Tah Dah!

Drum roll please.

(clears throat)

Ladies and Gentleman, it is with great pleasure that I announce the completion of NaNoWriMo 2007.

No more waking up in the middle of the night, crawling out of my warm bed and firing up the laptop so I could make my word count for the day.

No more staying up late to write just a little bit more, so I could be ahead of the game come morning.

No more hauling the laptop everywhere just in case I have a few minutes to write in between rehearsals.

You would think I’d be feeling a huge relief, as if a great weight had been lifted.

But, oddly enough, I feel a bit sad. As tough as it’s been sometimes to keep the momentum going, to find the time to sit down and get those words on the screen, it’s also been very satisfying.

And that’s what I like best about this annual writing challenge. I like knowing that I can do it – I can have the discipline, the perserverance, the creativity, to write 50,000 words in 30 days. They’re unpolished words, but they are a very good start on telling a story I wanted to tell, on bringing to life an idea that’s been kicking around in my head for quite a while.

I had dinner with a former co-worker last night, a young woman I am so fond of. She was my “alter ego” at work for a long time, and we were perfect working partners. I miss her in my office life, but we make it a point to get together every few months and catch up.

She just ran the marathon here in Detroit – the whole 26 miles – in spite of having a strained muslce. Now, I simply cannot fathom having a body that could run for 26 miles – it boggles my mind. The trick, she says, is in good training, and in knowing how to pace yourself. The reward is the pure satisfaction of crossing that finish line, knowing you’ve set yourself a challenge, worked hard, and completed it.

Sort of like writing 50,000 words in 30 days. When I told her about my own personal writing marathon, she was flabbergasted.”I could never do that in a million years,” she said, shaking her head.

“Right back at ya,” I told her.

We all have areas in life where we excel, things that excite us, motivate us, bring us pleasure. Setting challenges for ourselves in those areas and then succeeding in completing those challenges is what helps us rise above the petty and thankless tasks that often take up so much of our time.

I will definitely sleep better tonight, knowing I’ve completed one of mine.

Up Late

It’s almost 1:00 (a.m.) and I’m still here, curled in my easy chair, the Dell Inspiron serving as my own personal heater, with assistance from Magic who has managed to insinuate himself in the corner of the chair beside me.

What am I doing, still awake in the wee hours of the morning?

Earlier tonight, while sitting in a dark high school auditorium, struggling to stay awake through a (fairly competent) production of Arsenic and Old Lace, I realized (with a mixure of horror and resignation) that I had managed to let myself get about 2000 words behind on my novel.

How did this happen?

This has been a week where the s&*t has hit the fan, as they say. Meaning that those occasions when people have said “could you? would you?” every so nicely, and I have replied “I can, I will,” every so foolishly, have all come home to roost.

I am crushed, dear reader.

Overloaded.

So tonight, as I was driving home in the cold and dark, still struggling to stay awake, I thought to myself – okay, you’re done. Why are you putting yourself through this novel writing nonsense, adding this extra burden on an already overloaded schedule? Nobody’s making you write this novel – it doesn’t matter in the slightest to anyone whether you finish it now, or next August, or the 12th of Never.

Wrong.

It matters to me.

And that’s why I’m still up. I’ve been writing.

Because all that other stuff – the extra work I’ve been doing to help my boss, the bell concerts I’m playing to sub for a friend, the visiting, the shopping, the chores – those are all for other people. And we all know how much I abhor letting people down.

The writing -well, sure, it’s just for me. But why should I be any more inclined to let myself down than I would all these other people I’m always so willing to open a vein for?

Anyway, I’m caught up on my word count – at least until tomorrow (which is actually already today, isn’t it?)

But I will keep writing.

After all, I wouldn’t want to disappoint myself.

Novel Excerpt…and a Contest

…from
The Wedding Dress
Section One – Anna Grace Livingston, 1919


Anna always loved this time of day, this late afternoon hour just after supper with the sun settling in behind the pine trees, the length of the front porch finally cast in cool shadow. She would come outside after helping Mama wipe the dishes, pour pitchers of water over the huge ferns swinging gently from the rafters, and settle into the rocking chair, book in hand, ready to read until the the afternoon heat abated.

But all the while Andrew had been in France, fighting in that awful war, Anna’s restful afternoons on the porch were spoiled. She felt anxious sitting there, the long dirt road leading from town staring her in the face, the road that might bring an ominous stranger bearing the worst of all possible news.

She would glance nervously at the dusty road, squinting for a moment against the sun’s glare. Her imagination ran wild with tales she’d heard of smartly clad soldiers in dress uniform, black armbands adorning their sleeves, soldiers that always came in pairs, knocking politely on your door, hat in hand, to deliver news that would shatter your life forever.

“There’s no use in thinking about such awful things,” she would firmly lecture herself. “I just have to believe with all my heart and soul that Andrew will come home safely.”

And, so it was on that day not six months ago, she had remained busy refilling her pitcher, pouring fresh water into each fern’s dusty bed, while the sun eased itself lower into the evening sky – so busy that she almost didn’t see the lonely figure trudging toward her, dressed in the unmistakable khaki colored puttee’s that looked so odd on boys barely out of knickers and more accustomed to overalls.

Catching sight of this stranger, Anna literally felt her heart sink, powerless to stop the pitcher as it slipped from her hand, shattering in a million shards of glass on the wooden floorboards. The seconds passed like hours, her gaze fixed on this solitary man coming ever nearer, until the first glimmer of recognition began to dawn. This lonely figure, thin and long legged, one arm swinging familiarly at his side, the other – wait, the other caught up in a sling!-but there, at least, definitely there - and yes, the shock of blond hair catching the last flicker of sunlight. This was no stranger, she realized. Impossible as it seemed, it was Andrew.

He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of her slender body come flying off the porch, and he continued to stand stock still while she raced over the yard and down the road to meet him, heedless of any rules of grace or propriety, her own blonde hair coming loose from its pins and streaming in the breeze behind her.

“My God in heaven!” Anna cried, throwing her arms around him, almost pulling back in surprise at the frailty of his body, aware that she could feel every rib as she pressed her own torso against him, and then pulling him even tighter into her chest, willing him to take strength and sustenance from her.

Andrew’s one good arm enfolded her and he buried his face in the fragrant smell of her clean, sun warmed hair. Anna felt a deep shudder pass through him, and she pulled back, raising her eyes to meet his.

And then her heart sank once again. Staring off into the horizon beyond her were not the bright blue eyes of the boy she had loved and sent sailing off to war, determined to lead the victory charge for freedom. These eyes were empty and dim, filled with nothing at all like hope or pride.

They were the eyes of a stranger after all.Anna shook her head, trying to clear the memory of that moment from her mind.

“Andrew will be just fine,” she told herself, as she had so many times since that day six months before, willing herself to believe, and in her fierce belief, make it so.She rose quickly, dropping the mending beside her on the cushioned seat of the swing, and strolled to the end of the porch once again.

Was that dust swirling up around horse’s hooves, she wondered. She craned her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of her father’s dark hat.Smiling broadly, any disturbing thoughts erased from her mind, she grasped a handful of her long skirt and flew down the porch steps, in much the same way as she had on the day just dismissed from her memory. This time, she knew exactly what to expect from the man heading toward her.

Her father was coming, and with him, the material for her wedding dress.

Write Stuff has a contest for us NaNoWriMo writers – a nice diversion from the long hours spent noveling. We post an excerpt from our novel, and readers can vote for their favorites right here.

NaNoWriMo-Another Week Has Come and Gone

Each week, we NaNo writers receive a lively pep talk in our email boxes from a well known author. To get us revved up for week one, novelist Tom Robbins advised us to ditch any detailed plans we might have for the evolution of our novel, and let it evolve into being as we go, powered by instinct and a sense of adventure. “If you know the whole story in advance,” he wrote, “your novel is probably dead before you begin it.”

Last week, mystery writer Sue Grafton helped us crawl out from under the blanket of self doubt that begins to creep in – along with fatigue and waning enthusiasm – during the second week of writing. “The important point,” she advised, “is to keep up your momentum regardless of the fact that you might stumble now and then. Most people you know have never written a novel at all, let alone pounded one out in a jam-packed thirty days.”

Today, Sara Gruen talked about the many ways life intrudes, despite our best intentions. A sick dog and a broken foot have landed her far behind her projected daily word count. If you’re behind, stop worrying about following the trajectory of your story in a straight line. “Jump around and write the fun bits,” she writes, “like food fights, and disastrous sex, and escaping in-laws, and apes with unlimited credit!”

Here’s my mantra for this project, the personal pep talk I give myself when I’m trudging to the computer to work on my own daily word count:

Don’t think, just write.

Don’t think about going back and rewriting the part where Treesa and John meeting at the USO dance. Don’t think about whether I should reveal if Andrew Sutton’s death was suicide or an accident. Don’t think about why Treesa’s daughter is so against the idea of marriage. And above all, don’t think about the laundry I should be doing, or the medical records I should be reviewing, or the bills I should be paying.

Just write.

Writer’s Island -Friendship

“A bottle of beer,” Kathryn thought, her eyes drawn to Paul’s muscular arm giving Cody’s weathered tennis ball one more toss. “I’ll take him a cold beer, and then I’ll tell him.”

Kathryn rummaged through the fridge, shoving aside milk, orange juice, and several bottles of Chardonnay chilling on the shelf. There must be at least one bottle of Corona, left from last weekend when Paul had helped her spread mulch in the garden.

Yes! there it was. She grabbed it quickly, pried off the cap, and threw open the back door.

“You thirsty?” she called out.

Paul looked up and grinned. “You bet!” he said, dropping the ball and rising to meet her.

Kathryn gazed appreciatively at his long legs, jet black hair and olive complexion, the slight swivel to his hips when he walked, and the radiant 1000-watt smile he always greeted her with.

“Thanks, friend,” he said, raising the bottle in mock salute.

“My pleasure, ” she replied.

Friends like Paul certainly didn’t come along every day, Kathryn thought. Since they met two years ago at Lyon Oaks dog park, he had become an amazingly important person in her life. He and Rosie, his Akita, were like family. Paul was always there to lend a helping hand with projects around the house, to watch Cody when she had to travel on business, and had even proven invaluable while she cared for her mother during these last months before death.

“That one’s a keeper, Kath,” Treesa would say, her sallow complexion and hollow eyes brightening at the sound of his voice. “You’d better not let him get away.”

“Mom, we’re just friends,” Kathryn insisted, busying herself smoothing the sheets on the hospital bed or checking the medication dispenser. “I’m sure Paul has much more interesting prospects than an almost- 40 year old professor.”

“Friendship can turn into something more, you know,” her mother would respond slyly.

“Not this time,” Kathryn stated. “Now, are you up to taking a walk around the yard before it gets too chilly?”

Darn her mother, Kathryn thought, sitting down on the porch step next to him, she had been right as usual.

Both dogs came to join their respective masters, Cody flopping down on the grass and rolling onto her back, her red tongue lolling from the side of her mouth. Rosie was more refined, and positioned herself next to Paul like the perfect sentinel, blue eyes fixed on him with reverence.

For most of her life, Kathryn’s dogs had been her best friends. Having this friendship with Paul had been a marvelous new experience for her. She loved hanging out with him, joking around or talking seriously, working on projects around the house or playing with the dogs. It was great having a human best friend for the first time.

She took a deep breath, and glanced over at him sitting companionably beside her in the sun.

How was her best friend going to feel when he found out she was having his baby?

~this friendship story will eventually end up in The Wedding Dress, the novel I’m writing for NaNoWriMo. For other thoughts on friendship, go here

Stepping Up

After seven days of novel writing, I’ve developed a routine of sorts – wake early, do morning pages to “prime the pump,” and then settle in to write for an hour or so. I’ve been trying to stay about 500 words ahead of my allotted 1667 words per day – so far, so good.

As I mentioned last week, this year I’ve been more “up front” about participating in this project ~ which definitely provides additional incentive to complete it~and has also forced me to reflect on my motivation for spending all this time and effort on something that’s (1) not required; (2) not going to earn any money; and (3) not “perfect.”

One simple answer is, “because I can.” In the past couple of years, I’ve found all these words lurking inside my head, I’ve met characters who beg to be brought to life on the page, characters whose stories wish to be told. I’ve discovered that word play affords me the kind of satisfaction others might get from running marathons, or woodworking, or gardening, or any other life enriching activity.

The satisfaction is in the doing; the reward is in the completion.

The other motivator is a little more complicated, but the words of a recent country song say it well…

When you get the choice,

To sit it out or dance,

I hope you dance.

The older I become, the more convinced I am that life is all about trying new experiences, about overcoming our fears of failure, fears of being not good enough, fears of looking foolish. Happiness comes when we allow ourselves to climb to the mountaintop and stop being afraid to fly, when we step out onto the floor and move into the dance.

Writing is one of the ways I dance.

And so, I find myself in a good place (so far) with this November novelizing.

May the dance continue.

Off and Running

Things have been rather quiet here of late, time and energy that might otherwise have gone toward thinking and writing, far better spent in time with my son and daughter in law, who have been with us for the past couple of weeks.

And things may continue to be quiet, at least here at the Byline. For though my visitors are heading home in a few days, my time and energy will return to writing, but this time to the great novel writing effort that takes place each November.

(trumpet fanfare) NaNoWriMo.

Last year was my first foray into this madness, my first venture into fiction writing at all. When I signed up, I never imagined I would finish.

But, I did. It wasn’t terribly difficult to do – oh, I had a few moments of panic in the middle of the second week (apparently a normal occurrence during that period in the process), but I sailed through until the end, crossing the 50,000 word mark several days shy of the deadline.

I admit to a bit more trepidation this year. Last year being my initial effort, I didn’t feel quite so pressured to complete it. So what? I figured. I’ll give it a shot and see what happens. I kept the entire project completely under wraps – no one (except my blog readers) knew I was participating. Once I was done, I printed out all 120 pages of Dear Samantha, put them in a folder, and tucked them safely away in the cupboard.

But this year, having once completed (or won, as the NaNoWriMo folks call it), the expectation is much higher. How stupid will I feel if I don’t finish this time? Am I just a “one shot wonder”?

I went to bed last night nearly convinced to throw in the towel before I even began. Better not to start at all, I reasoned, than to start and fail.

Hmm.

This morning I awoke at 3:30, and couldn’t go back to sleep. The usual worries started their familiar roiling in my mind, but underneath them was a nagging voice urging me to get up, start writing, don’t waste this time.

So, I did.

Ensconced in my big green chair, steaming hot coffee close at hand, one dog curled beside me, the other on the ottoman at my feet, I started out on another journey into a land of make believe with a group of people I’m already getting to know much better. A couple of thousand words later (well, 2,844 to be exact) I’m once again feeling excited and energized about this project.

Just do it, the now famous Nike slogan advises us. Good advice, for writers as well as athletes.
Once you begin it, you’re in it.

So, forgive me if my posting in the coming weeks is erratic, or if I seem to have tunnel vision about this novel business. It’s quite all-consuming, and I may need a place to brain dump periodically.

And for the rest of you who set off this morning on the great novel writing adventure, I wish you godspeed and good writing.

The End – Or Is It Just the Beginning?

Here it is, the prize for setting 50,000 (well, 50,101 to be exact) words on the page in the last 24 days. The final 2,301 odd words were uploaded just minutes ago, making me officially a “novelist.”

Lots of interesting lessons learned from this experience. One was, of course, that I actually had the persistence to finish this, which is a really big revelation for me. I’ve started a number of projects during the course of my half century on the planet, and many of them have gone down in ignominous flames.

Another was that if you come to the page, the words write themselves. Every book I’ve ever read on the craft of writing has said this, and it’s absolutely true. Most recently I’ve been reading Elizabeth George’s book Write Away, where she says that “So much of writing is showing up…of being at the computer every working day, of not waiting for inspiration to come, because it’s not necessarily going to come in the way one might expect it. So much of inspiration rises from the act of writing in a stream of consciousness manner…which seems to get me in touch with a well of creativity that I’m not able to tap into in my everyday life.” In most of my experiece completing NaNoWriMo, writing was like turning on a faucet. Once I sat in front of the keyboard and started to type, the words kept coming, sometimes faster than my fingers could keep up. I’m not saying that all the words were necessarily good -but they’re on the page, and they’re a start.

The most surprising thing was how much I came to care about my characters. When I knew the death of my narrator was imminent, I found the writing really stalled out for the first time. I finally realized that I was putting off getting to that particular portion of the story. Tonight, when I typed the last scene, I was slightly teary eyed because my relationship with these people had ended. It was like saying goodbye to old friends.

As I was writing the last third of the novel, I felt my writing ability move into another level, like it finally “clicked in.” It was like the moment when a really difficult piece of music begins to flow perfectly. That was perhaps the most exciting lesson of all – that practicing writing works like practicing the piano. The more you do it, the better you become. And regular practice is also the key. As George wrote, I learned to “show up at the computer” every day about the same time and write my 2000 words. To help me maintain this habit, I’m thinking about starting another blog, just for practice writing, where I can review the books I’m reading on the craft of writing, and participate in the writing exercises they offer.

Although I technically wrote “the end” on this particular story, I think finishing this novel might have been just the beginning of a new dimension to this hobby of mine. I’ve never thought I had any affinity or interest in writing fiction. I’ve never thought I had it in me to complete a lengthy piece of writing. Now, I know differently. A very interesting lesson…

Postscript: A major impetus in completing the novel was being part of a group effort – the NaNoWriMo project in general, all the encouragers and friends in the blogsphere, but particularly my “writing buddies” (Star, BB, Tammy, and Greenish Lady) whose progress on their own novels encouraged me to continue. Working with a group to create something wonderful is one of the things I’ve always loved about my musical activities. I had no idea that the same concept could be so effective in the world of writing!

Novel Mania Continues

We’re halfway through November, which means the Christmas hype is in full swing. Some people (like me!) valiantly try to hold off acknowledging the arrival of the Christmas season until after Thanksgiving, but its getting more difficult to do that each year as media and retailers jerk us into Christmas before Halloween is even over.

Halfway through Novemeber also means halfway through NaNoWriMo (current word count 27, 308), and here are some things I’ve discovered as I muddle my way through this process:

I love the way everything I’ve read about the writing process is absolutely true…not waiting for inspiration, but just sitting before the page and letting your inner artist guide you, showing up at the page at the same time every day (and night!), just writing it down without letter your inner critic have any time to play with it…all these things work!

I love the way my characters are making me look at my own life differently…for example, the main character in my story is terminally ill, so a major focus is the way we spend time on earth. Its sobering, particularly because the basis for my story is a true situation, and also because I have some other friends who are also facing serious illness. It’s forcing me to look at many aspects in my life – the way I spend my time and who I spend it with – in another light. I’ve been visiting a very interesting blog that speaks to this very issue, in quite touching and exciting ways.

I love the way this venture has empowered me (and lots of others!) to complete something most of us never imagined we could. Yea, encouragement for stepping outside the box!

I hate the way my creative energy is consumed with this project, so there seems to be nothing left for my other creative activities – like poetry and haiku, writing posts for the blog, and even music.

As you can see, the loves far outweigh the hates, which is always my test of whether something is a good idea or not! So, I will soldier on…more updates when time allows…