Left the house this morning dressed in a red unitard and 5-inch platform boots and stepped into the Tenderloin. The rest of my get-up consists of black hot-pants, thick rimmed glasses, and a “Locuter” lettering encircled on my chest. I am a super-villian of the highest caliber. My evil power? I spew forth big words and talk circles around my helpless victims until they fall to the floor, exhausted.

I am Circumlocuita.

But really, I just look more like Elastica Girl from The Incredibles.

The point being, I am less and less confident I should be romping around in a skin-tight fire-red performance suit. I called my mother.

“Today is Halloween, right?”

“Today is Halloween.”

“I don’t see anyone else dressed up. Where’s the San Francisco spirit?”

“Well, it is Tuesday.”

“Everyone’s over it. Everyone did their thing over the weekend. People are wondering why this Elastica-girl didn’t get the memo that when Halloween falls after the weekend, no one celebrates it. Everyone is wondering why no one has told her that when someone is 25 it means it’s time to grow up and costume time is over.”

[silence]

“Mom? Is that what they’re thinking?! Why am I so afraid to be the only one in cosutme? Why do I care what people think? I think I’m having a panic attack.”

“Have a nice day at work, sweetie.”

(Since when is my mom into tough love?)

I continued on. And my confidence dwindled even further as I approached work and realized I didn’t have a change of clothes. And no one at my work was dressed up. And the HR Manager made the “unitard/retard” joke.

So I made an emergency trip to Safeway, figuring even super-villians need groceries. As I walked I pretended everyone in the financial district was dressed up as unhappy bankers for Halloween. It worked only slightly.

But I also noticed a lot of people smiling at (with?) me as I threw produce and cans of tuna into my shopping cart (no one was wearing a god damn costume, but at least the fuckers were wearing smiles…)

To sum it up quickly — as there is a red wedgie fastly growing that I must attend to — (and yes, I did just write that) I’ve gotten over the whole thing as the day has wore on as I’ve gotten quips from coworkers and friends such as “at least you dressed up today, Shannon. I knew I could count on you. Thanks.”

It’s as if they’re thanking me for doing something they didn’t. And I just smile back, exhale my embarrassment, and think “you’re welcome.”

A novel-writing team has formed! I’ve got two folks on board with me as part of NaNoWriMo. Please welcome:

Brian and Whitney!

Help cheer us on as we attempt to write 50,000 words in 30 days.

To prove our commitment to this writing endeavor, each of us will be writing a check of a sizable amount to an organization of our choosing that is in direct opposition to our values (i.e. Traditional Family Fund, Republican Party, People Against Cute Puppies, etc.) and sealing it in a stamped, addressed envelope. We will then be handing these envelopes to an impartial person with instruction to drop in the mail if we fail to complete the 50,000 word goal. No pleading, wining or begging for financial mercy allowed.

Not Keeping Score will be tracking word count and posting updates. However, things might be pretty limited, considering words are precious commodities and will need to be hoarded. Your comments and encouragment are much appreciate, though. Stay posted!

-Shannon

After dinner one night I unwrapped the plastic cover of my dessert and cracked open my destiny: “Your life will be prosperous if you use your creativity”

I should be happy about this fortune-received, but I’m not — and it’s not just because I’ve acquired a $150/week to-go Chinese food habit while living the single professional life — which leaves me feeling neither “prosperous” nor “creative,” let me tell you.

(It leaves me feeling lethargic and ripe for a heart attack*)

Those who know me well will vouch that I take fortune cookies very, very seriously (after all, they are the most reliable forecaster, second only to the Magic 8-Ball®).
The fortune didn’t mean much to me at first. I pinned it up on my “Chinese fortune cookie board” and forgot about it (yes, I have a “fortune cookie board” — don’t ask)

But over the past few weeks I’ve found a growing knot of tension chewing on my rib bones like some sort of deeply disturbed pit bull. And his teeth are damn friggin’ sharp. Here’s the problem: I’ve been liking working a little too much lately — to the point of… I’m starting to worry I’m turning into one of those “workaholic” rather than “creative” types.

This past weekend — “one of the most beautiful weekends of the year” — when a friend invited me out I responded, “nah, I don’t really think I’ll join you at the beach. I’ve got a lot of, um, emails to write.”

But when I hung up the phone I knew I didn’t have any emails I had to write. Or work I had to do. Or… anything I had to do. Or anything I wanted to do.

And it scared me shitless. Especially that last part. (So I hung out in my closet for a good hour and a half hoping the sun would go away already. Then I came to my senses and realized there was plenty more of my job I could hide behind so I went into work.)

I’ve let my job become an addiction of sorts — an addiction that has served as a nice distraction from some other more pressing issues. Like: why haven’t I applied for that writing program I was going to apply for? And: since when am I afraid to ask someone out on a date? And: why have I not left the house for the 7th consecutive Saturday night when I’m 25 years old?

And: what the fuck am I so afraid of?

And then suddenly I found that damn fortune staring me in the face last night.

“Your life will be prosperous if you use your creativity”

“Fuck you!” I said out loud (yes, I do speak to small scraps of paper out loud. This is why I live alone) “I’m going to negate your words by opening up a new, more relevant fortune. That’ll show you!”

So I grabbed for a new cookie to prove that my life and fortune had NOTHING to do with being creative and I certainly was not being defensive and was not in the least bit scared [scoff].

It read: “Being aware of your fears will improve your life”

* * *

Life is so much simpler, you see, when we follow a path that is easy, passive, predictable — that doesn’t require questioning, challenge, risk — doesn’t require a creative approach.

And living a “prosperous” life? I’ll let you, Dear Reader, “be creative” in that definition. Figuring out and then admitting what you really want to do / want / be — and then taking some risks… now that’s fucking scary.

Just in time for Halloween.

And so, in the true spirit of the holiday, rather than wonder what I’m going to dress up as, I ask the more difficult question — per the advice of the All-Knowing Fortune Cookies — in what ways I’m living my life out of fear; in what ways I’m failing to live my life creatively.

And you, Dear Reader, I ask you — what are you going to be do for Halloween?

Just a question.

*Creative license purposes. Ordering of Chinese food comes from Bamboo restaurant–neither greasy nor MSG-laden. In fact, I usually special order raw tofu with steamed (not stir-fried) veggies, and they are wonderfully happy to accommodate. The fat and lethargic part comes from the fact that I sit on my lazy ass in front of a computer all day. Just had to make that clear.

In preparation for writing my novel in November, I have

• Begun telling as many people as I can that I am participating in NaNoWriMo so that if/when I fail the mockery and embarrassment will be crushing and painful.
• Read “No Plot? No Problem! A Low-Stress, High-Velocity Guide to Writing a Novel in 30 Days” by Chris Baty. Thank goodness this isn’t one (a problem) because I don’t got one (a plot).
• Begun “Letters to a Young Novelist” by Mario Vargas Llosa (that showed up thoughfully in my mailbox… thank you M.W. for the inspiration).
• Purchased a lovely bright yellow notebook for, well, random notes; plan to “borrow” office accoutrements from work (if anyone from work is reading this, I do intend to put back everything I borrow…really); and have designated a favorite marking pen for outlining a plot when I actually come up with one.

Suppose I’ll have to leave the rest to spontaneity.

Baseball pitcher Kenny Rogers’ dark “smudge” on his hand during the World Series last night raised eyebrows (ESPN story) — was it dirt, tree sap or magic pitching cream? NPR even flippingly referred to it as “Dirt Gate” — or perhaps that was just my half awake mind.

All I know is that I’m not much of a sports fan and perhaps this is why. The “dark cloud” (or brown sticky cloud) of a potential scandal somehow came as no surprise — particularly in baseball. Sigh.

Cheating or no cheating, there’s going to be some great Halloween costumes to come out of this (can’t you see them now?), as well as a continued chipping away at the image of sports figures as role models (“don’t tell me you actually still believe in that role-model-bullshit?“)

No, but some people do.
But hey — we can always looks to other celebrities, like singers and songwriters, for role models, right? Like… the other Kenny Rogers! We’ve always got him! See: his hands are clean!

[Images from WIREIMAGE.com/PressWire on espn.com and 8notes.com]

Because the rules of NaNoWriMo specifically state that no prose-writing is to begin prior to November 1, I’m doing all I can to prepare for the event. I figure that in order to successfully complete a 50,000 word novel in 30 days I’ll have to. I’m still trying to get a more routine work schedule (everybody cheer — I’m now only working an average of 11 hours a day!) and I feel the onset of a cold coming on.

I’m like a runner prepping for a marathon. Can’t starting sprinting until the Nov.1 gun goes off, but I sure as hell can train and stretch and drink all the electrolytes my stomach can, er, stomach.

So here’s what I’ve done so far:

1. I’ve signed up! I am officially registered with NaNoWriMo. So now, if I don’t complete the novel, I *officially* invite ridicule and scorn from friends and family.

2. I’ve started running again. Like, actually running — this isn’t a metaphor. I “plot” well on the treadmill, and my fingers seem to continue the rhythm of my legs once I sit down at my computer. Narrate, girl, narrate!

3. I set a schedule. Per the advice of Mr. Chris Baty (the originator of NaNoWriMo), I assessed what my necessary and unneccessary activities were, and when my best hours for writing would be. You’ll all be glad to know I’ll have no social life for the month of November and will be writing between the hours of 4am-6am.

4. I’ve started collecting fortune cookies(see last post). I’ve decided that rather than come up with any unique plot idea, my novel will be based squarely on a patchwork of fortune cookie phrases.

Plot, character & theme brainstorming all underway. And again, if you have any extra fortune cookies you don’t want, please send ‘em my way. I’m gonna need all the help I can get…

Fortune cookie eaten after fish filet lunch in the Sunset District reads, “In great attempts it is glorious even to fail.” I interpret this to be a sign of encouragement of my recent decision to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days during November as part of National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo.

Fortune cookie eaten after solo Chinese dinner last night reads, “Your charm has inspired an secret admirer.” I interpret this to be a sign that I attract those not particularly keen on grammar.

I interpret both as a sign that I eat way too much Chinese food to go.

Afraid of commitment? Me too.

But you know what they say about phobias. In true form, I’ve done a project for today’s SlinkyFest — which is the signing of the agreement below. The agreement is this: write a novel in 30 days beginning November 1st.

I am participating in National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo).
Not Keeping Score will be my headquarters in November for keeping me on track as I attempt to actually write that novel. Motivation for staying the course and ridicule for slacking both welcome. You’re my witnesses…
Form: #A30/31/50K

The Month-long Novelist Agreement and Statement of Understanding

I hereby pledge my intent to write a 50,000 word novel in one month’s time. By invoking an absurd, month-long deadline on such a enormous undertaking. I understand that notions of “craft.” “brilliance.” and “competency” are to be chucked right out the window, where they will remain, ignored, until they are retrieved for the editing process. I understand that I am a talented person, capable of heroic acts of creativity, and I will give myself enough time over the course of the next month to allow my innate gifts to come to the surface, unmolested by self-doubt, self-criticism, and other acts of self-bullying.

During the month ahead, I realize I will produce clunky, dialogue, clichéd characters, and deeply flawed plots. I agree that all of these things will be left in my rough draft, to be corrected and/or excised at a later point. I understand my right to withhold my manuscript from all readers until I deem it completed. I also acknowledge my right as author to substantially inflate both the quality of the rough draft and the rigors of the writing proves should such inflation prove useful in garnering me respect and attention, or freedom from participation in onerous household chores.

I acknowledge that the month-long, 50-000 word deadline I set for myself is absolute and unchangeable, and that any failure to meet the deadline, or any effort on my part to move the deadline once the adventure has begun, will invite well-deserved mockery from friends and family. I also acknowledge that, upon successful completion of the stated noveling objective, I am entitled to a period of gleeful celebration and revelry, the duration and intensity of which may preclude me from participating fully in workplace activities for days, if not weeks, afterward.

Signed – Shannon DeJong

Date – October 1st, 2006

Novel Start Date – November 1st, 2006

Novel Deadline – November 30th, 2006