* * *

For the next 48 hours, Picasso turned into a submarine. A black stealth metal whale diving to depths only giant squid and phosphorescent fish occupied. He was slow and deliberate, moving through dark waters displacing particle for particle, as if water had become metal, and then metal to water, and back again to hard steel. He lost all of his skin and was an empty skeleton, no blood, no veins, no pulse. He became the ocean itself, a frozen body of water, the moon and surface merging. The center of him was empty, and his limbs were everywhere.

That is when he knew he was home. That was the second kiss.

* * *

*     *     *

“Kissing is weird.”

Picasso absentmindedly plucked his thumbnail against his front tooth.

“I mean, just think about mouths. These gaping wet holes with banana slug inchings, strange muscles, flipping and flopping about –not to mention dental fences along the property line, and lip hedging that seal off an entrance. Extraño…muy extraño“

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No, I’m not speaking in tongues, I just was thinking that, maybe NaNoWriMo was a little ambitious? I probably should have signed on for this one instead: http://www.nablopomo.com/

Does this post count as one? Okay, fine: back to Picasso.

NaNoWriMo off to a… er… um… start. Not sure what kind of start. Forgive me, Oh God of the Written Word! (Forgive me NKS readers) Now I remember why I don’t write fiction… Chapter 1:

This is a story about a man who is beautiful. He will be named Picasso. Picasso is stoic and strong, small in stature but a spirit with as much rigidity and ice as a frozen bag of coffee. The smell of him is just as amazing. Soft. His wrist alone could slay princesses in Morocco. When he shifts — throws it into 5th as he goes speeding along the damp freeway overpass, just newly dewed upon — he is fluid and powerful as water. He drives lightly and with arrow-straight speed, no wasting vectors, and his lips are always pursed as he looks 12 cars ahead – as skillfully as a chess player thinks 12 moves ahead – and even though you could say he was Driving Itself, it is cold-as-snow-apparent in his caramel face that he is condemned to self awareness.

I think I am in love with this Picasso.

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Shoot!

NaNoWriMo 2009 has begun and I’m already 5 days behind!

The past days a blur and hardly taking note that the 11th month of the year has already started, I woke up in the middle of the night audibly crying, “Oh, crap! It’s November! NANOWRIMO noooooooooooo!”

Now, without the faintest idea of a novel concept, already 8,000 words behind, and with the knowledge that I’m on vacation for two weeks this month, the smart thing to do would be to surrender and forgo a NaNo novel this year… but we all know I’m not all that bright.

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The sun, ferns, salt and dark lager have bleached my brain. I am now sitting by myself at the (mahogany? kaori wood?) bar at a place called “Schnappa Rock” and enjoying a very tall pint while I write and look at the ocean:

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Tēnā koutou ! I’m in Aukland, New Zealand!

But don’t have much time to write, because I am jetlagged and have to go… write. Behind quite a bit on my NaNoWriMo novel and have calculated that I need to hit about 4000 words/day to make it happen. (You thought I quit? Oh, come on- you should know me better than that. Don’t you know sarcasm when you read it?)

Aside from zoning out to Ugly Betty episodes and trying to sleep in uncomfortable no-legroom positions during my 12 hour flight, I did manage to eek out another 1000 words or so — so off I go for the remaining 3 tonight, before I pass out in a jet-lag-gin-and-tonic stupor and wake again tomorrow to head off for the North Island’s Bay of Islands.

Hei konā ~

…ok, team–

It’s time for a serious heart-to-heart. I know I’m infamous for my abundant pep talks (asked for or not) and Can Do attitude; for my always cheery “cheer up, Slugger!” encouragement and optimistic outlooks.

Wow. How annoying.

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Despite being on the road, I’m still NaNo-ing! I’ve made my way back to Taos, New Mexico, sagebrush of my heart, and am snuggling down into 7 (burrr!) degree nights, the cold air like a blanket of quiet.

Good thing I’m being well taken care of; some friends I met last time have put me up, and are supplying me with plenty of hot chai tea. Then I move on to Mabel Dodge for a week-long writing retreat with Natalie Goldberg. It’s a silent week of meditation, walking, and writing practice, a perfect time to accumulate words as week two of NaNoWriMo is upon us.

See you in a week, when we’ll have another NaNo wordcount update, with all the usual suspects.

We’re not even through the first week, and already our wordcounts are piling up. Gadzooks! The NaNoWriMo site is so busy that they’ve disabled some of the features, so I can’t install a geeky-neato wordtracker widget. Guess I’ll have to track by hand.

Our writers (in no particular order):

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I’m a bad girl, I know (I should be getting my 8 hours, or at the very least out having some Halloween fun like a normal 27-year-old) but I just couldn’t help myself– It’s just past midnight on November first, and it’s officially time to start writing! NaNoWriMo is upon us!

I have to say, it feels really good to be back at the keys in a fast-n-furious novel showdown, to feel the wind whipping through my fingers as they fly in focused frenzy — and, as I give myself permission to put quantity over quality for the next 30 days. Ye-Ha!

Word count as of 12:45am: 426 words. 

It’s almost November, and you know what that means! No, not the election (something even BIGGER than that!)

Start sharpening your pencils, changing the ribbons on your typewriter, or (if you must) booting up your hard drives, because it’s… National Novel Writing Month!

I’m gearing up to crank out 50,000 words in 30 days, and I’m not alone! I have at least 4 others with whom I will be in good company for the grand ole word-churn. Let me know if anyone else out there is inspired to do the same, and I’ll be happy to track your progress here on NKS.

Novels away!

An update on the progress of my novel for National Novel Writing Month, where I aim to write 50,000 words in 30 days:

Wordcount = 0!

That’s right… aside from a power-driven first day of 1100 words, which I subsequently erased with writerly desperation in the next, there has been no progress whatsoever in my attempt at a second fast-paced novel. I am now 16, 679 words behind schedule.

Instead, I have been doing freelance naming work, and, and, and… procrastinating. For some reason, doing things like cleaning out the cabinet under my sink has seemed strickingly more important than writing prose every day.

It makes me wonder about the mechanism for motivation, and subsequently, avoidance. Last year I charged ahead with my writing, every day chomping at the bit for the moment when I could sit down and write: every free weekend, in the morning before work, at night after work… while at work.

Now, when I have more time than ever (I have roughly 16 potential free, largely unaccounted for, hours a day), I seem to be incapable of sitting down at the computer to just write. Write anything. And yet, I have time for email, my blog…

Curious.

I’ve concluded that last year, with my first What-The-Hell-I’ll-Write-A-Novel-In-30-Days go of it, I had no expectations: I figured I’d get down 50,000 words of untalented fiction and I’d be fine with that. I couldn’t fail.

This year, I have expectations.

And that realization has allowed me to revisit a theme I’ve visited before: fear. Fear of failure, fear of change, fear of not meeting other’s expectations, fear of not meeting my own. Powerful stuff.

But why do we let our fear of something (writing a crap-ass novel…) prevent us from trying to overcome (…writing something…) that which we should fear (…writing nothing at all)?

Is that fear, or laziness?

I don’t know, but I do know that the key usually lies in exactly what we’re afraid of (known in other circles as “facing our fear”); I have to give myself permission to write a crappy novel. That will free me to write a good one.

I really liked a comment that a reader*[1] posted last year about fear: that “all creativity is driven fundamentally by our awareness of our own death.” In other words, I write because I know I’m going to die, so I better write NOW… because it’s awfully hard to produce a brilliant novel when I’m DEAD.

Truer words were never typed.

So I guess the only thing left to do now, is write. Fearfully, hesitatingly… even if horribly. I must charge ahead and “just do it” already.

…Even if it kills me.

*[1] Full disclosure: The person who said this is my boyfriend. However, he was not so at the time of this comment, and I liked it even then, so I’m still allowed to re-quote here without accusation of being biased.

and I’m giving it another go this year. Wanna join me? Click here.

And, in the meantime, while I’m trying to make 1,700 words per day and get over jetlag, I’ll be posting more stories from Vietnam.

Cheers.

Well, last night it happened: I officially crossed the finish line and wrote my 50,000th word.

It just doesn’t leave me with that giddy burst of satisfaction I thought I would, because although I’m done with NaNoWriMo, I still have a ways to go until I have a satisfactory draft of my novel.

(The entire last three chapters of my novel are more like outlines. They read like this: “this is the scene where Bob proposes to the monkey. This is the part where the monkey says ‘No’ and Bob is heartbroken and then runs away to Las Vegas, then meets Mandy the topless dancer. This is the part where the race car driver from Chapter 2 re-appears and throws a kink into the plot.” The End.)

I do have to say, though: there is something wonderful about having it all layed out — the whole shibang — beginning to end. And it may be dysfunctional, it may be incoherent, but goddam it, it has a start good start and a vague finish. And some fun stuff happens in the middle.

Kind of like life, I guess.
(Ah, shit. She didn’t just go there, did she?)
She did.

Still running the NaNoWriMo marathon, and at 40,500 words I can see the finishline on the horizon (and for this, I am thankful).

Actually, I am most thankful for the whole experience of NaNoWriMo. For reals, yo — if you have it in you (the desire), I say to you: DO IT. Just… you know.

This has been such a worthwhile experience in and of itself. I would explain why — but I’m plum out of words. And I feel perfectly justified in leaving it at that. But I will say this:

I’m in love.

It’s all I think about.
It’s all I talk about.
It’s all I dream about.
When I’m not writing, I wish I were.
It’s not always easy — there are rough patches, sure.
Sometimes we fight, my novel and I, but we always make up.
(Sometimes I have to do all the work; sometimes I just sit back, and it takes over.)
It’s a give and take. I learn about myself, I learn about it —

–Shit, this is good lovin’.

The only foreseeable problem is that I’m beginning to have a difficult time differentiating between reality and fiction. The other day I started referring to characters in my novel as if they were real people:

“That’s so funny!” I said enthusiastically to a friend as we were discussing our holiday favorites, “Catherine’s favorite kind of pie is pecan, too! What a coincidence!”

“Who’s Catherine?” He asked, eyebrows arched in question.

“You know — oh, sorry,” I bowed my head in embarassment. “Catherine. My protagonist. For this, novel-thing I’m writing. Catherine… Yeah… She, um, likes pecan pie too…”

“Hunh,” he responded, and suddenly remembered he had to leave.

* * * * * * *
HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!

Wow.

As I enter week three I find myself at somewhat at a… surplus for words. (Gotcha)

It is said by Chris Baty (the founder) and other Nano-ers, that week three is supposed to feel like sunshine after the torrential rains of week two. I’m not so sure yet — I’m still having wonky plot issues, my narrative voice still feels schitzophrenic, and frankly: this sucker is still gonna have a long way to go before I would go so far as to say it was worthy of “Novel” status.

If this is about “beating the crap” out of a first draft, then so beat the crap I have.

But these past couple of days I’ve felt so eye-bulgingly, cheek-puffingly, brain-stretchingly, heart-crampingly alive I’m not sure my poor little fingertips have been able to keep up with my brain. There is so much processing going on in my life I’m finding it wonderful fodder for my novel.

At least it’s good for something, right?

I’ve taken a leave of absence from work due to health reasons, which has been both an incredibly difficult and uncomfortable decision, but has also brought up some ‘insights’ for me.

I’ve spoken with several people, and it seems I’m not the only one.
The mercury is in retrograde, people. I don’t know if you’re noticing it in your neck of the woods, but in my small corner of the world, there is change a-happenin’. It’s not just my mind that’s whirring. People are searching, questioning, wondering. Conversations abound regarding the self, authenticity, fear, risk, control…and oh, yes, it’s all in my novel. You’ll just have to, um… trust me.

That reminds me! Trust! Shit. I knew there was a theme I haven’t yet covered in my novel. Well, I’ll have to address that whopper in the last 20,000 words. That’s right — as of this moment, I crossed the 30,000 word mark. Wish me luck!

-Shannon

Halfway there…

For anyone out there following along, the race has been getting hard these past few miles, and keeps getting harder from here on out. The inclines get steeper, the track slicker, and — well, let’s just say we’re getting holes in our socks.

I’ve actually lost track (no pun intended) with my running mates over the past few days because I have fallen behind in my desired progress. Work came up with a vengence again, and I’ve made such scant progress that I’ve eaten into the padding I gave myself over the weekend… in fact as of tonight I’m behind on where I “should” be.

If we’re pacing ourselves at ~1600 words per day, I should be at 13,336. Sadly, I’m turning off the computer for the evening just short at 13,302. I just can’t go on. No, no — I really can’t. I saved any words left in my fingertips for you good people on my blog. In fact, I’m so worded out, I don’t even have the energy to finish this sent

The participants. The numbers. And a quote in reference to their progress after their first weekend of NaNoWriMo.

Shannon: 12138
“Okay, but I think 12137 of those words are crap.”

Whitney: 8400
“Quote this…my hands are developing carpel tunnel from having them in a monkey grip for 5 straight days. Fuck Nanowrimo!”

Jared: 4123
“My arm was caught in the mouth of a pterodactyl on Friday. Needless to say, I have not been able to write much this weekend. Tomorrow dear, tomorrow”

Brian: 0
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