Eight thoughts on Nanowrimo, 2011

I've been doing Nanowrimo for three years now, and although that's not exactly the longest time in the world, I think I can safely say that I'm pretty well aware of my own patterns over the course of November.

For one, I always begin the month with a fabulous, ambitious, glowing idea of what it is I'm going to accomplish. I have dreams, hopes, aspirations! I imagine myself churning out the most amazing novel that's ever been written. I imagine writing a brilliant novel that is not only enjoyable to read but intellectually stimulating as well; my own personal treatise, arguing for whatever it is that has caught me up this year.

By the end of the month I'm sitting bleary-eyed before my computer screen, making up random collections of words in order to claim that final prize - the little purple bar above my username that proclaims WINNER! Gone are the dreams of literary brilliance, of masterful thematic exploration and in-depth analysis of modern society. Instead, I just want to quietly hobble over the finish line and sit in the corner mumbling softly to myself, massaging the fingers that are still sore from typing those last 10 000 words.

And yet I return year after year. I'm not going to spend time wondering why I do this - I guess it's just who I am.

But I do want to spend a few moments pondering what it is I've learned from this year's Nanowrimo experience. So here it is, a brief look at some of the things I've learnt about myself and about writing in general, all in one month:

RTW: Elevator Tales

Wednesdays are 'blog carnival' days over at YA Highway, where readers respond to questions posted by the YA Highway team. Today's question is:

You're re-reading one of your favs when someone asks the dreaded question: "What's that book about?" Give us your best off-the-cuff blurb of any book, any genre, and have your readers try to guess the title in the comments!
This is a great challenge as I often find I have trouble explaining things. (Also I find it weird when people talk to me on the lift, as if we're on the set of some sort of late-nineties romantic comedy and the old lady with the crazy hair, the tuna-fish smell and the shopping bags is about to tell me something profound and life-changing that twenty years later I'll be telling to my own kids when I tell them the story of my whirlwind romance with their father.) I'm the sort of person who, when asked to define a word, tells you to go and get a dictionary so that either a) I cover my own ignorance and shame at not knowing the answer, or b) I can cloak my own incompetence in a display of intellectual superiority.

So anyway, here goes:

"Okay. Um. So it's the story of Armageddon, right, but there's this angel and this demon who are both trying to stop Armageddon from happening for different reasons, but they unwittingly lose the Antichrist and he grows up as a normal little English boy. And it's all framed by the prophecies of this sixteenth-century witch who predicted the whole thing happening. And her great-great-great-something granddaughter is also trying to stop it happening with the help of a twentieth-century witchfinder. It's absolutely hilarious."

Any guesses? ;)

RTW: Goals and Rewards

Wednesdays are 'blog carnival' days over at YA Highway, where readers respond to questions posted by the YA Highway team. Today's question is:

How do you reward yourself when you meet your writing goals? Answer for big goals (i.e. I will buy a Lear jet when I get published) and/or small goals (I eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's in one sitting when I finish each chapter).
I realise I've been MIA for a few weeks, and just when I was starting to get into the habit of posting regularly. Sadly, my assessments tend to come round in horrifying unexpected cycles, huddling together like baby bears afraid of the cold. So I've been struggling to keep a hold of my sanity as I rush towards the end of semester. Hopefully I'll make it out alive, but at the moment it's touch and go.

I thought I'd keep up with YA Highway's RTW though, so here's my response to this week's question.

I had a surge of creativity about a week ago, sat down and wrote for four hours straight three days on end. For me, this is a record as I haven't really worked out a system for my writing yet. Of course, sometimes it's just hard to sit down and write. Which makes setting goals and rewards a tempting thing. Sadly, I've never been the person to do such things. So I've decided for today's RTW to post a plan I'd like to put into action rather than one I'm actually following.

Review: The Heart of Midlothian

So I took a little break from the Internet - and, in fact, the computer! - over the Easter break (something my Script Frenzy script is now punishing me for) and spent a bit of time reading a bunch of books I've been meaning to finish for a long, long time. One of these was The Heart of Midlothian, by Sir Walter Scott, which has been sitting on my night desk for about three months. No kidding. But I finally finished it and I wanted to post a review on it, seeing as I haven't posted for a while. Plus the fact that I finally finished the book made me want to celebrate a bit. I thought it was a waste to read the book for three months and then just put it back on my shelf. So, with that in mind....

How far would you go to save a sister's life? Would you tell a lie? How much would you sacrifice?

The Heart of Midlothian is a simple story which probably could have been several times shorter than it actually was; it essentially centres around a young woman called Jeanie Deans, whose half-sister is accused of child-murder and sentenced to death. Jeanie, unable to lie in a court of law to save her sister's life (a point which didn't quite sit with me, but more on that later), heads down the long road to London to try and get a pardon for her sister from the King.

'I'm Lord Vader' and Other Signs He's Probably Not 'First Kiss' Material

Wednesdays are 'blog carnival' days over at YA Highway, where readers respond to questions posted by the YA Highway team. Today's question is:

Compare your first kiss with your favorite characters first kiss?

Ok. So this topic is a little problematic for me because I often struggle with the accounts of first kisses in YA fiction. My main problem? They're over-romanticised.

Let me start by describing my first kiss; being fairly hopeless with men on a 'romantic' level when I was younger, I didn't have my first kiss until just after leaving school. By the time it actually happened any romantic notions I'd developed about it had all been blown out of the water. Eventually, I had my first kiss because I was so desperate to tick another box in the 'teenage experiences' list that I managed to get over my customary awkwardness around sexually appealing members of the opposite sex and just went for it. It happened in a dingy club, after a few too many shots* and with a man whose name I instantly forgot (which probably wouldn't have mattered anyway as it was so loud in the club he could have said anything from 'I'm Jim' to 'I'm Lord Vader, scourge of the Galaxy' and I wouldn't have known the difference) and whose face I cannot now recall. He was very attractive, thankfully, and my kiss was relatively brief but with it came a rush of understanding.

The Narnia Debate: or, Kids vs. Adults

"Make 'em think, Blondie." Even kids'
films are trying to tell us something.
But can we figure it out?
Source. 

The other day I was reading this post over at Erinn’s blog and yesterday, it popped into my head again. You see, up until yesterday I’d been firmly convinced that being an adult runs circles around being a kid. Sure, I know all the usual arguments: lack of responsibility, freedom of imagination, ability to wear awesome Elmo backpacks without irony... but I was still convinced that being an adult was several hundred times better than being a kid.

And then yesterday I sat down to watch Disney’s latest movie Tangled, having heard how wonderful it was, and my sister said to me, “Wow, now I want to watch old Disney movies.” Without thinking I replied, “me too.” At this we shared a look; what were we thinking? We were two mature, intelligent and – though I say so myself – not unattractive young women... and all we wanted to do of a Sunday afternoon was sit down and watch kid’s films. At first I was dreadfully embarrassed, but then I began to think to myself... maybe being a kid isn’t so bad after all.

And For Your Challenge THIS Month...

Nothing to do in April, as the cold winds begin to roll in and you feel it’s almost socially acceptable for you to wrap yourself in a massive doonah and disappear for months on end, until forced once more out of your little cocoon by the hot weather?

Yeah. That’s how I felt mid-March this year. So I thought I’d try something different. I decided to try out Script Frenzy. What is Script Frenzy, you may ask? Well, it’s to screenwriting what Nanowrimo is to novel-writing. Essentially it challenges you to write a 100-page script – TV, film, stage – in the month of April. Sounds like fun, right? I thought so, while I was pondering how I was going to celebrate the long winter nights that were fast approaching. And so I decided to take a leap into previously uncharted writing territory. Essentially, this was my thought process...

RTW: A Tourist's Guide to 2111

Road Trip Wednesday: #74

Wednesdays are 'blog carnival' days over at YA Highway, where readers respond to questions posted by the YA Highway team. Today's question is:

Assuming we make it through the 2010 apocalypse, what do you imagine the publishing world will look like 100 years from now?

Picture it. The year is 2111. A lazy afternoon sun dips across the scorching red wasteland that is the Australian outback. The dust stirs. One man - dressed all in leather, Mad Max style, despite the heat - zips across the landscape on a motorcycle like a black-and-grey wasp. But this is no joy ride. This is war.

Suddenly, on the horizon, shimmering, appear his pursuers. Even from a distance, they're high-tech in comparison to this Mel Gibsoneque vigilante. You can't see their faces because their vehicles seem to encase them in what looks like - if you're not afraid to have your fingers broken for making such an observation - a giant, flying silver egg.

Welcome, traveller, to the future.

Coming Soon: Chicago Ink

First of all, and before I get any further, go and enter the great giveaway contest at Hope Junkie. Because it's awesome. :) You can win some great books, including The Book Thief and Sara Zarr's Sweethearts.
I thought it was high time I updated with a little of my actual writing. (I think that's the reason I started blogging. I can't honestly remember! :D) And so I've decided to begin uploading chapters of Chicago Ink, a story I began writing a few years ago simply for fun, no pressure, that sort of thing.

In the heart of Chicago, trouble is brewing....

RTW: Whadda Ya Know... About WIPs?

This week for YA Highway's weekly Road Trip Wednesday, the idea is to ask a question:

What do you want to know about writing and getting published?

Although I'm not currently working on a major story or idea, I'd be lying if I said I didn't one day hope to get something into print. Publishing is a long and daunting process, it seems to me, and not a little terrifying.

But my problem seems to be centred more on one thing: I just can't seem to focus on one story long enough to write up a full draft. I have at least fifteen stories that I choose between. I write depending on what mood I'm in, rather like my reading. Do I feel like Fantasy? Tackling the Sci-Fi? Romance? Working on a Fanfiction? Believe me, I've got a semi-finished story in just about every genre.

So my question is this: How do you find that one idea that you feel confident enough about to actually say, yes, this is the story I one day want to hold in my hand as a published book? How do you decide which idea you want to become your official WIP; and how do you stick to it?

Image from here.

Review: The Castle of Otranto

The Otranto Observer:

Prince Squashed by Giant Airborne Helmet! Full News on Page Six!

Lord of Otranto Says - "Sorry, the Castle Ain't Mine!"

FULL Interview with Covergirl Isabella - "He was Never the One for Me!"

Love Advice from Star-Struck Pair! Theodore and Matilda Tell All - How YOU Can Find True Love in Just Ten Seconds!

Jerome and Hippolita's 'Faithful's Corner': Why Entering a Monastery's the Only Way to Go!

The Commoner's Chronicle: Bianca and her Fellows Tell Why THEY'RE the Ones Who Saved Otranto!

Phew. Sorry. With a novel like Otranto it's hard not to inject a little sarcasm into the reviewing of the book. In honour of Horace Walpole - father of Gothic fiction - I'm going to write this review with as many dashes - and breaks - as I possibly can.

It's not difficult to see why Otranto is still an important book today. As a novel it marks the beginning of a new form of popular fiction - the Gothic - which would never quite die down. Its ancestors are alive and well today - Just look at the shelves of any YA section in any bookstore in the world.

 So. It's an important book. It's pretty famous, too. Added to that, it's short, at a measly 100-or-so pages. It's a quick read, even if a little challenging. Otranto is a book I've long wanted to read but never found the time to. Mostly, it's due to laziness, but I decided now was the perfect time to take a dip into the pool of Early Gothic.

When the Tenses Start to Blend...

... you know you should stop writing your Nanowrimo novel and clean the fluff out of your brain. Like today... which was a good day, in that I somehow managed to write over 10 000 words of utter crap. I'm thinking of it as my 'buffer zone' for when exam study becomes a pressing necessity rather than a faraway possibility.

But 10 000 words in I still haven't decided whether I'm writing in first person or third person, or even which tense I'm currently using. So I go from Mia's POV to narrating what she does, and then I realise it's time to stop.

For some reason, I cannot decide whether I want to write in first or third person. Perhaps I want to keep my options open. Perhaps I'm just going mental. I even made my characters diss Tim Winton, a WA author I admire quite a lot. But I knew I'd lost control of my story when my character went on a two-page rant chewing up my favourite books of all time, namely Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, and Pride and Prejudice. And that was when I realised... there is no way I can make Mia Sargent sound like she isn't a whiny little brat.

...Also, judging from my taste in books, I'm also a walking cliché. But then perhaps that shouldn't come as a surprise. XD

Fear the Blank Page: It's Only Too True

November the first is here. Oh, my. And because I'm on study break and technically studying for Psychology, what I'm actually doing is staring at the computer screen too terrified to open a blank document and type the title of my novel at the top of the page. Numerous questions come to my mind. Does the title count as three notches in my 50 000 words? Is it immoral to count 'Chapter One' as two words? And just how much Earl Grey tea is it possible for one teenage girl to drink before exploding?

As anxious as I am to answer these questions and more, what is most confusing for me at this point is just why I cannot bring myself to open Word and get cracking with something I've been waiting to do since the beginning of the year, or even November last year. What is it? Cold feet? Jitters? A sudden and inexplicable drop in self-esteem? Or perhaps it's the fact that I want to shoot myself in the foot for spending hours reading Twilight as research for my novel, time possibly better spent learning to use a loom, teaching the principles of Zen Buddhism to iguanas, or planning an elaborately staged game of Simon Says in front of the town hall. Kudos to the people who are already past the 4000 word mark only a few hours into November. I salute you, and wish I had your resolve.

Dreams of Darkness: Nano Approaches!

So there's only one more day before Nanowrimo begins, and I am excited. Have I mentioned that? Perhaps a few times. So as the sounds of rabid pre-teens dressed as ghosts, vampires and Miley Cyrus fade away down my deceptively dark driveway I thought I would upload the blurb for my novel, and the cover. Perhaps my Miss Havisham-like confinement to the house on a Sunday night and my intense dislike of small children might perhaps make me question my attitudes towards life, tonight I couldn't care less. And why? Because I'm about to write what I hope will be my most well-thought out and fun story yet... in just thirty days.


Yes, I think I can honestly say I have never planned so hard or researched so much for anything I've ever written before. And now that I'm actually here, I'm gripped with a nervous fear; what if I open up Word tomorrow and have absolutely no idea what to write? Worse still, what if I write ten words of such complete and utter garbage that I'm forced to abandon the entire project and take up something less challenging than writing a novel, like piranha-baiting or designing ballerina outfits for small, vicious, and underfed Chihuahuas....

Oh, Yes, It's That Nano Time of Year...

This year, I told myself in mid-October, I will plan my Nanowrimo novel down to the last minute detail.

And I must admit that, for the most part, I was fairly honest with myself. Not having done Nanowrimo last year I was determined that nothing short of nuclear holocaust would stop me from writing a 50 000 word novel in November. And even then I probably would have tried to scribble a few words on the back of abandoned factory walls, dipping my finger in green radioactive goo and keeping track of my wordcount by making notches in a permanently smoking Seaworld fishtank.

But as the long days of October crept by, I found myself itching to actually start planning now. I've heard lots of people say it's never too early to begin planning for Nanowrimo, but then again I felt strangely as if there was simply too much of October left to begin contemplating what I would do in far-distant November...

Glee, and More Hoorays...

First of all, I was very excited to see Neil Patrick Harris (Barney from How I Met Your Mother) appear in an episode of Glee last week. Funnily enough, I had no idea he could sing....

The Dream On episode was, I think, much better than the last few, which I found a little lacking considering how awesome the Madonna episode was. There was a little bit too much focus on main members of the Glee club and the teachers' romantic problems in particular, so it was nice to see the less prominent members of Glee get a little face time....Though I must admit I do miss the episodes where Sue is prominent. She's an awesome character, the sort of character you love to hate...

WOW Hoorays and Killer Bees.

I know it sounds silly, but I truly didn't imagine that it had been so long that I hadn't posted anything since February. Wow. I'll put that into context for you: the last time I posted something here, China threw a surprise birthday party for Mugabe. (How sweet of them. D'you think they had icecream cake? Gotta have icecream cake, or else it's not a real party. Also fairy bread.) The last time I posted, Odeon cinemas had sworn to boycott Alice in Wonderland. (Aww.) And the last time I posted, the Columbian President told the Venezuelan President to (quote) "be a man". (Thank you, Wikipedia!)

365: Word Count

Today's word count is 1731. I'm pretty happy with that; it's about two chapters in Mr Feathercott's Business. Here's a little sample:

“Good morning, Mr Feathercott.”
Mr Feathercott would have ignored her, had not the infuriating manners of his youth forced him to return the salutation.
“I trust you slept well, Mrs Feathercott,”
“Yes, Mr Feathercott.”
“How comforting. I had a very unpleasant evening,” Mr Feathercott said, still not looking up from his meagre meal. The smell of bacon and eggs made him stomach turn rather abruptly.
“Oh?” Mrs Feathercott replied, clearly preoccupied.
Mr Feathercott was not satisfied with this. His wife, surely, should show more concern for his welfare! He wanted to complain, moreover, of her lack of support the night before. But complaining would mean recalling the disagreeable events of the previous evening, and Mr Feathercott did not wish to be confronted with this.
They breakfasted largely in silence, with Mrs Feathercott eating with a healthy appetite and Mr Feathercott regarding the glistening bacon with a look halfway between disgust and desire. Their repast was nearing an end when a small figure entered by the side door which led to the kitchen...

Mr Feathercott's Business, Chapter One

Had one wandered up a remote London road one gloomy Tuesday in 1957 one might have observed Mr Feathercott making his way home, his impeccably trimmed whiskers drooping in the chill evening air.
On the other hand one might not have; for Mr Feathercott was a singularly unremarkable character, with his wilting whiskers and his crushed bowler hat. Mr Feathercott, alas, was the last of a race of rather ordinary Victorian gentlemen, now nearing his seventieth year, and with no notable achievements in his long life to single him out for fame and fortune. Born to a dying race, Mr Feathercott had lived much of his life in obscurity. He had once brushed the hand of celebrity with his overly large nose when he had, after the unfortunate drowning of his elder brother (unfortunate insofar as it brought his heretofore ignorant brother into some sort of renown) come to a moderate inheritance. Moderate it was indeed, for ‘moderate’ was a word which could be applied to Mr Feathercott from the tip of his frayed bowler to the toes of his unpolished brown shoes.

Mr Feathercott's Business

Had one wandered up a remote London road one gloomy Tuesday in 1957 one might have observed Mr Feathercott making his way home, his impeccably trimmed whiskers drooping in the chill evening air.
On the other hand one might not have; for Mr Feathercott was a singularly unremarkable character, with his wilting whiskers and his crushed bowler hat. Mr Feathercott, alas, was the last of a race of rather ordinary Victorian gentlemen, now nearing his seventieth year, and with no notable achievements in his long life to single him out for fame and fortune.

Mr Feathercott's Business chronicles the lives of the Feathercott family - Mr Feathercott, his wife Esther, and his three daughters - over the course of the '50s and '60s.

Life in the Feathercott household follows a well-defined and inescapable order. Mr Feathercott, the aging academic, spends his life pondering Mr Dickens and snoozing in his favourite chair by the fire. His dissatisfied wife Esther, twenty years his junior, has long ago faded into the throes of middle age yet she cannot forget the encounter with a handsome ginger-whiskered man more than two decades ago.
But times are changing, and Mr Feathercott's carefully ordered world is being systematically eroded piece by piece. His daughter Maud, newly wed to the charming and devastatingly handsome Peter, cannot wait to escape to Chicago with her husband. Elizabeth, the eldest daughter, is busy raising a family and caring for her own husband, but she finds herself unconsciously drifting towards music stands and record stores when the soulful tunes of the King of Rock 'n' Roll are heard. And as for Gladys, the Feathercott's youngest daughter - well, nobody speaks of her, save in a lowered voice as if afraid that the gossip will spread on telepathic thought waves.
Useless, archaic and mildly irritating, Mr Feathercott's world will be turned upside down. And it all begins with an encounter in a deserted pantry...

Chapter One