Coffee and Conversat… on A novel experience through… NaNoWriMo Update: st… on Snippet from NaNoWriMo NaNoWriMo update: St… on Snippet from NaNoWriMo Bookworm: “Ham… on Bookworm: “Post Off… nikkimmascali on Bookworm: “Post Off…
- "I'm the Michael Jordan of throwing Vicodin everywhere." @nickkroll #krollshow 2 hours ago
- Why is "waitin' all day for a Sunday night" so hard to get out of my head? Well played, @nfl 5 hours ago
- RT @GeorgeTakei: No liking till you get it. http://t.co/jIvgd3KtPh 5 hours ago
- Nikki + Girl Child date night. So much better than 1st #movie #catchingfire #hungergames #catnip @ AMC… instagram.com/p/hrdnAKkdT3/ 7 hours ago
- How about regular old tap water, David. Spring is too fancy for the likes of me. "Are we ready to blast off?" 1 day ago
- December 2013
- November 2013
- October 2013
- September 2013
- August 2013
- July 2013
- June 2013
- May 2013
- April 2013
- March 2013
- February 2013
- January 2013
- December 2012
- October 2012
- September 2012
- August 2012
- July 2012
- June 2012
- May 2012
- April 2012
- March 2012
- February 2012
- January 2012
- December 2011
- October 2011
- September 2011
- August 2011
- July 2011
- June 2011
- May 2011
- April 2011
- March 2011
- February 2011
- January 2011
- December 2010
- November 2010
- October 2010
- September 2010
“You only learn to be a better writer by actually writing.”
I spent most of November doing something I always wanted to do, ever since I grabbed my first notebook at the age of 10 and started writing the first of hundreds of unfinished stories I’d write out, first in blue ink and then in Word on a laptop.
I wrote a book.
A story that I actually finished.
I did it as part of NaNoWriMo, and I loved the challenge of trying to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. Unlike the fella, who clocked in a few days early with more than 60,000 words, I didn’t get the fancy winner certificate that now resides on our bookcase because my story was just over 44,000 words.
At first, it bothered me that he, in a sense, beat me at something that is, technically, kinda my thing. Though it wasn’t a competition between us, I think we all know it kind of was, especially since this whole writing thing is, well, kind of my thing. He’s a brilliant designer by trade, so I should have run circles around him this month, but alas, my story, which is entitled (spoiler alert!!) “Shag,” was a slow burner. Some chapters took their time revealing themselves, and I am so very glad they did because I am really happy with the outcome.
After having a successful and super inspiring outing in April as part of the 30-Day Poetry Challenge, I knew this would be the year I tackled NaNoWriMo. I’m very big on yearly traditions (hello, resolutions!), so I will definitely sign back up next year and get a certificate of my very own.
Until then, the editing process starts tomorrow on the 77 pages of “Shag,” and I’ll hopefully start the process of getting it published. Plus, I already have a second book mapped out to start after that’s all done, so it appears I’ll be quite busy until next November comes.
Hope everyone had a great NaNoWriMo, too!
The hiss of the radiator is my only companion in the early-morning darkness as I type this, well, that and the night of insomnia I’ve just (barely) endured. And this week’s quote sure hits home as I’m in the third and second-to-last week of my very first NaNoWriMo.
Even when I’ve not been working on it, this novel has consumed me the past 21 days. I’ve thought about it, mapped out scenes in my head and saw my word count climb slowly, oh, so much slower than I wanted it to. It is what it is and will be what it will be. The story comes to me as it’s ready to be told — and when it’s ready to be written, hence the wee morning hours I am keeping today.
“Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle,
like a long bout of some painful illness.
One would never undertake such a thing
if one were not driven on by some demon
whom one can neither resist nor understand.”
Standing in line
waiting to board the bus
that’ll take me back home
to be taken care of.
The meth heads,
with their pierced faces
and gaunt eye sockets,
line up somewhere behind me
to peddle their wares in Wilkes-Barre,
to add to the death count of 2013.
The woman in front of me
asks if I would watch her bags
so she can have one last smoke
out among the exhaust fumes
and asks about my neon-orange shoes.
The Spanish couple behind me
loudly make out
as if he’s going off to war
before he boards for Mount Pocono.
We all get on
only to inevitably get off
somewhere that’s not New York.
*Written aboard the Marz bus that took me home to Northeastern Pennsylvania Sunday night.
“The red slashes of her phone number on the mirror looked like open wounds
on my reflection, and I smirked because they kind of were.”
I’m a little more than 10,000 words in so far, and the story is going in a direction I didn’t see coming. That’s been my favorite part about undertaking NaNoWriMo so far — that unearthing what these characters want to do and say and who they really are as I strip them down chapter by chapter.
I’m looking very forward to the next 40,000 words … or how ever many words they feel they need to tell their story.