaNoWriMo day. I wrote scenes that will probably never be included in the final copy, but hey, I need them to know what's going on, so I put them in my word count anyway. I'm finding places and backgrounds for my new characters, and they have made the book so much richer than it was. I have a lot of material. If I choose to go on, the book is not going to be 50,000 words, that's for sure. It feels like cheating to include things like backstory, but you never know when you are going to need a flashback, do you? There's no reason to exclude this from a rough draft. I think this is a mistake I've made in the past: trying to keep notes separate from the writing. I think now that's like trying to keep the onions out of the soup while putting the stone in. Who knows what will turn out to be important? I wrote a lot of atmosphere today, a lot of ether, a lot of nothingness, and it feels strange, because it's not yet placed anywhere. As my old writing teacher said, make a middle and begin. A smarter person than I would call this high play and celebrate it. I'm still such a good schoolgirl at 51 I feel like I'm cheating. But these experiments are what art is all about. So be it. Into the soup they go. That's why I hate to stop and not just pass 30,000 which would feel so good for entirely unreasonable reasons. Just because it's there; just because I am having fun. But I've been at my desk all day and I need both some sleep and some relaxation tomorrow. I am going to do what Mom would tell me to do.

Day 14: WC 1770, TWC 27532

2009-11-14T07:55:00.000-05:00

It appears the creators and old-timers may just be right. Week 2 was a real slog through the muck. By the end I was so desperate to get things moving again I started throwing in new characters with absolutely no idea how they are going to fit in. I added new sections from the point of view of things not usually considered to have a point of view, and most boldly of all, added a fifth force to the physical universe. This is in fact the prime force, the one which when officially discovered will resolve the problems of integrating gravitation with the other three forces--electromagnetism, the strong force and the weak force--in a very elegant solution to the Grand Unified Theory, or GUT. How physicists have missed finding this force I do not know, for it is all about us all the time, with such surety we tend to forget its existence. Yes, the words and ideas are flowing again. There's a lot of junk in there, and a lot of physics to learn and other research to do, but that's what after-November was invented for.

I've decided NaNoWriMo is a cult. In addition to the sheer ferocity of the participants, there are oracles, advice-givers, cheerleaders, wearers of silly hats and other uniforms, cheaters, obsessives, droppers-out, hangers-on, Tshirts, books, kits, mugs, badges physical and electronic (I can't figure out how to get one stuck to this page, but it may show up one day), and legends of great Wrimos past who completed their entire 50,000 words in the last 3 days, or people who write three books at once, or exceed 150,000 words or more. I believe along with these legends one could attribute apocrypha, hyperbole and mythology to the Nano culture (we're like a bunch of fishermen who fish in private and come home with Photoshopped "candids" of our great catches, which always seem to have escaped or been given to starving orphans, leaving only the photos as proof of our victories). There are pleas to hand over your riches to the organization, and social and who knows perhaps even sexual seductions (I should be so lucky). People are kidnapped from their families only to be mysteriously returned, as if by Santa, on the night of November 30. Many of them are stolen year after year, and do nothing to protect themselves in those final days of October. It's almost as if they want to do this. I had to turn off Twitter because the search stream on Nano was so incessant. In addition there are forums on the Nano site I haven't even dared look at for fear of being sucked in once passing the event horizon of participation, local write-ins both formal and informal. I've made a friend in England, who goes by Q, and who is easily seduced by the "craziness" (his word) of the local Nano folks in Cambridge, who as far as I can tell meet every night at a pub. Q predicts he will not win this year, but will lose sociably. You gotta like the guy. I've reestablished an old college friendship thanks to Facebook, and started an open meeting space for Charlotte Wrimo's with a 30 day free trial of a meeting/webinar website, dimdim.com. We're open 24/7 for shared writing sessions or chatting. We have daily challenges and weekly contests for most time spent logged at the website, most time spent chatting (relevantly), most time spent writing, and total word count for the week (double prize!). There's also a double prize for the best cheerleader of the week. As I think about it, I'm going to add a prize for worst writing accomplished for the day (self-selected, of course). No prize is worth more than a dollar. I have great ideas for prizes, but that's a secret I'm going to keep. Prizes will be awarded at the TGIO party (figure it out), which I will attend in absentia.

Tomorrow/today will finish Week 2, thank goodness. Week 3 launches Sunday with a 4-hour marathon write at the local library. The highlight of the last marathon, held November 1, was the extraordinary plenty of Halloween candy. Who knows what will happen tomorrow. The sound of a dozen laptops clicking away in a tiny white room was quite remarkable, and I only went for 45 minutes. That was quite enough marathon for me.

Now, if only I could figure out how to knit, match health insurance submissions to benefits statements, and write at the same time, life would be perfect. As it is, alas, I have to cope with reality. Maybe I could learn to type with my toes.

Day 13, A Strange Day no less: WC 1837, TWC 25,126

2009-11-13T07:20:00.000-05:00

Today I crossed the halfway mark! And yet it's odd, the book isn't half-written. 50,000 words really is not all that many. I'm still figuring out the basics of the story. But I have better than two weeks to pull it together, or not, as circumstances will have it.

It's been a strange day, well, yesterday was, but I've been working on the Day Before (didn't Umberto Eco write something incomprehensible along those lines, in his case, the International Date Line, in mine, mere insomnia). So, today's words are really yesterday's, if you haven't figured that out yet. Maybe I'm too tired to be writing. I've been up all night and it's almost time to get up. I'll be going back to bed. I hope.

Yesterday morning I had a doctor's appointment, where I had a series of violent seizures (I'm not supposed to use that word until Tuesday when I finally meet the neurologist who I hope will give me a more specific and smarter diagnosis than I have now). After recovering partially, the nurse who came out with me and Shonte to help me into the car . . . I left when I was still completely limp but I knew if I stayed I'd fall asleep and be stuck there for hours . . . pushed the wrong button on Shonte's clicker and locked her keys in the car, which she had left running for me because it was wintry cold and raining. The doctor's office agreed to call the fire department, yup, my friendly neighbors, because they will open doors in an emergency and the doctor's office did not want to deal with me for an hour until AAA could come any more than I wanted to stay there for an hour. The trick was to convince the fire department not to bring the medics and drag me to the ER again. The office staff managed to do it, I don't know how. While we're on the topic of the ER I will digress for a moment and point out that I just got billed for my last ambulance trip, which was less than a mile to the hospital, and cost over $800. Anyway, I came home, pretended I was fine and tried writing, which was a complete disaster. I fell apart again, and went to bed for the afternoon. After my nap, which ran late, I then had a reasonably pleasant though unproductive evening. I was disappointed to write nothing at all, but I just couldn't manage it. By the time Eula tucked me in at 10 I was getting woozy again. She stayed a while because I wasn't well and she wanted to be sure I was soundly asleep before she left. She set the alarm off when she went out. I woke from that perfect first few minutes of sound sleep, called the alarm company, and let the confused dogs out of the laundry room to tour the house just to make sure everything was OK. I took a hot bath and slept in the tub until after midnight, when I got up to do my IV which I had been too sick to administer earlier in the evening. Having had a nice nap, I now felt well enough to write my words. And got a few other things done as well. Now that it's morning, I'm ready to go back to sleep. Why am I telling you this? Probably because I have lousy judgment after such a strange day. I still have to go back to the doctor sometime to finish my appointment. If I didn't think you'd all groan, I'd say the first meeting was a real dis-appointment.

All that is well and good and disorienting, but the kicker is that I feel I've broken through the writing inertia of the last few days and finally built up some momentum again. I threw in some new characters today just to stir the pot, including a second dog. I have no idea what they are going to do in the story except get in the way of the other characters, but, as I think about it, that's not entirely bad. Minor characters are allowed to be annoying as long as they don't show up too often. Mr. Hemingway is spinning in his grave right now; Mr. Dickens is applauding my daring and trying to convince me I'll find a way to wrap them into the plot at some point, probably the least likely one imaginable. Mr.Pynchon, though he doesn't know it, is nearly jumping for joy. Ms. Austen thinks I need tea and some time to reconsider, perhaps while I embroider a little and receive visitors. Ms. Woolf proposes either a visit to my psychotherapist or taking to my bed. I think I shall do both. Instead of dragging myself through this writing session, despite the crazy hours, I actually forced myself to stop because I know I have got to get some sleep. End of writer's block. Now if the world would just go away and leave me alone for a day. I bet you'd like an extra day, too. Now I've written enough that I can put the dogs out for the morning and leave a note for Shonte to let me sleep. Nighty-night.

p.s.

2009-11-12T01:20:00.000-05:00

There were more words, there really were. But I wrote 3 pages by hand because I had to make some kind of change to get going again, and I love a good pen and paper and also, Dr. Wicked crashed and ate a couple of hundred words. Just so you know how I've suffered and suffered and suffered tonight and I'm not even complaining or making any attempt to prove that I actually wrote more than I'm getting credit for. That would be childish. Not like me at all, no, not at all.

Day 12: WC 1730 TWC 23286

2009-11-12T01:15:00.000-05:00

To all you sponsors out there paying me to produce 1700 words a day, this one's for you. Believe me, I would not, I could not, have done it for myself. I want your measly dollars. I am that petty. This was a very hard write. I don't have a sense of how to get from A to B. I have so much in my head to write I can't get any of it out. Moving from plan to narrative and scene from a variety of points of view is proving challenging. I guess that's why there aren't more good novels out there. And one question haunts me: when my writing friend asked, Why do I care about these characters? Why do we care? Well, the people are interesting in an ordinary way; the aliens are unlikely, and the plot has plenty of twists and turns. More all the time. Yes, it's getting very confusing. I'm glad this draft is a secret. I'm glad I'm not Charles Dickens, though with the word count hanging over me, I understand his desire to be wordy. I've pulled off some pretty mean scenes myself in this regard. Also, as a new Wrimo buddy (as I understand it, and I could be wrong, Nano is the oontest, a Wrimo is someone participating in the contest) of mine pointed out: when all else fails, write dialogue.Personally I favor repetition, yes I do. I love saying the same thing over and over, sometimes in new ways and sometimes, poetically, in the same way I just said it. Repetition, repetition, repetition, savior of the daily word count, repetition, parasite of plot. In the immortal and here bastardized words of Juliet, good night, Sweet Prince and Princesses. An exhausted writer by any other name would be an exhausted writer, an exhausted writer, an exhausted writer.

Day Ten: WC 150 words; TWC 21554

2009-11-11T01:41:00.000-05:00

Not much writing done today. I am bored and unsure how to proceed and trying to absorb the science and I got a lot of other stuff done, essential things like rearranging the furniture in the room where I work. Actually, that was a better idea than it first appears. The furniture has been more or less the same for 12 years and I spend most of my day there, in one particular chair. I couldn't take it anymore. It looks so different and inviting now. I also set up a 24 hour chat room until the end of November for Charlotte Wrimo's on DimDim.com. I hope people use it. Free 30 day subscription sure came in handy! Too tired now to carry on, but I know where to start tomorrow. That's always helpful to me. Did I mention how tired I am? I am tired. Did I say that? IE has been very unstable and the PC is making loud awful noises. I am tired and unhappy. Love to you all, good night.

Day Nine: WC 2211 TWC 21,403

2009-11-10T03:30:00.000-05:00

Well, last night I stayed up too late finishing this, so I slept all day and then tonight repeated the same pattern. Not a good thing to do. But I admit I'm more than a little smug about dragging myself through the first 500 words of this session; after that, with the addition of some ol' timey Elton John, the rest of the section flew by. I wasn't about to stop because it was getting late. My writing friend Ellen comes to visit tomorrow so I'll get some pages done first thing in the morning. These last two days have been really hard. What is it like to be gravity? Are you all curious what happens in this book? Isn't it about a wedding gown designer? Ahhh, the msytery. And to think I may never let you read it . . . what do you think of that? It really would be cruel, wouldn't it. What was my agreement for sponsors, that they get to read it? Yikes, I better get my act together. I don't remember what I said, and at this hour, I'm certainly not going to go back in my entries to look. The book is about being human, after all. I wouldn't want to violate the theme. Enough is enough for today, which is actually yesterday at this point. It would take 3500 words to pass halfway on November 10 tomorrow/later today. That's only a few days early. It's doable, I know that now--the 3500 words. The whole month, I don't know about. The specter of bad health always hangs over my head. I'm ahead, but only by a few days, and there is so much plot left to write. I fear I'll still be rough-drafting after November 30. Or have an awfully vague mess to clean up.
Good night, Moon. Good night, Room. Good night, Small. Figure that one out.

Day Eight: WC 2027, TWC 19,187

2009-11-09T02:25:00.000-05:00

I can't believe a week has gone by. I feel as though I just started; I feel as though it's been an eternity. I still have so much more story to tell.

It's actually early on Day Nine. Had some trouble getting myself down to work today!

Honestly, I can't believe how many words I've written in a week,and in a week in which I did not feel well. I don't know whether to be excited at what I've done or sad that I don't have the energy to sustain this. I want to write so much more every day. But this is definitely taking a toll.

Day Seven: WC 2142; TWC 17,160

2009-11-07T22:16:00.000-05:00

I didn't know this was possible, but most of this was written in my sleep this evening. I wonder if I will even be able to read it tomorrow. However, the plot advanced and Audrey announced her personality, which is nothing at all like the Audrey of my plans, not for from word one. Tonight truly was what NaNoWriMo is all about. A buddy from Matthews came over to write and left when I fell asleep. I struggled through a couple more incomprehensible words, and posted the new edition to the word count validator. Job done. I like the way it ended tonight, though. Poor Stephen, clueless as anyone as to what is going on, is also lacking the skills and imagine to cope. Beverly pours a finger of scotch, which he drinks in one burning swallow. Following that brilliance, truly worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald, I am off to bed and real sleep.

Thank you all for your wonderful emails. This feels like a group effort, and how refreshing that is.

Day Six: Passed 15,000!!! WC 868, Total WC 15,017

2009-11-06T21:33:00.000-05:00

Quick note, so exhausted today, really pushed to get these 800 words out. Overtired and have a bit of a cold to boot, the kind of day I would never have been able to write if I weren't so competetive, so unwilling to let a day go by with nothing added. I missed my WC but made up for it with research, planning, re-visioning the whole underpinnings of the book. Actually spent much more time today than any day previously. I spent over two hours on the phone with an old friend from college who totally blew my mind with exactly the science I've been looking for. The whole book has a new direction and feel; hopefully the plot won't be too drastically changed. This brief write today very very dense like poetry: what is the universe like from the point of view of gravity?

Day Five: WC 2476; Total14,152

2009-11-05T23:57:00.001-05:00

A good example of damn the torpedoes. Slept badly last night, fighting off Dave's cold, feel lousy in general this week. Procrastinated to the lowest extent, searching YouTube for an old Paula Abdul video so Ben could at least have a chuckle even if he doesn't have his groove thing at the moment. That's low. Even buffed me nails, ready for guitar class Saturday, for which I have not practiced a note. Still, got in two sessions, am and pm; and today, hurray, the characters for the first time did something completely unexpected. They begin to live, then. Time for me to get out of the way. But first, to bed.
p.s. Beginning to like these guys. And what a pickle they're in, as Hugh would say. What does that mean anyway?

Day Four: Passed 10,000. Today's WC: 2607. Total WC: 11,643

2009-11-04T08:07:00.000-05:00

Finished today's draft in the morning, which means I have time later today to either spell check it (I was getting very sloppy toward the end; totally in right-brain mode); catch up on other things; do some research and make some phone calls to people who can help me; or work on the plot. I almost know what happens next, but not really, not 1700 words worth.

Day Three: Writing While Sick as a Dog. Daily WC: 2166. Total WC: 9017

2009-11-03T19:50:00.000-05:00

Without going into gory and/or boring detail, I will say now that the last 24 hours have been among the most miserable of my life. Not as miserable as the first days of my episodes, granted; not as miserable as childbirth, but less gratifying and to less purpose; nonetheless I think both my aides will agree--it was a rotten day.

I still managed to find windows of time, and using Dr. Wicked's Write or Die approach, pulled 2166 words out of somewhere. Still in safe territory, though. I begin to not know where I am going next. I know where I am going tomorrow, but that's it.

Today's success (which may well be declared unreadable and edited out at a later date) suggests two things. One, you can write even when you feel wretched (I say this knowing fully of the many many circumstances under which this statement is not true), and two, you can submit really really awful writing to the computer to be counted and it does not read it and does not care.

By the way, math people, I realize that the daily word counts do not add up to the total word count. At the end of each day in my master document I put in multiple parenthesis so I can find and delete them later, the date and my daily word count as counted by Dr. Wicked. I then copy the whole ms., upload it to the NaNoWriMo computers, which counts those parenthetical comments as part of the manuscript. Thereby my actual total word count is ever so slightly less than my official total which is in turn greater than the sum of my daily word counts. For those of you who notice such things, I thought I should explain the discrepancy. I believe I did so with utmost clarity.

Day Two: 2060 words today; 6780 total

2009-11-02T11:05:00.000-05:00

Finished Chapter One today. Very wordy. Tomorrow I change narrators. Oy. Watch the word count drop. It's like going from Dickens to Hemingway. Have to spend time today finding the bridge over the abyss--the path across the great unplanned middle. Beginning accomplished; end in mind; how do I get from one cliff edge to the last in a way that will keep a reader turning pages? Is the bridge wide or narrow? How much latitude do I have? Sadly, I have no idea. Insufficient data; inadequate preparation. Trusting the imagination will present the material if I put in the hours.

Day One: word count 4753

2009-11-01T20:05:00.001-05:00

Happily the beginning of the book is very wordy. It's Sunday and the clocks turned back last night. I slept well, had a leisurely morning to write, joined a NaNoWriMo marathon at the library for an hour in the afternoon, ate two pieces of Halloween candy, drank unsweetened green tea (no coffee yet), and made a huge word count. Very very soon facing the abyss: what comes next? I don't know. Who am I, the author? Waddya want of me? But today was good. Until just now. I just saw a tweet go by on the #nano stream: "13,000 words done. Calling it a day." I'm sorry. 13,000 words? If you're going to be that way, just start Nov 20th and spare the rest of us. I have heard of those who go for 75,000, 100,000, 150,000 word goals. I thought it was apocryphal. I thought I was way ahead of the pack (though as I said, not resting on my laurels--there is a vast middle yet to come). 13,000 words on day one? Okay, to each his own. This is not a race or a contest. They are probably 13,000 lousy words. His main characters name is probably 20 words long. This is not going to bother me a bit. I'm going to change the subject. The marathon was fun, though I was a bit like Rosie Ruiz (was that her name?) stepping in at the last minute and finishing with barely a sweat on my brow. Small room, ten or twelve people intently typing away, almost total silence. Some sighs of exasperation. Steadily diminishing bowls of Halloween candy. Very pleasant.

Thanks for the comments, cheerleaders.

BTW, the NaNoWriMo people announced yesterday they were increasing their server size by a vast amount. To no avail. Servers down. Life goes on: we will have to struggle to write without posting our wordcounts officially, nanomailing our buds or buying T-shirts and mugs, but we can do it. Yes we can.

I personally believe the panic will abate very very soon.

Tonight, tonight, won't be just any night . . .

2009-10-31T20:29:00.000-04:00

but I'll still be starting in the morning. Such is my body's incontrovertible schedule.

I am not outlined or close to any such thing.

Indeed, this will be an adventure. Maybe this time Lewis and Clark will fail to find the Pacific, as they failed to find the Northwest Passage. Or maybe they'll find something we can only from this dark date guess at as the hours approach with minute slowness.

Word count: zero. The null set. Zip. Nadda. Rien. All that. Just wait til tomorrow.

Brief bio for potential NaNoWriMo buddies

2009-10-31T20:22:00.000-04:00

If anyone is here to see who I am, and if we might be compatible writing buddies, let me tell you a little about myself. I won't bother with the cocktail party version, as that is so irrelevant to compatibility. It is very hard to think of what is important to say under such circumstances. I write daily. For reasons I will describe below, I have not been published outside small local publications since college eons ago. I have three failed novels under my belt, or perhaps two failed novels and an unfinished one. I have taught creative writing to adults out of my house. My basic attitude when teaching is to model deep listening so that my students eventually begin to listen to themselves and develop an ear for good writing, good potential, and writing that might have been useful at the time but isn't worth saving or continuing to work with. I do not give a lot of feedback, though I love to talk about writing in the abstract. I teach process not product. I teach to each person in the class individually in front of the others. I encourage people who want to give advice to write down their advice, take it home, and take it themselves. I believe the mind works under mysterious guises and is best left to its own devices, at least at the stage of the rough draft. In reality, I am a ruthless editor, but I seldom teach that as the first necessity of freeing the words and thoughts from the many cultural strictures we put them under is seldom intact enough to introduce editing. One must walk before one can dance. Or perhaps one must dance before one can walk with grace.

My own writing has been prolific, though my life circumstances have limited my ability to publish. I raised three children while suffering a severe case of what was long thought to be Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. However, about a year ago I was diagnosed with a complex Mitochondrial Disorder, which means my cells, including my brain, cannot efficiently make energy. I also do not detoxify or handle stress normally. I have maintained a nearly daily journal through the years though I have not had the time or energy or concentration to succeed at fiction as my ambitions had pushed me to do. I think NaNoWriMo is exactly what I need right now to break through to a more fuitful and imaginative mode. There is, with me, always the possibility that my illness may keep me from being as productive as I hope to be this month, but regardless of my daily output, I will finish the month as best I can under whatever circumstances arise. I may not win, but quitting is not an option.

Because I cannot leave the house easily due to my medical limitations, I am looking for one or two buddies who are interested in mutual support and encouragemen via email. I don't really care about age, gender, genre, experience or any other superficialities and irrelevancies. I'm looking, literally, for a couple of buddies, people who are also committed to finish the month, want to partake of some companionship along the way, and also do not have time to mess around with long chats on forums and such. It would be great to find a person or two to with whom to exchange emails every day or two. Finding someone who also writes in the early morning hours of Eastern Standard time would be more than I dare ask for.

I have great faith in the mind to produce amazing things, often buried n the midst of less than amazing things. I believe in putting in your hours. I believe in getting out of the way of the story and trusting the process to take care of itself.

If you care, my book is post-modern science fiction: a little play with form + a little play with science + a little play with human nature. That's all. Nothing too high-falutin'.

If this suits you, comment below or check out my NaNoWriMo profile under the username Nvl 917.

I look forward to meeting you. I will, regardless, be posting daily word counts and hopefully a few comments every day.

And if any of my friends out there reading this want to be a buddy, you don't actually have to be doing NaNoWriMo yourself, but I would ask you, if you want to volunteer, to be consistent throughout the month. Conversely, occasional cheerleadering is welcome from anyone at anytime.

Technically, 8 hours and 40 minutes to lift-off. Practically speaking, I'll be starting in the morning.

Approaching the Starting Box, the horse balks, tosses its head, prances backwards, attempts to turn away; but the jockey is relentless.

2009-10-28T12:16:00.000-04:00

My thinking about the book is moving daily, hourly, growing more complex, growing from a germ of an idea to a true complexity. Friends and family have been incredibly helpful in their donations of time, listening, questioning, informing, critiquing, encouraging, but there are still so many unanswered questions. It is November 28th! I want to say something stronger than that, but it’s not Beverly’s style. It’s **** November 28th. That’s my voice, panicked. Is my time this morning better spent plotting out more details or reading the book by the man who started it all, No Plot? No Problem. If I had the book in front of me, I’d put his name in. Chris Bably? Something like that. I don’t even have time to look it up.

I haven’t been well, though I’ve been working on this daily during my precious insomniac hours. So terribly Dickens, wandering the streets of London at night, living I imagine in a world of invention often more vivid than his own, or at least quieter than his household with its many children, the beloved wife, the distractions of fame. Once daylight is up, working on the book at best simply means telling someone else what I’ve got so far, so they can shoot holes in it, or, more likely, point out the gaping holes I’ve left myself. One friend wisely said to me yesterday, “Tell me again why I care about these people?” Uh-oh. That’s a tad of a problem I’d say. A sincere question: If I care about them, will the reader? I guess that depends on how good a writer I am.

I’ve had problems with all three computers, none of them completely tackled yet, though the new one I’m on now seems to be working. The house is, literally, collapsing under me. Medical problems and doctor problems and health insurance problems multiply like rabbits. Real life is not going to take a vacation in November. I will have to get my words in early in the morning or I’m doomed.

I did get nice new glasses, and a giant white board to scribble on. As for software, I’m loving yWriter5, though I haven’t had a chance to download it yet since reformatting, and this morning the internet is down and I’m too tired/lazy/determined not to get distracted to get up and reset the modem. I’m considering upgrading my copy of Dramatic Pro (so it actually functions, which it doesn’t now, because I’ve lost the product key during the moves to and from the condo years ago). However, I’m not sure if I want to spend the money. Today I’ll buy ($10) the new desktop version of Dr. Wicked. That seems a necessity. It’s even advertised as “released in time for Nano.” My T-shirt and mug have arrived in the mail, though I know I have to give up coffee or I will kill myself with it this month. My version of sobriety. I solved the problem of how to finish my MIL’s afghan, though I haven’t finished it yet. Kyarns has Rowan cashmere and Berroco Palace silk/wool blend (scarf knitting sounds about right for the month, don’t you think?) on sale and it’s killing me not to buy any. If I’m going to have time to knit this month, I really ought to stick with the beautiful merino in the rich colors I already have. Boo hoo. We’re talking Rowan cashmere tweed on sale. Rowan. Although, the Palace colors are better, especially for men. I have my fifth grade reading penpal for the year via In2Books.com, and my copy of our fiction book is on its way as we speak. We’ve already exchanged welcome letters. I can’t wait to work with him—starting this month. My new evening aide seems to be working out. Maybe she’s a good writer and I can put her to work while I sleep. Who would know? It seems all the necessities are in order to proceed (apparently including the ghost writer), except for the compass, map, and destination. Having a car packed and ready to go, but no knowledge of where you’re going, hardly counts as being ready for vacation. I have clues, certainly. More than clues; great swathes of wonderful ideas. And also all those holes. How much can I make up as I go along without slowly down too much?

Don’t forget I’m taking sponsors—donations for every day I meet or exceed 1700 words. 50% for the Department of Light and Letters, which runs Nano; and 50% for me. A girl has to make a living, and this one is mighty paltry. I don’t think I’ll even cover the cost of the T-shirt, much less the mug, and oh yeah, the book. And the white board and markers. And the new software, even at $10. Certainly not the cashmere. No, this is a losing proposition.

Actually, the second 50% goes to CaringBridge, which has been such a great website through my illness. In case you don’t know, that’s www.caringbridge.org/visit/cindycrane.

Did I mention this is a draft and it’s allowed to be really really bad? No one will even know. I could lie through my teeth here and tell you how impressively prepared I am. That would be the beginning of writing fiction. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try that approach.

Did I mention stress is bad for me? Did I mention this is supposed to be fun? It IS fun, actually, until I stop to think about it. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down. Darn, I looked down. I hate heights. Whoa . . . . . splat.

How do people have time to play on the forums? It sounds like fun, but there’s no way I have time for that. Maybe I’ll post a plea in a couple of places for buddies, people to have internet write-ins with. If, if, if I have time. Doubtful.

Now, I return to that plot, or I’ll waste more of your time and mine describing how much farther along I could be, if only.

What else could go wrong? The hot water and the irrigation system both broke today. Shoot, that's my life, not the book.

I'm getting a sense of how insane this is -or - winning with illness

2009-10-16T09:28:00.002-04:00

Today is October 16. I've already given up any hope of starting with a deep sense of detailed character and plot, and I've started outlining. This is nuts. I need to do the briefest of character sketches and an outline for an entire novel in the next 15 days. Well, I've outlined Chapters One and started Two. Uh-oh. Got a long way to go.

I have a plan. Have no idea if it's going to work. It occurred to me the other day that if I just write 1700 words a day for 30 days, I could run out of novel before I reach 50,000 words, or the end of the month before I finish the novel (well, that counts as winning, no one reads the draft anyway). So here's the plan: have a long synopsis finished in the first week. In other words, I have written out something for each scene in my outline. Something. Not much, but something. Then the novel is done. I'm calling this the rose method. I now have a single (5 petalled), species rose, and I just start looking for gaps and fill in more and more petals. I may end up with a double rose, or a triple, or a chrysanthemum, but in any case, at every point along the way I have a complete and finished, if terrible, novel.

I'm not the kind of person who thinks linearly anyway. I'm good at answering questions. I'm good at pontificating, explicating, seeing things from different points of view. By the time I finish the synopsis, I will probably have abandoned the outline anyway. Things happen. Characters get out of control. New people show up and you don't know what to do with them. The general wisdom is, "don't go backwards." But when do the cereal and the milk ever come out even? I think by going backwards they mean don't fix what you've written, and I'm not considering that. I'm filling in gaps. There will be a danger of rereading too much. I will have to be cautious of that, of looking for spots to fill in. I'm hoping they'll be obvious. I'm hoping this will be a process of letting the novel grow organically. It's still going to be rough, maybe even choppier than the other way, but it gives me a way to hold the whole on paper, not in my head, as I write the cumulative bits. The more I can get out of my head and into the story the better, especially for me.

I wrote on CaringBridge (www.caringbridge.org/visit/cindycrane) that I am asking for sponsors, to split the money between CaringBridge and National Novel Writing Month. I asked for a donation for each day I complete 1700 words.

AND, by the way, I already have two sponsors. How great is that? Not only did one person pledge a generous amount for each 1700 word day, given my health, she knows there will be days I can't make my word count. So if I manage 500 words for 25 of the 30 days, she's doubling her pledge on my 1700+ word days. How cool is that? Even on a sick day, I can manage 500 words. That means even if I lose, I win. This is also a great way for me to redefine "winning." Winning with illness. So I have a plan for winning and then I have a plan for winning. There's winning Nano (the abbreviated abbreviation); and then there's me winning against my illness--500 words for 25 days. I KNOW I can do that. If nothing else, I'll make a few bucks for charity and have given it my all, no matter how small. (Dr. Suess did not, after all, write lots of words on a wall, or words in the hall, no no not at all. He did not write at the mall. He did not write in a scrawl. He wrote loud and clear so children could hear, the big and the small. Still he won all the wins a person can win in a life, after all. We each have our way, and our say, and our day, and if we follow it all, not stopping to stall, then life is a ball and we are all winners, all.)

Stay tuned for daily word counts starting November 1.

Fiction Practice Prompts

2009-10-14T07:23:00.000-04:00

fiction writing 201, or 102, depending on where you went to school or are going or hope to go. Anyone remember back that far? Do they still number classes?

Assuming you already grasp the basic premise that plot and character are inextricably intertwined, and that the plot is a series of challenges and consequent choices which push on the main character's key weakness and key motivation, the stakes rising with each crisis, then how do you actually get the story out? Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird claims she keeps a small photo frame on her desk. She writes what will fit in that frame. Do that over and over, and soon you have a book. But what's in each frame? Some of us need more than a plot right now; some of us, like me, need to remember how to write fiction.

These are just a few of the gazillion possible prompts; the ones I just happened to come up with over the last few hours. And they represent just of a few of the something less than a gazillion but more than 17 fictional techniques.

Please add your prompts to the comments as soon as possible, and make this page really rich. Some of us need to walk before we can run, and the days go by so fast . . .

NOTE: these are complicated prompts, requiring writing and editing to consider every question I've put in each one. Practice ALL THAT AND THIS TOO now, because you won't have time for it in November. It's like driving. You have to accelerate, brake, steer, watch the traffic and not get lost all at the same time. Practice makes it instinctual, especially when a crisis strikes.

Thank you for sharing.

Some prompts for fiction writing:

Point of view, setting, narration:

Your point of view character has just been fired. Without mentioning that fact, walk her to her car. Describe both the action and what her senses perceive of the location around her.

Point of view, setting, scene, limited omniscience:

Your point of view character has just been fired. He tells his wife. Third person limited omniscience (cannot get inside his head to his thoughts). Write the scene, including description of the location as above, dialogue, and action. Don't let your characters just stand there and talk. They have to also do something. What does your main character want when the scene starts? How is he forced to make a decision which pushes one of his weaknesses? What are the consequences of his decision? Does he get what he wants? Does the scene end positively or negatively? What motivates each of the characters? Don't lose your grip on the point of view character's perspective, even though you have an omniscient narrator.

What does your minor character want? What is her role in progressing the scene? Without saying so, convey what she wants. Then, for one short paragraph at the key point in the scene from her perspective allow her to balloon into three dimensionality. How are you going to do that? Then make her deflate again into her role in the scene by undoing whatever you just changed (point of view, omniscience, sympathy, ????). The main character's choice about what he wants affects her outcome. Tell both stories without confusing the plot and the subplot.

The telling detail:

Your point of view character has just been fired. She is packing her desk as someone from human resources watches to ensure she only takes home personal items. They can speak or not, as you wish. Maintain her point of view throughout the scene. Include one telling detail such as a physical object or a gesture from one of the characters or a sense perception which communicates to the reader her state of mind without the narrator saying what her state of mind is.

Point view, unlimited omniscience:

Your point of view character has just been fired. As he drives home write his stream of consciousness thoughts, allowing the real world to intrude at moments into his preoccupation. Do not say "he thinks." Just write the thoughts. Do not leave his mind for any kind of action. For example, if he has to turn the steering wheel, he doesn't turn it, he has thoughts about it.

From Techniques of the Selling Writer:

The smallest action-reaction unit (if I remember correctly, that phrase is from Robert McKee's classic screenwriting book, Story) in fiction: these must occur in the correct order or they will not read correctly. Someone perceives something. Then they have a feeling about it. Then they have a thought about it. Then they speak about it or act on it. Lather, rinse, repeat (often what one character says is what another character perceives . . . In this way you construct dialogue where the two people are at least somewhat listening to each other, which is not always the case.) You can skip any of these phases but the first, but the remaining ones have to be in order. Write the following correctly and incorrectly: a baby cries. What happens next?

Dialogue with more than two characters:

Write a scene entirely in dialogue involving at least three friends eating a celebratory dinner in a fine restaurant. In some cases they listen to each other, in some cases they do not. Something interrupts them and changes the direction of their conversation. Stay in dialogue through the interruption. Convey the personality of each character both by what they say as well as by the other characters' responses. Convey what each character wants in the scene and whether or not they get what they want. Be sure the scene advances the plot by somehow changing the main character.

Suspense and time:

The more important or suspenseful the scene, the slower time passes. The main character has just been fired. It's the middle of the day. He approaches his front door knowing his wife is inside going about her normal life, which he is about to shatter. Give her a reason he knows about that she really wants him to have this job. Raise the stakes. Slow down time. Increase sense details. Drag the scene out. Put in a flashback or flashforward to make it last longer.

Narration vs. scenes:

Narrate a less important passage of time in a little plot, then move smoothly into the next important scene. Include time clues, transitions, anything you need to make the change from narration to scene flawless. The time clues not only tell how much time passes in the narration, they give a hint as to how much time is going to pass in the upcoming scene. For example, "As he stopped his car in the driveway," indicates the next scene will be brief (in real time), medium (in words and value) and only moderately detailed--imagine a movie camera in the room, shooting neither close-ups nor long views. "he took the interstate home" indicates the upcoming scene is going to be abbreviated (in real time), short in words, high in value (or else you would edit it out, wouldn't you) and barely above the level of narration in detail--imagine the camera pulled about halfway back. Make the distinction, though, between scene and narration in that what happens does not merely move time forward or give information to the reader, it also involves desire, motivation, choice, outcome and change for the main character, no matter how brief the incident. How much meaning can you squash into a tiny scene like this? Imagine the camera going from medium or a long view to a sudden zoom, perhaps on a telling detail? Finally, write a scene with a detailed transition and then excruciating detail in the scene. The camera is in close-up and reaction shots. What does the reader learn in a scene like this?

Who controls the information?

Write a scene where the reader knows a key piece of information the main character is missing. Write another scene where the main character knows a key piece of information the reader is missing. Write a scene where neither the main character nor the audience knows what's going on. The narrator leaves clues as well as distractons, misdirections and misinformation. Think "The Sixth Sense." What functions do these scenes serve?

Minor characters and tags:

Invent tags for your minor characters, this makes them predictable and satisfying to the reader and quickly reinforces their role in the scene. Make the tags work for you. For example, in David Copperfield, every time something startling happens, David's friend's red hair stands straight up on end. This gives him personality, uniqueness, predictability and clues the reader in to what their reaction should be to the action. This simple tag does a lot of work in the scene besides just identifying the character. If a minor character doesn't play a role, get rid of him. Now invent useful tags for the four minor characters in the following scene. Your main character has just been fired. She's come home and told her husband. Together they are making dinner and talking (talking how?) about what's happened. Their three children are in the room. There's also a pet in the room. What role does each minor character play in the scene (reflect the major characters mood? Comic relief? A broader point of view than the parents can perceive? An opposing point of view? The reader's emotional reaction? The reader's logical reaction? The reader's obvious question? A warning that the characters are getting into dangerous territory? A clue that valuable information has just been given the reader? A reflection that the reader has unanswered questions at this point, etc, etc. etc.) the minor character has to play this role for the whole book, and it is his or her only role in each scene. Make sure the role is needed in every scene where the character appears. Make the tag as compact as possible. (Maggie Simpson's pacifier going in and out of her mouth . . . What role does that action play in the TV show? Or the mother in Pride and Prejudice, who exists only to exclaim that the girls have all got to be married, preferably in the right order. Chewbacca's wookie distress call/call-to-arms in Star Wars Episode 4). In the case of our scene above, perhaps the youngest child's tag is that he feeds the turtle whenever there is stress in the room, i.e. the family needs nurturing. That is all this child has to do in the entire book. Be in the kitchen to feed the turtle when the family is stressed. The turtle, for his part, can either accept or reject the food, indicating the current emotional status of the family. (Now in your version, what animal is the pet?) The more minor the character, the more particular and limited his role will be. Chewbacca, for example, is a major minor character, and has several calls, but they all make us want to rally round Harrison Ford and keep his foolhardiness from making him unsympathetic (of course his good lucks probably prevent that as well). Chewie's wonderful bellow is his tag; his tag conveys (at least) either a battle cry and/or a willingness to follow Ford into the depths of hell; the audience's emotions are cued without a word being said.

What else are your characters doing while they talk?

Your main character has just been fired. He's in his living room with his wife and another couple. Write the dialogue, but don't just make them talking heads. What are their hands doing? How comfortable are their clothes? Who is pacing; who sitting still? Are any of these tags? Are any of them telling details? Do any of them advance the plot? Contribute to the atmosphere (that's a form of advancing the plot, yes?)? How tight is the "camera"? What senses are used besides vision? Show don't tell. Silence speaks louder than words. Find lots of different subjects for your sentences. Vary sentence length. Don't slip up and lose your point of view character's point of view, unless you are using an omniscient narrator, and even then, be very very careful. When is it OK to move away from the character's point of view to the narrator's? Can you have them each record the other characters' minor actions? How is that working for you?

OK. GET TO WORK.

I signed up to do what?

2009-10-10T23:22:00.001-04:00

I must be out of my mind. I know perfectly well that the more I am supposed to do something the less I want to do it. That is, after all, how the to-do list got so out-of-hand. I'm a perfectionistic non-doer. If something needs finishing, I look at yarn or books on-line. Who knows what Amazon has to recommend for me today? Now it's already mid-October and the house is falling down about my ears and my PC needs reformatting and all I did tonight was take a nice long nap. I've bought some bridal magazines to skim and cannot bring myself to do so. The dresses are hideous. I've scoured Half.com for books on making bridal gowns, but they are outrageously expensive. And this is all background. Do I even need this? I have enough sewing books to fake what I need to fake. Now I need the rest of it: what books does she read? What movies does she watch? What food does she eat? Is she married to Hugh, or is it a romance? What genre am I in anyway? What happens to her? I love her job, but a job does not a novel make.

Several nights ago I awoke to a beautiful dream. I hope it's about NaNoWriMo. I hope Jung was right. I'm going to pretend he was. I am in my lake where I grew up, swimming with a professional football player and a sullen girl of about eleven. These are me, I thought, me in the primal soup with the parts of me I ignore that I must call upon right now in order to get this done. The athlete is obviously my much-neglected yang side: strong, disciplined, active, not questioning everything but moving forward in faith that practice and passion will get him through the big game. He lives in the moment; he lives in his body; he understands focus; he understands the difference between work and play. Holy cow, he drinks beer by the bucket. I hate beer.He says he loves me. He wants to marry me. Carl, Carl, he wants to cleave unto me and the two shall become one? Is it possible? It's going to have to be, because NaNoWriMo is one big Nike ad: Just do it. Just show up at practice, put in your drills, run til your legs ache and the sweat drips down your back, spit on the field, clamp your hot as hell helmet back on your head and drill somemore, then shower, go home and nurse your wounds until tomorrow. Quit thinking. Practice. This isn't insta-Shakespeare. It's insta-rough sock-em, knock-em rough rough draft. It's the NFL of speed writing, at least for me. And the gorgeous man in the lake with me wants to marry me? Me? Can't even make up her mind about a pair of shoes me? God bless us, I need him.

The sullen girl? If Jung is right, the neglected child, having a nice pout about being pulled out after all these years. Who would want to go to work so abruptly after the pleasant neglect of daily journaling, which truly is so undemanding? No wonder she is sullen. Eleven-year-olds do not crave work. They crave cheetoh's and pining over boy bands. Work is not in their vocabulary. They spend English class writing badly illustrated notes about how stupid the teacher is and how ugly her knees are, which is a really dumb thing to do because when you get caught, um, you get caught red-handed. But Farenheit 451? Please. Can we read something a little less obvious? Work is obvious. I need the girl who writes the notes about Chicken Legs and her knobby knees. Can I coax her out after all these years? Wouldn't it be great if my narrator were just a little catty, had just a touch of the madness of the eleven-year-old, didn't really like anything she was supposed to do, including writing the book? I like it. Catty, lazy narrator. I just may keep that bit.

I know three people writing books even as we speak. Real, make progress every day writing books. What line did I get out of somewhere along the way? Is it really the ilness? Or am I defective? Broken? Blocked? Simply untalented or no longer interested? What motivates me? The dare. The dare motivates me. Is that enough to carry me through thirty persistent days?

Yet my ideas progress. I don't think this is a romance. I don't read romances. I read, well, I don't read much anymore. It's too mentally demanding. That's not a good omen. But if I could, if I were a genius, I would write literary fiction. That's really really really what I want in my heart but I don't dare to say it out loud because I know, I'm not stupid, but I'm also not that smart. If one's not Salman Rushdie, is it even worth proceeding? Everyone in the world will say yes to your face, but I know the truth. Some people, most people, just are not good enough to write literary fiction. And who wants to write bad literary fiction? Apparently me. Hence NaNoWriMo. For one month only I admit defeat, and just write. Once many years ago I wrote in my journal: "too dumb to be great; too smart to sit still." That was true, then, but now, now as I battle the inertia of illness, years gone by and heavy doses of benzodiazepines, am I still too smart to sit still?

NaNoWriMo doesn't matter does it? It distinctly does not care. What a revelation. Isn't this my chance to fail and win at the same time? Yesterday I bravely checked off "literary fiction" under genre. Frankly, now that Perec is dead I don't know what that means. I think it's mainstream fiction only better, a little more experimental, a little snobby maybe. That's it. Snobby. Literary fiction has pretentions. That's what I have: pretentions. Yet I abhor arrogance. No wonder my novel-count is zero.

Here's the breaking news. I woke up the next night with another thought.

What if Beverly's house and studio are at the end of a long gravel driveway, the end of which curves around an enormous old magnolia which hides the house from view until you are practically in the garage. So one day she's tired and it's late and she's not paying attention at all. How many times has she driven this driveway, told herself she needs to put down more gravel, but is that really worth the money? Then she rounds the turn. And comes to a sudden stop.

This is the premise of the book.

For now at least.

I could change my mind later.

But for now this next sentence is the premise of the book.

Do you want to know what it is?

Of course you do.

Beverly drives round the bend of the magnolia and thinks about gravel, and comes to a dead stop. She is at her house. She should practically be in her garage right now. Yet she is more awake then she has ever been in her life. She drove round the bend of the magnolia and stopped in front of her house, only her house isn't there.You know that awful feeling when you think you know where you parked, but you don't, and you come out of Walmart half-asleep and right where you thought your car was is nothing at all? That's a terrible feeling. Where did the car go? Was it stolen? Are you in the wrong place? Where is the damn car? Now you are awake. Now Beverly is more awake then you were at that moment by a factor of oh, to quote my son, about 154%. She rounded the bend and her house is gone. In front of her is nothing, nothing but a neat hole in the ground and a bunch of neatly snapped off plumbing and electrical stuff. Very neatly snipped, she thinks of her favorite seam ripper. She stopped the car just in time.Where is the damn house? pounds her heart.

And so the adventure begins. Perec where are you? Spirits of Calvino, Coover, Barthelme, Borges and Barthes, hear me calling you? Pablo, Pablo, Sr. Neruda, Sr. Paz, I don't care if you're poets, surely you have some good advice. Sartre, Pirandello, Capote, never mind you. For heaven's sake, Bill Shakespeare, G.B. Shaw, Chuckie Dickens, Ms. Austen (not Auster, listen carefully, idiot, Aus-ten, Aus-ten) somebody, what am I to do with the remains of my day? Eco, Rushdie, rush to my aid. I just jumped off the deep end and I've forgotten how to swim. What do the bridal magazines matter now? The woman's house is gone and I haven't the faintest idea where it is.

What else could go wrong?

Who is this Beverly person?

2009-09-30T08:08:00.002-04:00

It's funny how it all started. There's a street not far from where I live called Beverly Crest. I always thought that was a great name for a character, especially a romance character. And of all things the adjacent street is named Hugh Forest. What could be better? These two have been lurking in the back of mind for years without a plot. When I decided to take my frustrated interest in sewing and fashion design (all the standing up and sitting down is too tiring for me; I knit and design knitwear instead and mostly, yea, collect yarn, though my fabric stash is nothing to sniff at) and put it into a character, Beverly was born for real. Her name seems like the name of slightly older person, though, so this will be chick lit for the menopausal set. That gives me lots of material for professional expertise combined with career boredom, marital and/or relationship problems, mid-life crises, hormonal upset, aging parents, long-neglected house repairs, teenagers lurking underfoot or first-jobbers making or not making it on their own, . . . Furthermore it saves me having to be up on the latest music. Thank goodness.

Beverly has this great job. She designs bridal gowns. Period. No bridesmaid dresses. No prom dresses. No MOB dresses. She designs bridal gowns. She does employ a dressmaker, Sarah, to do most of the sewing, though she's perfectly capable herself as a couturier seamstress, and she does like occasionally to get behind the machine. She's paid her dues, though. She can work the way she wants to work. And after so many years in the business, she's learned one thing about how to make a bride the gown of her dreams. It's not the design. It's not the fit. It's not the price tag. It's one thing. Don't listen to her mother.

Beverly also has an interest in photography, but no time for a second career, not with the demands of highly-strung brides pressuring her to get going when she knows perfectly well that every early fitting is completely useless as the (young) woman is either going to lose or gain weight in the ensuing months. She might have to scrap her original design altogether in order to mask a pregnancy as well as possible. Second (third?) brides and older brides are much easier to deal with. They don't have time to obsess and they don't listen to their mothers to begin with, not on matters such as what to wear to the second wedding, which they are paying for themselves and Mom isn't all that happy about to begin with. Or she is, but she knows now is not the time to run the show. No, those days are over. So, Beverly likes to take camera in hand and follow the bride around for a day or two taking snapshots and getting a sense of the B's personality, interests, and sense of style. She digs deep into their closets, scans the books on the bookshelf, photos the pets, the groom, the living room couch. She gets to know her customers inside and out. Then she starts to design.

On a technical note, you, dear reader, might as well get used to the abbreviations B, G, MOB, FOB, etc. They make everyone's life so much easier, including mine as the author and Beverly, who has to be very discrete and obviously can't Twitter about her customers using their real names.

Every B is unique. Every gown is unique. How does Beverly make a living at this, one worth suffering through all the stress? First of all, she is a master of fabric, of knowing when to sacrifice silk for polyester, strings of pearls for those applied individually, hand-stitched French seams for fake French seams on the serger. Polyester has improved a lot over the years. And she doesn't use a lot of pearls anyway. She's the populist couturier. That's how she does it--she makes more gowns for less. No Vera Wang here. Sure, silk is beautiful. Hand-applied lace is beautiful. All that and more is beautiful. Every dress could always be more beautiful, and more expensive. Beverly knows that's not the way to stay in business, not in Charlotte, North Carolina at least. Scrimp, skimp, save and still make a unique and beautiful gown. That's how to stay in business. Couturier for less than many gowns in the bridal shops? Yup. She can do it.

Secondly, she is a master of sewing know-how. Equally at ease with the most sophisticated Milan-worthy hand techniques as the down-and-dirty of invisible serger cheats and duct tape dress forms, Beverly (and Sarah) make beautiful gowns. She knows where to fudge (assembling the lining, underlining, interlining, crinoline, which, ironically have to be made of high quality materials, particularly if the outside of the gown is not) and where not to (any detail around the face or the hem, especially if there's a train).

Finally, she is a master of finding fabric, notions, trims, thread, laces, headpieces, you name it, cheap. Unlike most dressmakers who for profit and convenience turn again and again to their dependable suppliers for their favorite fabrics and Bamberger lining, there's nothing Beverly enjoys more than searching EBay, Craigslist, estate sales, wherever she can think to look, to obtain supplies. She buys used gowns from the classifieds, and, as one says in the green-biz, repurposes them. She goes vintage, for the right person. She updates Mom's gown, for the right person. She'll buy two yards of marked down remnants at Walmart. Who says a bodice has to be the same fabric as a skirt? She doesn't just design for the bride, she designs around the fabrics she has on hand. Therein lies the challenge and adventure. But don't tell. The B's don't know. They enter her shop and are overwhelmed by the vastness of her selection. There are rows and rows and rows of upstanding bolts of fabric, lace, netting, tulle, trim and ribbon. Beverly bolts everything as though it's brand-spanking new. Her shop, full to the gills, is neat as an accountant's top drawer. Dress forms line one wall; notebooks of sketches and bridal magazines going back twenty years line another. Of course there are mirrors everywhere, gracious seats, plenty of light. This place is like no other place they've been before. They are immediately happy they made the drive. Or else they turn around and walk out. The little bell on the door tells all. Thank goodness they don't see the studio.

In short, Beverly comes in on budget with a gown beyond the bride's wildest dreams. Or at least she does on a good day. On a bad day, she never leaves a customer unsatisfied, even if she has to start over or (this is a really bad day), give them their money back. That's right. She guarantees her work. Can you believe that? But it's won her more customers in goodwill than any hoarded deposit ever did. So she does it, no matter how much it hurts.

Mostly, though she just likes to stand at the dress form with swaths of fabric about her, her pincushion velcroed tight around her wrist, and drape, pin, drape, pin, unpin, drape some more.

Active sketch books line the walls of her crowded office along with all the paraphenalia of running a small business. Scraps of fabric, samples, notes on napkins, stickies, boxes of pins, finely honed sets of shears, tiny snippers and many all-important seam-rippers lie about everywhere. But the shop, and area around where Sarah works, is as tidy and appealing tidy and appealing can be.

Mind you, NONE of this can appear verbatim in the novel itself. Strictly against the rules. However, I wanted you to know what I know about Beverly. Hopefully that will make following her on Twitter more fun, where you are going to absolutely drill me on every aspect of her life.

Now I return to October, reality, two doctors' appointments, three dogs, a neglected husband, breakfast, a desperate need for a wash, a desperate need to drastically cut my to-do's (something I should have done twenty years ago), a moldy house, a weedy yard, a fired aide, a broken computer, a 6-inch stack of papers on my desk, a million questions doctors or anybody else can't answer, and my very long list of disgusting things I have to swallow every day to keep myself as healthy as possible.

What could go wrong?

aphasia and, um, what's that word? (prompter): anomia. (writer): right, anomia, are you sure?

2009-09-29T08:30:00.001-04:00

Aphasia is a group of neurocognitive disorders of language, in which language is either not understood, not vocalized properly, or some combination of the two. It applies to both writing and speaking. I'd give you a nice tidy link but there are about a million different kinds in Wikipedia alone, so if you care, which is doubtful, you can look it up yourself.Aphasia is not a fun disease for a writer to have. People with true severe aphasia cannot communicate. I just fail to understand things said to me or can't come up with the right word or worse yet use a random other-word and don't even notice. For two years I drove past a sign that said "First Class Carpentry," and every time I saw it I thought (just typed "that" for "thought"), "Well, come on guys, it's been forever. If you're going to have a carpentry class, get on with it. When IS the first class anyway?" Or how about this one: an article in the paper several years ago linked burnings of Black churches in the South to men with Ku Klux Klan ties. Now, I'm as outraged by racism and church-burning as the next person, but can you really condemn someone for their neckware? And just who manufactures these KKK ties? Where do you buy them? I guess the same place you pick up your headgear and gown. Do the ties have little hooded men all over them, like Halloween ghosts with peaked costumes? I couldn't fathom it, this arresting people for their neckties. I was ready to call the ACLU. Tacky, yeah. Illegal no (that word would not be illengal, which is the illegal poaching of Bengal tigers).
Aphasia works on the tracks both in and out of the station. I hear and read things wrong, and also I cannot say words I want to say; on occasion I cannot speak at all (of all the maddening things). As I writer I come back to proof sentences that make no sense, stop in the middle and begin again somewhere else, and I haven't the faintest idea what I intended to say. Or sometimes I do, but what actually came out of my fingers onto the page barely resembles that intention. Words stop in the middle or are wrong altogether. Speaking is worse and the search for the word I want worsens my already stuttery speech.
Therefore, as you read these posts, gentle folk, have mercy on a poor impeded friend. I do try to proof, but proofing (not proffing, which is what college teachers do until they retire) doesn't always bring the mistake to my awareness. If you think a sentence makes no sense, chances are, for a change, you're right.
So that's it for tonight folks, because, just for the record, I am now typing with one eye open. Just remember: if it looks like a typo, and it smells like a typo, and it quacks like a typo, it might not be a typo. It might be a rogue brain cell enjoying an afternoon skiing in the Swiss Alps while everyone else works. "I didn't think you'd need me today," he objects. Ha! Who can tell when you are going to need a great word like disangulation. I actually have no idea if that's a word or not, but it sounds good there. For what it's worth, my language problems are secondary. My primary diagnosis (I hate to talk about this, but we have to get it out of the way) is mitochondrial dysfunction. My cells do not make energy (not envy) efficiently. Then my brain poops out, like a toddler, pretty much the rest of my body konks out at the same time. Speaking becomes flat and increasingly difficult; my arms, legs, balance, fail me; everything looks a little dark; I feel weird, impending doom; if I am lucky I fall asleep. Often I have what appear to be seizures but are actually excuses for the doctors to disagree or throw up their hands in despair. if you are not a doctor and you saw one you would say oh that poor woman having a seizure, or that poor woman staring into space who cannot move or talk. Does this mean I can't finish my daily word tally? It might. It might not. A lot depends, like everyone else, on what else happens in my life. Let me add that stress makes me much worse. So this has to be fun. If it is stressful I won't make it. Good remedy: have fun or fail. I'm not good at that. The man swimming in the lake with me is good at that. I hope he has fun writing my novel for me. Are we having fun now? Do I really need to stop and think about that? I sense some unfunctional thoughts here.

I wanted to add everything that got in the way of my writing today, but I'm too tired. Use your imagination, or simply think about what got in your own way today, and file it all under the heading, Life Happens. This is what scares me about NaNoWriMo. Can I be sick, have Life Happen AND write 1700 words a day?
A little good news before I leave you: Beverly made it onto Twitter today. Do go visit. www.twitter.com/BeverlyCrest. Grill me. Ask me the hardest question you can think of, or rather, grill her. Make her give you a good answer, in 140 characters or less (actually 140 characters is quite a large cast; few movies and no plays demand more than that, so it must be the limit in that screenwriting software you can buy. 140 ought to give her Plenty of Leeway.)
Tomorrow's topic: Who knows. Maybe the bullfrog in the pool. What's he/she living off of anyway? How far do I have to take her away from the house, even as far as the stream, to keep her from coming back?
Yours,
C.L.

This was not supposed to be the way this blog started

2009-09-29T00:39:00.000-04:00

Nothing today, in fact, has been the way it was supposed to be. I was going to keep back parts of my personal life to spring on you unexpectedly, I don't know, to elicit maximum pathos perhaps. Then today happened and here I am writing about the non-writing part of my life already. I promise this won't be a dominant theme of this blog, which is about writing this novel in November. However, part of a writer's life is the rest of her life, and the logs life throws across our paths, small and large, to keep us, unlike the post office, from our appointed rounds. So the truth will out now. I was up all night slapping together this temporary website and Beverly's identity on Twitter (which isn't working by the way) when I got a call from my doctor that the only time he could see me this week was first thing this morning. That was supposed to be when I slept off my all-nighter. I don't want to dwell on it, but I have multiple health issues which you will hear about as they make interruptions in my life. Today was such a day. I got through my appointment successfully . . . that was a surprise . . . among other things, I have an uncontrolled and un-understood seizure disorder and the overstimulation of leaving the house usually sets me off. I did not, however, make it through checking out, and ended up spending several hours in the doctor's IV room with a cluster of seizures, and bits of nap in between. I came home and slept most of the day.Oh, at this point you must meet Shonte, my assistant, lest you think I am driving myself about in such a condition. The day was shot; no time for writing or making headway on my October to-do list. I wonder would I have made my 1700 words today, one way or another? Perhaps in the middle of the night before the crisis? What if they finally get me on the right meds and I stop seizing several times a day, but I start to sleep through the night and miss my quiet hours without interruption? Ok, tell you the truth, this whole novel in a month is really making me squirm,as though not finishing is failure. My life is full of such failures. I am great at starting projects. You'll notice no end to that thought. Finishing no matter what. Exactly the lesson I am setting out to learn. Quantity, quantity. Ah well. Hopefully tomorrow I will find Beverly, although, yes, you guessed it: first thing in the morning I have a fasting blood draw, and I have to buy new glasses this week because my eyes are giving way and, and and . . . . The doctor's office doesn't like it so well when I have seizures in the office so the nurse will make a housecall sometime in the morning when she can escape the office for a few minutes. It's an unusual practice. I'm very grateful.
Tomorrow's topic: aphasia.

Argh!

2009-09-29T00:33:00.000-04:00

Well obviously I haven't gotten this whole posting thing down yet, because I just wrote the previous entry and when I write I can't see the "publish button" below the compose box and thought all was lost and it was way too late at night to start over and then I noticed the "saved" button and miracle of miracles all was not lost, only in draft form. Yes, I am a rank beginner. Good-bye to all those looking for blogger sophistication, monetization, SEO optimization, widgets, squidgets, and all that jazz. It was nice having you here while it lasted. These are the words of a working writer on a new adventure. I'm actually using the technology to help myself through this ludicrous assignment more than I am using it to bore the world with my common struggles. On the other hand, I am not completely computer illiterate: I can create a master document in Word, ask Google a question, find Beyonce on youtube, get suggestions from Amazon (which are oh so tempting) and assign tasks in Outlook. I can even BCC somebody. That's not nothing, is it? I might as well admit it up front. The technology is bigger than I am; often I fear it is bigger than us all. Now, to hit "publish post," and wish all who remain a good-night. But just one question first: will I still be able to write when the neurologist takes me off this medicine which makes me talk too much?