Hidden from the Wind

It’s almost noon, and I’m still in bed. The wind is whistling outside the window and I’ve buried myself under the comfort of multiple blankets, one of which has penguins on it. I’ve been awake for probably about half an hour, and in that time I’ve done little, occasionally pondering shuffling to the kitchen for toast.

Laziness, as always, trumps hunger.

Today Jeff works from 9am until noon. When he gets here and promptly passes out from exhaustion, I’ll spend a couple of hours tidying up the kitchen and the living room as we’re having friends over tonight for Awesome Tacos and Bruce Campbell movies later tonight. Hitting the store for Awesome Taco ingredients is also required, but that can wait a few hours.

*Reminds herself not to forget the sour cream like she always does*

I also have over one hundred pages of Sigmund Freud to read for class today. I understand my professor’s logic in wanting us to read Freud so we can more accurately determine that he’s a misogynistic hack, but it’s seriously like pulling teeth. *sigh* the things I do for a well-rounded education.

At some point I also have to get a little writing done (I need to hit 20k today to stay on my maximum target- I hope to write more than that). I plan on plugging myself into my laptop with headphones and listening to playlists on Grooveshark, typing away until a few more scenes appear on my screen. Jeff will do Astronomy homework and we’ll distract each other with episodes of Angel and videogames until it’s time to cook and be merry with friends.

So that’s my Saturday, both the so far and the yet to come. I hope, whoever you are, that your Saturday is going this well. ❤

 

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Since it’s Already Day Four…

… and I haven’t done this already, I think it’s time I post an excerpt of what I’ve written so far this November. So here’s what I wrote today, and what got me up over 15k this evening (yay!). It’s the fourth chapter of Ghost. Hope you guys like it!

*

Future Prospects

Fiona felt herself sobering up long before her flight touched down at Reagan National Airport, and she combated the inevitable headache traditionally associated with airport wine with a cup of strong coffee. There was a cab and a driver waiting for her just outside the airport and she climbed into it gratefully. The heat in DC at this time of year was absolutely unbearable, and even a few seconds of walking through it was miserable, especially in her formal suit jacket and skirt.

Traffic was also miserable; Fiona’s flight had managed to be the one that landed during the height of rush hour. As the cab crawled along the highway at a snail’s pace, Fiona did her best to ignore her aching head by checking her phone messages and checking her hotel reservations on her internet application. Everything was in order, even if she was running a bit late. The conference proceedings weren’t due to start for another two hours, and at absolute worst she could go straight to the meeting hall if she didn’t have time to take her bags up to her hotel room. She was glad this year they were holding the conference in the same hotel she was staying in, unlike last year where she’d had to stay in a Holiday Inn near the airport due to spacing and funding issues.

She sighed impatiently, trying to be impressed by the historical monuments she could see out of the cab’s window. The slowness of the traffic made them far less interesting than they could have been, and after a while she leaned forward to address her driver:

“Do you have any idea what’s going on today?” she asked him. “Why is the traffic so heavy?”

The cab driver shrugged without turning to look at her. “Couldn’t say,” he said. “Might be something official going on at the Capitol, or maybe a truck went off the road. Don’t know for sure.”

Fiona sighed again and leaned back into the cab’s uncomfortable leather seats. “Is there any sort of shortcut to the Plaza from here?” she asked. “I really can’t be late for this.”

“Don’t get all bent out of shape lady,” the cab driver said, sounding a bit defensive. “The traffic has a mind of its own here. All we can do is go with the flow. I’ll get you to the Plaza in plenty of time for your meeting, I swear.”

Fiona bit her lower lip in frustration and stared out the window again for a few minutes. Then she went into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small wallet. “I’ll give you thirty bucks extra if you can find me a shortcut,” she said, pulling out a small folded stack of bills. “I mean it, I can’t be late for this.”

The driver turned around this time, an exasperated look on his face. “Lady, I really don’t think there’s much I can do,” he said. “I can take a different bridge, but it’s not guaranteed to be any faster.”

“Try,” Fiona said, pursing her lips and sitting back in her seat again. “I’ll make it worth the trouble.”

The driver faced the road again and grumbled to himself in Spanish and Fiona made out the phrase ‘perra tenso’ over the roar of the traffic. Bristling, she responded in kind. “y ver su idioma,” she snapped at him. Watch your language.

The driver turned back to her, obviously rattled. “Lo siento senora,” he apologized. “I don’t get so many passengers who speak Spanish.”

“Really?” Fiona scowled at him. “It’s practically the first language of the United States these days; I’d be more surprised to meet someone who doesn’t speak it,” She rubbed her temples irritably. “Just get me to the damn hotel and I won’t call your supervisor about it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, turning back around in his seat and slowly pulling forward in the crawl of traffic.

Fiona sat in silence for the rest of the slow drive to the Plaza. She checked the messages on her phone again, disappointed to find that neither Ellen nor Aaron had called her back. She hadn’t expected to her from her little sister right away; she was taking summer classes and would probably be busy until late this evening. Aaron on the other hand was unemployed and in the same time zone as her; he had no excuse for not calling her back except for deliberately avoiding her.

Unless Mom and Dad cut off his phone, she thought to herself. If they did, it’s about damn time.

The cab driver’s shortcut was successful and she gave him an extra twenty dollars on top of her fare. Less than what she had promised, but he seemed grateful that she’d given it to him at all after his slip-up during the journey. He even helped her lift her suitcases out of the cab and onto the pavement, where a Plaza valet quickly picked them up and dutifully followed Fiona through the glass double doors.

Fiona had her bags sent up to her room after she checked in; she figured it would be wise to go to the conference room to get her badge and information before she went to clean up, just so she wouldn’t have to rush back right before the opening address. As she crossed the lobby, following the signs pointing her towards the conference halls, she heard a voice behind her:

“Hey, Fiona!”

She turned to see her colleague and fellow lab employee, Doctor Thomas McGill, moving towards her in a half-run, hand raised in a wave. Resisting the urge to sigh, Fiona smiled and slowed down so he could catch up. “Thomas,” she said as he fell into step beside her, panting slightly. “Glad to see you made it.”

“You too,” he said, wiping his palms on his jacket. He was a few years younger than Fiona, and the youngest member of the research group they participated in. “Did you just arrive?”

“Yeah,” Fiona nodded. “I left this morning. Red-eye.”

“Yikes,” Thomas chuckled and winced. “Rough gig. I flew in last night with Zach and the Doc. We got a group discount. How come you didn’t get in on that?”

Fiona shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant. “The Doc wanted me to stay the night before the conference to keep an eye on some samples,” she said. “The interns are going to take care of it while we’re gone, but he wanted me to look over them one last time before we were all gone to make sure it was all in order.”

“Oh,” Thomas seemed to crumple slightly, and Fiona tried not to look too smug. “That’s good. Have you seen your room yet?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I figured I’d pick up my badge first and all the information so I can look over it before the proceedings start. How are the rooms here?”

“Good,” Thomas said, still looking a bit deflated. “I’m bunking up with Zach and a couple of other guys from the Biology department.”

“Mm,” Fiona nodded. “That’s not bad.”

“They give you your own room again?” Thomas asked, looking slightly envious.

“Yep,” Fiona said, trying to remain patient. “One of the benefits of being the only female on the team I guess.”

“Yeah,” Thomas trailed off, clearly feeling awkward. “I was just going to go find some lunch,” he said, pointing back towards the hotel restaurant. “You want to grab a bite with me before things get started?”

“No thanks,” Fiona said with as much politeness as she could muster. “I’m not hungry just yet. Maybe I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Sure!” Thomas perked up, and Fiona regretted making that suggestion. “I’ll talk to the Doc and the others, see if we can’t get a group together for some drinks.”

“Okay,” Fiona attempted a sincere smile. “I’ll see you later Thomas.”

“Yeah,” he smiled back and waved at her as he stopped walking and she continued to move away. “See you later!”

Turning her back on her colleague, Fiona resisted the urge to swear and make a detour to the hotel bar. Thomas was the most inept and socially awkward of her associates, and his rather obvious interest in her was frequently a source of frustration for her.

As she entered the conference room at the end of the long, carpeted hallway, she heard another voice call her name right before she reached the registration table:

“Doctor Forrester!”

Fiona turned and saw her boss, Doctor Monroe, standing to the right of the double-doors that led into the second conference hall. With him were two older men, neither of whom she recognized. She joined them after determining that the line at the registration table would be too long for her to politely pick up her materials and respond to Doctor Monroe’s greeting.

“So glad you made it here safe Fiona,” Doctor Monroe said, shaking her hand warmly and smiling, his face crinkling with what Fiona thought was relief. “I’d like you to meet some of my colleagues from when I was first starting out in the Microbiology field. This-” he gestured towards the dark-haired man to his left is Doctor Clive Watterson. He’s been researching cell microstructures in England for the last twenty years.”

Doctor Watterson leaned forward to shake Fiona’s hand. “A very long, dull twenty years,” he said, chuckling with a warm tone. “A pleasure to meet you Doctor Forrester. Doctor Monroe speaks highly of your work.”

“He does indeed,” the second older doctor spoke up as Doctor Watterson stepped back. “Pleased to meet you Doctor Forrester. I’m Doctor Cooper.”

Fiona shook his outstretched hand with barely contained awe and disbelief. “It’s an honor,” she stammered out, trying not to blush.

“Doctor Cooper’s one of the top Epidemiologists in the United States,” Doctor Monroe said, smiling. “Though I assume you already knew that Fiona.”

Fiona tried to remain calm as she spoke. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve done a great deal of research based on your work with the CDC.”

Doctor Cooper smiled lightly, his eyes calm and rather calculating. Fiona felt as if the old man – and he was old, he had to be at least in his mid-sixties – was sizing her up, trying to get a feel for her as a person and a scientist. She had a sudden flashback to her disastrous prom night her senior year when she was living in New York and her date’s parents had spent a good fifteen minutes sizing her up and making sure she was a good Catholic girl who wouldn’t turn their son into a raging sinner the second they walked into the school cafeteria. An ironic attitude, since he was the one who had tried to feel her up on the way there, causing her to get out of the car at a stoplight and spend her senior prom in a night club with the fake ID Holly had made up for her.

Fiona shook her head violently, clearing her thoughts. What was she doing reminiscing about high school? She was standing in front of Doctor Thaddeus B. Cooper, the leading expert in her field, and she was thinking about prom night? Get it together, she thought to herself.

“I’ll be interested to see how your research progresses Doctor Forrester,” Doctor Cooper was saying. “Richard has told me a lot about your current project and I’d be fascinated to hear more of your take on the ‘flu pandemics of the early 21^st century. Perhaps the two of you could join me and we could discuss it over drinks later this evening, after the opening procedures of course.”

Fiona resisted the urge to squeal with excitement. “Of course,” she said, nodding, and she saw Doctor Monroe also nod approvingly. “We would be glad to.”

“Excellent,” Doctor Cooper said, smiling a thin-lipped smile at the three of them. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to deliver a speech sometime in the next two hours and should probably be more prepared than what I scribbled down on my restaurant napkin.”

They said their goodbyes and Doctor Cooper slowly ambled away towards the conference hall. Doctor Watterson also departed, needing to speak to his lab assistants. As they left Fiona turned to Doctor Monroe, who looked at her appraisingly.

“Thank you so much for introducing me to Doctor Cooper sir,” she said, still resisting the urge to jump up and down like a small child. “It was a pleasure to meet him.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Doctor Monroe said. “He’s quite a legend in the field.”

“I know,” Fiona said. “I don’t know how many times I’ve cited his work on my research.”

“More times than I can count at least,” Doctor Monroe said, smiling. After a brief pause he spoke again. “Doctor Cooper has a research position open at his lab you know.”

Fiona felt her heart-rate suddenly rise and she tried to breathe regularly. “Really?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

“Yes,” said Doctor Monroe, looking out at the crowd of scientists and doctors slowly filling the conference hall. “I’ve recommended you for the position.”

Fiona swallowed hard and looked at her boss, who smiled benignly out at the crowd, looking innocent. “You have?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“I mentioned to him that you were one of my brightest students and better research partners in Santa Barbara,” he said. “And that you would make a great asset to his research team. If all goes well over dinner tonight, and of course during the conference itself, he should be asking you to join him here in Washington sometime next Spring.”

Fiona could hardly contain her excitement. She breathed out heavily and shook Doctor Monroe’s hand. “Thank you sir,” she said. “Thank you very much.”

He sighed and released his hand, smiling with a touch of regret. “I’d hate to lose you at the lab Fiona,” he said. “You are one of my best and brightest. But you’re young; I can’t expect to keep you around forever, no matter how much it benefits my research.”

“I understand,” Fiona replied, feeling her face repeatedly slide into a foolish grin. “Thank you.”

He smiled and nodded. “I have to go find your colleagues before things get started,” he said. “No doubt they need more time to prepare before we present our findings tomorrow morning. Do you have all your documents in order?”

“Yes sir,” Fiona nodded, clasping her hands behind her back and stretching her arms in an attempt to relieve tension.

“Very well,” he said. “Then I’ll leave you to get registered and signed in. Be sure to check in with me later so I can tell you what time we’re meeting Doctor Cooper for dinner.”

Fiona nodded so hard she felt her neck strain. “Yes sir,” she said. “I will.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later Fiona.”

He walked away through the amassing crowd towards the hotel lobby. Fiona stood alone for a few moments, taking deep slow breaths and resisting the urge to squeal and punch the air. Of all the pieces of news she could have gotten that day to offset the way it had started, this was definitely the one she had needed. She got in line to pick up her badge, allowing herself a wide grin. Things were looking up for her, and this was only the start of it.

*

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The Question of Why

I’ve been meaning to put all this down for a while now, more for the sake of my sanity than any desire to impart wisdom on the subject of writing and being a writer, because this is one of those questions I get a lot, not necessarily from other people, but most certainly from myself:

Why do I write? Why do I want to be a writer?

Now’s my chance to attempt to answer those questions.

For me there’s a semantic difference between ‘writing’ and ‘being a writer’, both of which are rather subjective terms that mean multiple things to multiple people. Here’s what they mean to me:

To write, as well as just being the mechanical action of putting words on paper, is the actual process. It’s taking that something from the nothingness of my mind and turning it into something coherent, into a story. Writing has been my passion, my compulsion, since I was extremely young, I can’t even remember how young. I’ve been making up stories both on paper and in performance since before elementary school. The process and act of writing became and still is my life, and is my purpose if such a thing exists.

How does this differ from being a writer?

Well, there’s the simple definition of being a writer, which is again connected to the act of writing. Millions of people are writers simply because they do just that – they write.

But there’s a difference between being a writer and being a Writer. A novelist. Someone who is published, someone referred to as a ‘professional’. Someone who wakes up every day with no other career or profession than the process of sitting down at their desk, keyboard, typewriter or notebook and creating stories out of ether. Say what you will, there’s a huge difference between a Writer and someone who writes by these definitions.

So there you have it. Those are my definitions.

I describe my writing as a compulsion. I even titled this blog after that fact – I write compulsively, and have been my whole life, even when all I did was fill little notebooks with silly tales directly plagiarized from my favourite books and movies (don’t judge – we all did that before we knew it was wrong, and I’ve long since moved on to making up my own madness). It is something I will always do because if I ever stopped, if ever tried to stop, I would quickly spiral into a creative void, possibly even an uncomfortable kind of insanity.

So that’s my compulsion. Writing isn’t so much what I do as it is what I am. It’s my outlet, my reason to live, my purely selfish, somewhat arrogant belief that I can take something out of nothing and make it work, give it life.

Being a writer? Now that’s my dream.

I’ve worked a few shitty day jobs in my time. I’ve flipped burgers, I’ve dealt with pissy customers, and I’ve spent six straight hours moving heavy books around a library. I’m about to graduate college, to get my BA in English, to become more qualified than a large portion of the American Population.

My plans for post-graduation?

1) find a day-job
2) Write

This is my first step, the first part in actually realizing my dream, in taking my writing and moving forward in my goal to be able to live off of it, to get published and be at least a moderate success.

That’s what I want. I want to wake up every morning and have no obligation other than to sit at my desk and write. No day job to keep paying the bills. I want writing AS my day job. I want, by my own definitions, to be a Writer.

Starting in December, I’ll at last being in the position to actively pursue this. I’ll have a job (I don’t know what job yet, but I’m looking), and I’ll be done with the constant cycle of ‘go to class, do homework, go to bed and start over again’ I’ve been in since I was six years old, for the last 17 years straight.

It’s a terrifying and thrilling prospect. For the first time in my life, my writing can really come first.

Writing is an art as much as putting paint on canvas, as sculpture, as music. Like most artists I have a delightful pile of mental health issues, doubts and insecurities that plague my existence, and unsurprisingly these often contribute to that thing I refer to as the Angry Little Voice in the back of my head.

It happens every time I sit down to write, no matter where I am or whether it’s at my computer or a notebook. I stretch my arms, put my hands to the keyboard, and this little voice drifts into my head:

“Hey, what are you doing? You’re WRITING? Haven’t you had enough of that madness yet? Aren’t you sick of people picking your work apart? Is it really even that good? Hardly! You’re a hack at this! You’re just shoveling crap onto the page and expecting someone to like it. That’s completely pointless. Nobody’s ever going to read enough of this to like it, let along PAY you for it! You’re wasting your time and you know it. Now go fill out grad school applications like a good girl and resign yourself to a wage-slave job to pay off all that debt. You’re better off sticking to this as a hobby.”

He’s a bastard, isn’t he? And he’s there every day, especially this month where I spend each day in a half-crazed writing frenzy along with my NaNoWriMo friends across the world, giving me active discouragement and bile.

I have a lot of real-world support to counter my internal self-deprecation. My parents, while neither of them writes fiction, support my dreams and always wish me the best of luck. My writing buddies, both local and out of state, always give me words of encouragement. Jeff, also a writer, has a lot of faith in my abilities and talents. (Whenever I voice my doubts to him about my ability to be a Writer, he always says ‘But I don’t want you to stop writing…’ with a sad expression on his face. He’s been a tireless advocate for me since before we ever started dating, and I appreciate his encouragement. Thanks Jeff).

But true strength and ability comes from within, so when my within decides to remind me that I completely suck and wouldn’t even be able to hack it writing for a newspaper, it can be rather draining.

This doesn’t stop the why though. It doesn’t stop the compulsion. No matter how many times I get beaten down, be it by my own psyche or the discouragement of academia, I still get up every morning and I still sit down to write (or if I don’t have the time, I still think about writing, talk to my characters, make notes in my notebooks). Maybe I’m a sucker for punishment, but it’s like someone is telling me I have to stop breathing because I’m bad at it: it just doesn’t work that way.

Even if my dream falls through, even if it’s true that my writing isn’t ‘good enough’ to get published, for me to live off of, I have to try. Because I’ve been doing this for a long time, and while I know I’ll never stop writing it seems a shame to keep my stories to myself.

So I’ll write. I’ll write until my hands are destroyed by arthritis and my mind goes out. If I can’t find anyone willing to turn my novels into print books I’ll self-publish. I’ll post stories on the internet. I’ll share it with my friends. I’ll do something, even if all I do is keep writing.

It’s not like I can stop. Not now. Not after how much it’s helped me learn, helped me live.

So I say fuck it, voice in the back of my head. I’m 23 years old and I can keep doing this until I’m too old to remember my own name. Even if the rest of the world gives up on me, ultimately I know myself, and my self is the only thing I really have any belief in, even if part of me is afraid that I’ll fail (Because that’s really all that voice is – my fear of total failure and never achieving my dreams). Even if I had a choice, I’d still keep writing, still come up with stories and ideas.

It’s what I love. More than anything else in the world, more than chocolate and beautiful music and vegetarian pasta dishes and my boyfriend (he understands – he’s the same way about his writing). It’s the thing that makes me feel the most alive, the most real. It’s been my standby in every mini-identity crisis or traumatic upheaval my life has gone through, the one thing that’s remained solid and true.

No matter how the world falls apart, I am a writer. I write, Descartes style.

And since it’s very much a ‘therefore I am’ situation, to hell with the doubt (of myself or anyone else). Even if all I do with my life is write stories no-one but a few close friends or anonymous faces on the internet will read, I’ll still love it. It’ll still make me happy.

So, in the words of a person on the NaNoWriMo boards (who I sadly can’t look up to give credit because they said it in September right before they wiped the forums for the site relaunch, but rest assured I didn’t make this up myself):

“You ask me why I write. I don’t know: why do you breathe?”

So that’s what I think of that. Now to go make 22 copies of my short story for class today (that right there? that’s the sound of my wallet weeping) and spend the rest of my day writing. I hope to hit at least 15k for my wordcount today, but since I have a four-hour shift at the library tonight, there’s a good chance I’ll manage more than that.

You know, if I don’t get distracted by Hell’s Kitchen. Gordon Ramsay is my hero.

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Counts and Critiques

It’s day three of the NaNo madness, and another day of the tremulous balance between wordcount and courseload. That’s been going all right though – I banged out a good 500+ words in Religion and Culture class today quite by accident while I was doing a bit of research (on viruses and pandemics. Also bioterrorism – I’m sure I’m back on the CIA’s watchlist for my google searches again :3 ). I added a nice chunk of words to my third chapter (which I hadn’t been particularly happy with. The ending was too abrupt and the tone was too dull). Who says editing is always bad during November?

After that I spent my two work shifts critiquing the short stories of two of my writing classmates. I’m not a big fan of forced, structured critique, and this class requires we not only turn in a single-spaced page detailing our thoughts and criticisms, but we give a copy of that letter to the professor.

Yes, we’re being graded on our critique. Go academia.*

So I read the two stories. Both were well-written (it’s the highest level undergrad writing class, this doesn’t surprise me), and at least one of them had an engaging plot and likable characters (the other didn’t go far enough and I ended up finding it boring and pointless. Sorry classmate, but your story was dull as dirt).

After this I ran my errands (quest to pick up roommate’s half of the rent complete. Quest to locate fingerless gloves complete. Quest to find gloves that are less itchy added to Log) and bought a mini-pizza, which I ate while watching Monday’s new episodes of How I Met Your Mother and Chuck (one of which makes me happy, the other makes me want to punch babies).

I then spent the next two and a half hours writing my short story for class. I’ve been debating for the last few days as to whether or not Valhalla should count towards my NaNo total, as it is a short story and not actually connected with my novel. Ultimately I decided that while a midterm paper wouldn’t necessarily count as wordcount material, a creative fiction piece should, as it’s in the same vein as NaNo in terms of style (I was definitely writing it on the seat of my pants for the most part). So two and a half hours and 5000 words later, I had a short story and had hit over 13,000 words total. I was, and am, pleased.

So it’s been a productive day for both school and writing. I feel scarily on top of things.

Now I just need to update my resume to get ready for the jobhunt. *cringes*

—

*We turned some of these letters in at midterms and my prof told me that my critiques were ‘too nice’. Heaven forbid I be kind to people. Apparently critique = assholery.

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Day Two: Up to Speed

Day Two:

Wordcount Goal: 6678
Current Wordcount: 7177

Another day of juggling homework and writing, but that’s unsurprising. I’m still on track for my 100k goal, and hoping to get ahead to 10k during the course of the next few hours so tomorrow I can quickly throw together my short story for writing class (which shouldn’t count towards my monthly wordcount, but I might throw that in anyway).

My greatest challenge today (besides staying awake – sleep has been elusive the last two nights) has been writing from Aaron’s point of view for the first time. Aaron’s the character I relate to the most (as we’re the same age) and the character I’ve developed the most, but when it came to writing from his perspective I chugged a bit before I got into it. Can’t be sure why that happened. Overthinking it perhaps?

The thing that got me out of that funk was handwriting. I finished (well, got bored with) the exercises assigned in my writing class, so I put pen to paper and carried on in longhand for a good 45 minutes to an hour. It was refreshing, even if it ended in a little wrist pain.

That’s the writing update for the day so far. Getting my wordcount up might be prevented by helping Jeff study for his Spanish test and growling at stupid people on the internet (after all, there are so many of them). That’s okay though – I’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow.

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Day One: The Madness Begins

Day One notes

Wordcount goal: 3,334
Current Wordcount: 5,362
Number of character deaths: 0
Number of characters drunk: 1
Number of caffeinated beverages consumed: 5
Number of times I’ve thought about giving up: 1
Number of times I’ve remembered this is what I want to do with my life: 3
Times I’ve wanted to set the NaNo website on fire for being down: 15

That’s day one in a nutshell. I wrote my first 2k at midnight last night before promptly passing out and spent most of today working on my Religion and Culture midterm (which I did finish, thankfully). I’ve spent most of my 4 hour shift at work writing, and so far things are going swimmingly. I’m 5k in with 3 chapters under my belt, and my characters and plot are both co-operating well. Despite earlier stress during the day, things are off to quite the flying start.

Apart from the NaNo website being down almost constantly today. It’s really frustrating, not being able to update your wordcount.

I intended to blog earlier about last night’s birthday festivities, but homework and running errands prevented that. So here are a couple photos from last night’s fun:

Jeff mixing drinks. He and I went with a Firefly theme this year, but I think he looks more like Simon’s evil twin than actual Simon.

My budget attempt at Kaylee. I think I pulled it off all right, and if not, I at least got to wear a really nice silky robe.

My friend and fellow NaNoer Sam (read her blog it rocks!) dressed as Chuck, her girlfriend Jess as a french maid. They’re adorable, truly. Also featured is my friend Paul, who is my little brother from another mother. He is dressed as himself as far as I can tell, but earlier he was thinking about rolling Katamari:

(Again, I know I’m a nerd. What about it?)

Also present at the party was my friend Adam. He decided to be Satan for a night:

And so he was, complete with Salvador Dali painting in the background, a very effective Satan.

So we had quite the fun time. We played Apples to Apples and drank and munched snacks, and at Midnight I kicked off the NaNo madness.

And then went to bed shortly thereafter. Mondays are always brutal.

So yes. NaNo is off to a flying start so far. I have high hopes for tomorrow as well. Provided the NaNo site stops being sad and starts letting me post my wordcounts! *flails*

Good luck, my fellow NaNoers. Message me if you want advice, or commiseration or just a virtual cupcake. I’m good for all three.

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Pre-NaNo Preparation and Tips

It’s almost to the point where we’re counting down the hours until NaNoWriMo 2010 starts, and like many of my fellow Wrimos I’m getting excited.

So here are my personal tips for preparing for NaNoWriMo 2010, and how well I’m following them myself:

1. Have some sort of plan/outline/idea

This one is never a problem for me. I know a lot of people like to Pants their way through November, but I work best with an outline, the more detailed the better. My outline currently sits pretty about about 4k, and is complete as of last night at about 9pm (story-wise. I still want to add detail and can guarantee I’ll be moving things around over and over as November goes on). I wouldn’t panic if you don’t have even an idea yet. Part of the fun is just rolling with it. I love that my characters do wacky things when I least expect it and change the course of the plot. Keeps me on my toes.

2. Work ahead in school

This is one I always recommend to myself, but have some trouble with. I’m not great at working ahead (I work best under pressure), but I’m going to actually try this year so I can focus primarily on my writing, not on juggling my schedule. I have a paper to write for my Religion and Culture class about the Celts and Anglo-Saxons. The question is kind of confusing (it asks us to describe the lasting cultural ideals informing the Christianization of the Celts and the Anglo-Saxons, and I can’t say I know what that exactly means) but I’m hoping to glare at it long enough to figure out what it means and at least have an outline by the end of my shift at work today. I also have a short story due in my writing class next Thursday, and if I get my ass in gear not only do I think I can have it finished by Monday, but that I can use it as a warm-up for writing 2-3000+ words a day for thirty days straight.

3. Have some sort of schedule

Not necessarily a ‘wake up, brush teeth, write, go to class etc’ schedule, but knowing how many words you’re supposed to be aiming for each day of November. Some people have awesome calendars and desktop backgrounds that they commission from the lovely people on the NaNo forums (I did this last year and it was awesome). Others make notes on post-its to keep track or have a word document.

I was a luddite this year and wrote all my wordcount goals out in my writing class notebook:

I’m aiming to get between 75 and 100k this year, so I wrote out a list of my minimum and maximum wordcounts for each day in November. If I get bored / feel like procrastinating, I might try to convert it into a calendar for myself. :3

4. Stock up on writing fuel

Have a favourite writing beverage? It’s a good idea to stock it up so you can have it close at hand whenever you want to write. I plan on picking up a twelve-pack of Coke next time I hit the store this weekend, along with some orange juice (to go with the Vodka 😀 ). I’m also keeping track of good places to get my other NaNo fuel items, like tea (coffee shops, the student union etc) and snacks. My only problem is that one of my essential writing fuel items is hard to come by around here:

Pixy Stix. If anyone in the Lincoln Area knows where I can find Pixy Stix before Sunday night I will be your willing slave. And give you a thank you in the acknowledgements section of my book if it ever gets published.

5. Check your tech

I always write my novel on a laptop, for easy mobility and to keep it all in one place. Sometimes i’ll make notes or write down scenes in a notebook, but it all ends up on the laptop. I recommend giving your preferred writing method a check-up before November starts. If you use a laptop, give it a good once-over, clean out the hard drive, back up all your files and look for any glaring bugs or hardware issues. Example: my Netbook, Virgil, has been really reluctant to hold much more than half an hour’s charge, making my writing far less mobile. I hope to have time to get the battery checked out before NaNo begins, to see if I can order a replacement.

Checking tech also involves having methods with which to back up your novel. I personally use this:

This is my 4GB Darth Vader thumb drive, purchased as part of my Comic-Con 2009 swag the summer before last. He’s a limited edition design featuring Luke as Darth Vader in the vision Luke has on Dagobah in The Empire Strikes back.

Yes, I’m a huge nerd. Deal with it.

So that’s my tech, and checking it out has saved my ass two NaNo’s in a row. I highly recommend it.

6. Prep your soundtrack

I intend to make a post at a later date about my intended soundtrack for NaNo 2010, but for now i’ll just say that I’m working on it, because I believe that a good soundtrack is key to any novel-writer, whether it’s having theme songs for all your characters or just having a CD on in the background you like. I don’t have mine nailed down yet, but my current soundtrack favourites for this year include AFI, A Perfect Circle, Nine Inch Nails, My Chemical Romance, The Hold Steady, The Pink Spiders, The Dust Brothers, Puscifer, Tool, Frightened Rabbit and Rilo Kiley. Knowing what your soundtrack is before you start writing means you don’t have to worry about finding that music right when you start. You can just hit play and get right down to the writing.

7. Know your local group

last year I didn’t have a car so I didn’t have the opportunity to go to the organized meetups, just meet with a few of my friends on campus. This year not only do I have a car, but the Lincoln writing group is being very active and I’m looking forward to going to some write-ins at the library and the coffee shops with them.

Wrimos, you can find your local group on the boards under the regional lounges. I found mine here, and I really recommend it for getting to know your fellow writers so we can all go through the madness, hardship and joy of producing a novel in 30 days.

Those are my main tips. There’s still a couple days before the madness begins, so good luck with your preparations!

Me, I’m going to try to get ahead with my homework assignments, play as much Bioshock as I can (if I play tonight and tomorrow, I might even get to finish it before November starts), get things prepared for my birthday party on Sunday and spend some time with Jeff before I have no time to hang out. Tonight is ‘cook whatever’s left in the fridge and eat it while having an Angel marathon’ night. Good way to spend a Friday night.

Oh, and get everything thrown together for my halloween costume!

Good luck everyone! Happy prepping!

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On My Health, Exercise, and Writing

So yesterday was Tuesday, otherwise known as Lora’s night off from work. Normally I spend this late afternoon / early evening time studying (i.e. goofing around on the internet), catching up with TV, pestering a friend or two around campus, or going on expeditions to my favourite coffee shop to get delicious tea and muffins.

However, yesterday was different. Yesterday I was on a mission. See, I’m a sedentary creature, a writer by nature and therefore a big fan of what boils down to sitting on my ass and staring at computer screens all day. I’m far from athletic, even though I’m definitely on the thin side (the result of malnutrition, vegetarianism and a freakish metabolism). I love to walk, and I try to do as much of that as I possibly can when I’m on campus, but that doesn’t really count as strenuous exercise.

It counts as looking at pretty nature though. UNL Campus is gorgeous pretty much all year round.

(Picture I took of Love Library last spring, pretty flowers in bloom).

So I talked to Jeff, and he works at the climbing wall at the YMCA on the south side of town. He spends most of his time there hauling small children around, and has been listening to me whine about being out of shape for so long that when I suggested I come visit him and re-learn the basics of climbing the wall, he encouraged me to stop by Tuesday night before he got off work at 8pm.

When I got there I was directed towards the climbing wall in the back section of the main hall, and was mildly intimidated by what I saw: a very high, very lumpy wall covered in multicoloured bumps. I’ve seen climbing walls before, but I haven’t been on one since I was in fifth grade and I went on an adventure weekend with my classmates.

Now, I’m pretty strongly afraid of heights. I hate being in airplanes, hate being up much higher than the third story of a building, you get the idea. But this didn’t seem so bad to me. Harnesses and ropes and other strange devices are involved in this indoor climbing business, right? And I was going to be spotted the entire time by Jeff, one of the few people I count on my hand as a person I trust with my life.

So that wasn’t a big deal. I got in the harness (definitely not the most comfortable thing in the world), was secured with a rope, and directed towards what was apparently the ‘easy’ part of the wall.

‘Easy’ apparently translates to ‘sheer hard plastic surface with little coloured tumours you’re supposed to grab’.

Swallowing my fear and embarrassment I grabbed onto the first two coloured handholds I saw at eye-level and began figuring out where to put my feet.

And it wasn’t so bad. Jeff was encouraging, pointing out possible next places for me to move my hands and feet, and so I climbed, slowly but surely, towards the top.

Not a couple minutes in and I was already feeling like I was getting that work-out I was looking for. I was breathing slightly heavy, my arms were starting to ache, and I was beginning to work up a sweat.

Yeah, I know. I’m out of shape. I’m in the failboat. Go me. *captains the failboat*

Things started to become worrisome as I rapidly approached the top of the wall. The little tumour-y coloured wedges were becoming few and far-between and I was starting to become confused and at a loss as to how to progress. And as I sat there in my harness, dangling like a worm on a hook, my hands jammed into two little rock pieces, my right wrist started to hurt.

A lot.

Fuckbiscuit.

I tried to ignore it, figuring it was just my muscles freaking out from getting some use for the first time in who knows when. I continued searching for a way to keep climbing, determined that I wouldn’t be showed up by the little girl who Jeff had been teaching to climb before I had showed up. Seriously, that kid was a fucking ninja, climbing up and down the wall like some sort of terrifying spider monkey child.

Then my wrists started going numb. And I couldn’t grip the nubby rocks properly, my fingers feeling as if they were permanently stuck in that sad, curved, ‘I’m a barbie girl’ position they have on plastic dolls’ hands. Not a good sign. I flailed around a little, and then insisted on being returned to the ground that I might inspect the damage I had managed to do to myself.

Pathetic?

Let me explain:

I have RSI: Repetitive Strain Injury. I’ve had it in both my wrists since the Spring of 2007 when my doctor first informed me of what I have apparently been doing to myself for years as a frequent writer and typer. There’s not much that can be done for me as it’s not too severe, but I’ve been prescribed strong pain meds, wrist braces, and ice packs before along with insistence that I adopt a better posture while I am typing.

Clearly it’s been going on for a while, so I know how to deal with it, but it’s been fairly dormant for the last few months, my typing activities being less strenuous over the summer thanks to a lack of papers to write and such.

Then, just from climbing the rock wall at the YMCA for less than ten minutes, I’m in horrible pain and with wrists that barely work. They’re better today, fear not, but I still feel an unpleasant ache whenever I stretch my arms or reach out to grab something.

Disconcerting to me. Especially since the mother of all wrist-straining activities is about to hit in the next week: NaNoWriMo 2010.

I love NaNoWriMo. I love writing. It’s my calling in life, my passion and my sad nerdy daydream of success (to be able to live off my writing and be a novelist). But there’s next to nothing I can do about the condition of my wrists, except fight through the pain and hope it doesn’t get worse.

I really can’t stop writing, or typing. I want to write, and it’s simple as that. While the straining of my wrists at the climbing wall (and the slight bruising of my dignity at not being able to make it to the top. Sad pasta) was just an unfortunate accident, I know that in a couple of weeks I’ll be back in a brace, popping Ibuprofen until the pain goes away, since I can’t write novels without making use of my typing abilities.

Guess I’ll have to find another way to exercise. The pain is just part of the process. That and all the usual remedies of pain medication, braces, better typing posture and ice packs. It’s true that you have to suffer for your art, despite how melodramatic that sounds.

Just another one of my upcoming challenges this November. The results will be totally worth it.

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Waking Up Before Sunrise on a Tuesday

I sometimes wonder if I’ve become a slave to my fear of being destitute. What can I say, I’m a compulsive anxiety-ridden nut (who aspires to be a starving novelist) who spends far too much time peering at her bank account going ‘wow, that’s an unhappy number, I need to somehow make more money’. This is close to impossible with my current courseload (at least if I want to preserve what’s left of my sanity), so I’m taking extra hours at my place of work whenever I can squeeze the time in.

Which is why I’ve been sitting her at my desk at work for the last half hour and will continue to be here until 5PM this afternoon.

It’s Fall Break, those glorious two extra days off that allow a little time for people to sleep in, catch up and otherwise relax. Or just relax, as my case may be.

Yes, I am a slacker. I’ve never tried to hide it.

But the promise of a little extra money (especially since Fall Break meant missing two days of regularly scheduled work, Friday and Monday) drove me to sign up for a shift today that started at 8AM, requiring me to do something I haven’t done since last August.

Wake up at 7AM, which in this neck of the woods means just before or right around sunrise.

And how is that going so far?

Well, I had to scrape ice off my car’s windshield before I could drive to campus.

Winter is coming. How I hate it.

I have every intention of being productive today. I have a study guide for history to fill in, a book by The Venerable Bede to read for religion class, a sketchbook to start filling up, my NaNo outline to beat with a stick until sense falls out, and some TV to catch up on. I hope the vast expanse of nothing else to do will help motivate me in my quest to get things done. There’s a chance I’ll just slack off and watch TV today, but I’m going to make an effort. Only 13 days until November, and that outline won’t write itself.

You know, that and midterms and not failing my final semester of undergraduate education. That might be a bit important too.

I’m not going to set goals for the day, since it inevitably means I’ll ignore them and watch Better off Ted all day, so my one aim for the day is this:

Kick my coworker Ian when he gets here. He’s already 41 minutes late, and I really want to leave the office to get a hot chocolate from the vending machine.

Plans for after work include going to visit Jeff at the Y while he works (partially just to say hi, mostly to go climbing since I could really use some exercise), getting food somewhere hopefully inexpensive, and playing some more Bioshock. Or possibly Halo.

Yep. Still a slacker.

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NaNoWriMo Meme, #2

Another NaNoWriMo meme, just for you, found through this here interweb and a few of my NaNo buddies on Twitter.

When and how did you find out about NaNoWriMo? How did you go?
Like most things I enjoy, I discovered NaNo through the internet partially, doing my own research. I first heard about it my Sophomore year of college (late 2007) at my campus SCA group, but I decided that I wouldn’t have the time to write a book and that I didn’t have a good enough idea to participate.

I signed up mid-2008 and it ended up falling by the wayside in my busy schedule. I picked it up again November 2nd while I was out of town to attend a funeral. I started writing in longhand with no clue how I was going to go about it, but I really enjoyed the creative process that month brought about in me. I’ve been hooked ever since.

How many times have you done NaNoWriMo?
I have completed two NaNoWriMo’s. 2010 will be my third attempt.

How many times have you won? If you haven’t won, what was your best result?
I have won both years I have attempted, once with just over 50k and the second time with about 72k.

How did you go last year?
Last year was pretty successful. I worked with a firm outline and wrote as much as I could out of the starting gate so I’d have a buffer (I hit 10k on day one, and 50k within the first week). I lost steam towards the end of the month thanks to school and an unpleasant break-up with my at-the-time boyfriend, falling short of my goal of 75k.

Where do you write and with what do you write?
I’m not picky about where I’m writing – as long as I have music, a flat surface and something to drink or snack on I’m set to go. That said, some of my favourite writing places include my place of work (the campus Engineering library, which is usually pretty deserted), the Student Union, the main campus Library and The Coffee House, my favourite coffee shop. They have amazing Teas.

I write using my Netbook, a Dell inspiron mini named Virgil. Last year he saw me through the initial 72k of the novel, and the other 29k I wrote to complete the novel in January. He and I have been through a lot together. As well as laptop writing, I also take notes and make plans in notebooks. This year I’m using two, one a black and white composition book, the other an orange notebook with the words ‘Hell is Other People’ written on it. For those, I use mechanical pencils, purple pens and my trusty green Parker ballpoint pen.

How do you find time to write?
When it comes to November, I make time to write. I wake up in the morning and go to class, and I’m writing in class. If I have gaps between classes, I’ll be writing then too. I’ll write whenever I can ,wherever I can. I try to get homework done first, but thanks to my spread-out schedule and late shifts at work, I always have plenty of time to write, and I really hope this will help me stay motivated.

Are your partners, friends and family allies or enemies?
My family and friends are very supportive, even if some of them think I’m a little crazy for attempting NaNo during such a busy month. I have several friends who are also NaNoing though, so we club together to write and support each other if the rest of the world is judgmental or confused. My boyfriend Jeff is a tireless supporter of my work, and I know he’ll do everything he can to support me once November starts.

What are you strengths and what do you use to help you get to the end?
I’m a champion outliner, and a flexible outliner to boot: I have my story, but I also am not afraid to shift things around as the story grows and changes. I’m also very good with deadlines and set schedules. I’m good at working past my inner editor in dire straits, and can write almost anywhere. I can also stay focused no matter what, provided I have some kind of music playing.

What are your weaknesses, obstacles and challenges that hinder you from finishing?
Being strong out of the starting gate and then winding down. Those middle wordcounts are hard for me, and I have yet to finish a novel to my satisfaction during the month of November. School will also be a challenge – this is my final semester before I graduate and I feel a lot of pressure to finish on a high note.

Do you plot/outline/plan or do you write by the seat of your pants? How much do you plot or how unprepared are you?
I like my outlines – the more detailed the better. However, I’d like to think that I can adapt my outline as the story grows, adjusting if things start to go in an unexpected direction, which is what happened last year. I still have only half my first novel outlined though, so I need to work on that before November.

Do you participate in the real life community, go to write ins and meet ups in your area?
I haven’t had much chance to join in with the real-life community as of yet. Last year I didn’t have a car so I couldn’t go to the local write-ins, and the campus group met on a night that I usually worked. I did meet up with friends at Coffee House a few times though. This year I hope to participate a bit more, but so far they’ve been scheduling meet-ups for nights I have to work, so this could prove to be a challenge.

What are your writing aids? Special snacks, music, totems, rewards or punishments?
My novel always has a soundtrack, sometimes more than one, and it’s a requirement that I have music if I’m going to write, with the exception of when I’m in class. I like having tea when I’m writing in coffee shops, and caffeinated / alcoholic beverages when I’m at home or at someone else’s house. I’ve become the master of finding the golden spot in my alcohol buzz, where I can write and write without hindrance. I’m going to try not to involve cigarettes in my reward/punishment system — smoking was a bad habit to indulge in earlier this year, and when I write I occasionally have the urge to go sit outside and mull over my novel while having a smoke. I’m hoping to kick this urge, as it could be detrimental in the future. Might as well only indulge in one vice, right? I’m already turning into an alcoholic, let’s not make it worse with smoking on top of that!

Other than that I don’t really have a reward/punishment system. Except for things like ‘I’m not going to bed until I hit my wordcount for the day’, and I don’t think that counts. I don’t see it as something based on rewards and punishment. I love to write, and having a finished product will be reward enough for me.

20 days to November 1st! I still have way too much to do. T_T

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