untitled five

The room was white and sparse, the only furniture was the bed that she was tied to and the night stand to her right that held a bottle of water and some crackers. They were just in her reach so that she could drink if she had to. There weren't any windows and the only light came from the fluorescent light above her head. She had no idea what time it was nor how long she had been there. She was propped up on several pillows and she could remember that she had been comfortable when she had first awoken there but that had been so long ago that she had lost track of the time. Now her back hurt and her body was stiff. She had to frequently shift her body weight around as much as possible in order to keep her butt from losing feeling and her left arm went numb if she let it hang since it didn't have as much slack as her right arm did. Apparently, she wasn't supposed to be able to use her left arm, only the right one if she wanted water. She knew the water was drugged because every time she drank it she got very sleepy. She tried so hard to stay awake when every time she finished a bottle, but she hadn't been able to and when she woke up, there was always a new bottle of water and now these crackers. She preferred the fruit that had come with the first bottle or the cheese that had come with the third... she thought it had been the third but she couldn't remember. It didn't seem to matter since she couldn't tell anyone what she did and didn't want to eat anyway.
She remembered screaming. She remembered screaming for a long time and no one came to her. No one answered her when she screamed for help, begged to be freed and even threatened the life of whoever, if anyone, was listening. Then her throat had started to hurt and she had been afraid if she kept screaming and lost her voice that she might not be able to scream again when someone could hear her or actually cared. Her throat still hurt a little, but she could tell it had been a long time since she had screamed. Maybe she should scream again. Maybe someone could hear her this time. She didn't think anyone could and this made her sad. Instead of screaming, she wept. She cried and cried and cried and was angry at herself afterwards because now her nose was running and she couldn't wipe it although she figured it didn't really matter anyway since she didn't have anything to wipe it with.
Her wrists still hurt from when she had tried to free them from the rope that held her to the bed. She had thought she could squeeze her hands through it if she just tried hard enough, but instead she had ended up burning them with the rope until they bled. Then she had convinced herself that the blood would help by making everything slick and instead she had only tore her wrists up even more. They were bandaged now by someone. In between her skin and the rope were cloth wraps to allow them to heal. She hadn't remembered anyone being in the room. She didn't remember being bandaged, she barely remembered fighting the ropes. But she could remember just a little and a little was all she needed. She clenched her fists and then unclenched them, trying to get them to circulate. When they felt like they were getting the blood they needed, she grabbed the rope holding them and pulled as hard as she could. She just needed one arm free. Just one. Then she could untie the other and open the door. She couldn't see the door, but she knew there had to be one. There had to be a door in this room somewhere.
This was insane. This didn't happen to people like her. People like her read about things like this in newspapers and saw the interviews with the families on the news. They thought to themselves that it was so sad, what happened to that poor, poor girl and then they skipped a few pages into the newspaper and read their horoscopes and went about their days. She didn't want everyone to think she was dead, she wanted them to fins her. She had to get out of this room. She couldn't be in this room anymore. She wanted to put her arms down by her sides, she wanted to stand up and stretch her body back out, she wanted to get a massage. She had a massage once. She remembered how nice it was to have your back rubbed and kneaded and to lay there and be completely relaxed. She could remember exactly how the room smelled and the cd that played with music and the sounds of the ocean. Would she ever get a massage again? She'd like to.
Her mouth was dry again and she reached for the bottle of water but hesitated because she knew she would fall asleep again. Maybe she could wait a little longer before she took another drink. She wasn't sure she wanted to sleep anymore. She kept losing time when she slept. How much time had she lost, how long had she been here. She tried to remember again but everything was so fuzzy. She felt like she couldn't quite get out from under the haze of the drugs that had knocked her out before. She sucked on her cheeks a little trying to pull out some moisture but her mouth still felt like sandpaper. She turned her head again to look at the bottle of water and the crackers. She decided that the crackers were there as a trick. They wanted her to eat the crackers and they would pull all of the moisture from her mouth forcing her to drink the water. She wouldn't eat the crackers, they couldn't make her. She turned her head to look the other direction, away from the water. She studied the white wall, looking for something. She tried to find a crack in the wall, a hole from where a picture had hung, but she couldn't. The wall was completely smooth and didn't even have a smudge of dirt on it. She lifted her head a little and looked at the floor. There were white tiles laid in a straight line. She counted them. From the wall in front of her to where her line of site ended, there were forty two. From the left corner of the wall in front of her to the right corner, there were fifty five.
Her throat itched and she tried to clear it but that made it tickle. She cursed herself for the screaming. She tried to swallow but ended up coughing. She coughed until her eyes watered and then gave in to the thirst and took the water bottle. She decided it didn't matter anymore. She would drink the water because then she would sleep and then maybe she would just die. She thought she would rather be dead then be laying here forever with nothing and no one and no time. She drank the whole bottle and threw it. She couldn't throw it far because her of the rope but she felt a little better that she had thrown it.
The drugs were like a wave. She felt them washing over her. She felt happy for a moment because they took away the pain, they took away the feeling that she was alone. But then she felt it. Something inside her moved. Was she just hungry? She laughed a little at that thought because it seemed so absurd. She looked at the ceiling and the lone fluorescent light and then felt it again. Very slowly, as though her head were no longer attached to her body, she forced her chin to her chest. What was that? Had she gotten fat? She looked fat. Everything blurred and she had to blink her eyes twice before she found the focus again. No, not fat. She remembered telling her roommate she wasn't fat. No, she was pregnant. She was going to have a girl, the doctor had told her she would have a daughter. She wanted to name her Christina but he had said no. He said Christina was a name for a whore and she wouldn't be a whore like her mother. Her eyes started to close again but she fought them. She had changed her mind. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to give up, she wanted to leave. She had to leave. She was going to have a baby. She couldn't stay here. Her eyes kept getting heavier and she couldn't open them anymore so she decided to close them, but just for a moment...

Annabelle sat straight up in bed. She was soaked through with sweat and her heart was pounding. No, no, that wasn't her heart. Someone was knocking on the door. She put her hand to her head and wiped it off. "I'm coming. Hang on a second!" She tried to untangle her legs from the sheets but finally just gave up and kicked the sheets and blankets onto the floor and stood up. She looked at the other bed and saw that Lila was still sleeping. She wondered what time it was but noticed that there was some light peeking in through the blinds. She looked through the peep hole and saw a badge. She swallowed and then opened the door, leaving the chain in it's place.
"Good morning Ma'am. I'm sorry to wake you, but your (car) is blocking the delivery truck."
"What?"
"Your car, Ma'am. It's parked in the red zone and the truck that delivers the gas can't get around it to the pumps for the station." He pointed to his left.
Annabelle closed the door and unhooked the chain and then reopened it. Stepping out onto the second floor walkway, she peered down to the road where a chubby truck driver waved up at her. She could see that her (car) was indeed blocking the driver from getting through. She remembered parking there and had intended to come and move the car after she had put hers and Lila's things in the room, but she must have fallen asleep.
"Oh. Oh my gosh. I am so sorry, Officer..." She looked for a name tag and found one on his left pocket: Paul Waters. "Officer Waters, I am so sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I meant to move it once I unloaded everything."
He smiled at her. "Ma'am, it's no problem. I am not going to give you a ticket for it, I just need you to move it so Harvey can pump the gas. Then you can crawl back into bed."


(4,952 words)
(45,048 to go)
Cases of Writer's Block: One, lasting thirty six hours
Words per day to finish on time: 2,145
Times I've considered deleting this blog and forgetting about NanoWrimo: 14
Number of emails I've received asking what will happen next: 7
Phone calls I've ignored: 23
Sanity levels: dropping
How many times we've had frozen pizza for dinner this month: 5

NaNoWriMo 2005 :: Week Two (from Chris Baty)

Dear Writer,
That whooshing sound you just heard was the first week of National Novel Writing Month sailing into the history books.
It went pretty quickly, didn't it?
I'm Chris Baty, the director of NaNoWriMo, and I'm here with some good news and some bad news about the week ahead. The good news: In NaNoWriMo, all weeks are not created equal, and you've just completed a doozy. Pat yourself on the back, as some of the month's most taxing terrain is already behind you.
Also, you know that uneasiness you've been feeling about your lack of a clear plot? Well, that's a worry for another week.
Are you ready for the bad news? That week starts today.
Yep. We've arrived at Week Two.
Let the weeping begin.
The writer Edith Wharton once described novel writing like this:
"The beginning: A ride through a spring wood.
The middle: The Gobi desert.
The end: Going down the Cresta run."
As you move from the spring wood of Week One into the trying climate of Week Two, one or all of the following are likely to happen: 1) The fun, good-time feel of the first week will evaporate. 2) You will decide that your book is a miserable failure, that you are a creative fraud, and that novels are best left to novelists. 3) You will put 1 and 2 together, and decide to cut your losses and drop out now while the getting is good and the fall TV season is still relatively new. I cycle through these feelings every year I participate in NaNoWriMo, and I have two words for anyone who finds themselves falling into a similar Week Two funk: Cresta run.
Yep. The greatest toboggan run in the world is just one week away.
Make it through the grumpiness and self-doubt of Week Two, and you'll be rewarded with renewed energy and an eerily improved outlook on your novel. Work diligently through this, the hardest week of NaNoWriMo, and you'll see the tangled mess of your story begin to unknot, and your book begin to soar. I know it's hard to believe.
But look at all the work you've done already. You have characters! You have settings! Your manuscript has grown large enough to injure a small dog! Not that you'd want to injure a dog, small or otherwise. But still, you've done more in the last seven days then most writers accomplish in seven months. You've made it through the first huge week of NaNoWriMo. Now dig in for one more challenging push. It's going to be tough. But you can do it. Oh man, can you do it.
See you in Week Three, author!
Chris
NaNoWriMo

untitled four

Annabelle finished her pancakes as Justin wrapped up his latest story. This one had been about the time he and his father had went fishing at Lake Camus. Apparently, Justin had managed to catch a fish that was at least twice the size of his father's fish. This had been the fourth in Justin's series of tales about the trips he took with his father. The first had been camping, then bowling, next was the time that the went hiking and got lost and now the fishing trip. Lila had been completely enthralled in all of his tales, she had barely touched eaten a thing. For the last two minutes she had been holding her fork and it's piece of pancake inches from her mouth.
"Now, Justin, I hope you aren't bothering these nice ladies." Tina said as she filled Annabelle's coffee cup for the fifth time.
"Actually, he has been keeping my daughter and I completely entertained while we ate our breakfast, which was great by the way. Is he your son?"
"Oh, no Ma'am," Tina said as she cleared Annabelle's empty plate from the table. "His Momma has to be at work real early so she drops him off here for breakfast and then he catches the bus right out front. And speaking of the bus Justin, it's 'bout time you get your backpack and head out there. Old Joe will be pulling up any minute now."
"Yes Ma'am," looking a little disappointed that it was time to go, Justin scooted out of the booth and went over to his stool where he picked up his Spiderman backpack and coat. Heading towards the door, he stopped in front of Lila. "Will you be here tomorrow morning too?"
Lila glanced at her mother before answering, "only if we are meant to be."
Justin studied Lila for a moment before responding. "That's just silly, Lila. Of course you are meant to be here." He turned and walked to the door then turned and waved, "see you in the morning." He had no sooner set foot on the sidewalk when the yellow school bus pulled up to the curb and opened it's doors.
Lila toyed with her food for a very long time. She took small bites and chewed them far longer than it took to chew up pancakes. She drank all of her juice and then asked for more, which she sipped very slowly. When she had finished the very last drop of juice and completely cleared her plate, she took the napkin from her lap and set it on the table. Annabelle glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the cash register and saw that it was almost eight o'clock and definitely time to go.
"Sweety, why don't you go to the bathroom and wash up and go potty so we can hit the road?"
"Awwwww, Momma, do we have to?"
Annabelle was used to these protests after her daughter had spent the night in the backseat of the (car). She reached over and smoothed her daughter's hair. "Well, Lila, that is the only way we are going to get where we are going. Now go get yourself cleaned up ok?"
"But, Momma... Don't you always say that we're supposed to be looking for a reason to stay some where?"
"That's right sweety, but I haven't seen any reasons here."
"What if I saw one?"
Annabelle raised an eyebrow. "Did you see one?"
"I think so."
"Well, what was it?"
"Justin, Momma, I think he's a reason."
"Are you saying that because of what he said before he left to go to school?"
"Nope."
"well, then, Lila, why do you think Justin is a reason?"
Lila looked at her mother for a minute and then slid out of her seat and to the floor. "He's a reason, Momma, because he's never went fishing with his Daddy before." With that, she turned and walked into the bathroom.
Annabelle was a little surprised by her daughter's accusation that Justin had been lying about his father. She was pretty sure her daughter had never called anybody a liar before. Tina walked up with her pot of steaming coffee and Annabelle's check.
"Are ya'll going to be needing anything else?" She asked. When Annabelle declined, Tina places the check on the table and picked up Lila's plate and juice cup. She was turning to leave when Annabelle stopped her.
"Uh, Tina?"
"Yes?"
"Could I ask you something?"
"Sure, sugar."
"Earlier, you mentioned that Justin's mother drops him off... Where's his father?"
Tina looked uncomfortable and glanced around the diner, which was quickly filling up with the locals wanting their breakfast. Tina set the plate back down on the table and took the seat across from Annabelle.
"Roger, that's Justin's daddy, he was in an awful accident after Justin was born. Poor Carol, she had only had Justin a couple months before. Here they were, this very happy, newly married couple with their brand new baby boy and Roger gets into a car accident. The other driver was drunk and they were both killed immediately. Carol has been working in a factory in Greensville every since and she hasn't so much as looked at another man. She says that Roger was her one true love and she is just going to wait until they are together again. She is a sweet girl."
"That's very sad," was all Annabelle could think to say.
"Yes it is, very sad. Well, sugar, I had better get back to work. Obviously, Jenny is late again and these people aren't going to feed themselves." Tina slid out of the booth and picked up the dishes again.
"Oh, sure. Could I ask you one more thing?"
"Of course."
"Could you recommend a nice hotel around here?"

(3,120 words)
(46,880 to go)

Characters: 4
Music: Matchbox Twenty
Sanity levels: wavering
Words per day to finish on time: 2,040
Amount of coffee needed to pull this off: How much is in Columbia exactly?

So what if there's chirping?

Yeah, so there are crickets! That happens sometimes you know :P
ACTUALLY, I have written. I'll admit that while I wanted to do a lot of late night writing this weekend, I instead did a lot of... what for it... sleeping. Yes, sleeping. I was in bed before ten o'clock both Friday and Saturday night. This can mean one of two things. 1. I am a responsible adult who realizes that getting some sleep occasionally is healthy and good for energy levels. 2. I am a loser with no social life. Let's go with 1.
So, here's the thing though. I knew that I needed to write something this weekend but during the day, Trin had sorta highjacked my computer to watch Finding Nemo on since the dvd player is broken and I was sleeping at night... well, I didn't get anything written until this afternoon. And I wrote it on paper, at the park so you will have to wait until tomorrow when I can copy it onto a word doc.
Anyway, I should have a couple of thousand more words up here tomorrow :)
I will be needing more suggestions once it is up too :)

untitled three

Normally, when Annabelle exited the highway, she was greeted by a gas station and some fast food joints so she briefly thought about getting back on the highway when that didn't happen. Instead of there being a variety of convenience stores immediately off the highway, she instead found a sign informing her that Eden Springs was located eleven miles to her right. Chewing her lower lip, she considered her options. She could turn around and get back on the highway and hope that there was a gas station within about ten miles of where she was or she could take her chances on this country road.
"Momma, I really have to go."
It was settled. If Lila had to pee, then she had to pee and given her daughter's firm stance on not peeing outdoors, they would need to find a bathroom and quick. Annabelle turned right and started the eleven mile drive to Eden Springs.
The drive reminded her of a carriage ride she had seen in a movie once. The road itself was single lane with a single faded yellow line painted down the middle. The trees grew tall and thick on either side of the road hiding anything that may be on the other side and meeting in the top to form a canopy. It felt like you were going to see a castle at the end of the road.
Annabelle felt herself getting anxious as she got further down the road without seeing any signs of life. She was scared that she would get to the end and there wouldn't be any place to get gas and she would be stranded in the middle of nowhere. But, the road suddenly curved to the right and the trees fell behind them and Annabelle could see the approaching buildings. She let out the breath she had been holding as she glanced at the welcome sign to her right.
Welcome to Eden Springs!
Stopping at a stop sign, Annabelle looked up and then down Main Street and spotted a gas station and a diner sitting right next to one another a few blocks to her left. She flicked her blinker on and headed towards them. She pulled into one of only six parking spaces and turned off the (car).
"Lila? Do you have your shoes on?"
"Yup! Can we go in now Momma?"
Annabelle turned around in her seat and looked at her daughter. She was wearing a pair of zip up yellow pajamas with a little duck on the front right pocket and her favorite shoes with Big Bird on them. She was an explosion of yellow contrasts until she looked up and met her mother's eyes, then that green just drowned everything else out.
"Are you ok Momma?"
"Oh you betcha! I was just trying to decide how many of your pancakes I am going to eat, that's all."
"Nu-uh. You have to get your own this time."
Annabelle grabbed her purse, opened her door and climbed out of the driver's seat for the first time in hours. Stretching her arms over her head, she walked around to the other side of the car to let her daughter out. Lila slid from the seat to the pavement and then reached up and took her mother's hand and the two of them walked into the diner.
Lola's Diner looked like a fifties style burger place that Annabelle had once waited tables in. She cringed remembering the poodle skirt and pony tail that had been a requirement of her 'uniform'. This restaurant was definitely not ran with the same nostalgia requirements. Booths ran from one end of the wall to the other and the bar was lined with stools, three of which were occupied. In the first was an older man, probably in his late fifties Annabelle thought, reading a newspaper and sipping coffee. The second occupant was a young boy, maybe seven or eight years old, eating scrambled eggs and sausage and drinking a huge glass of orange juice. He looked over at Annabelle and then to Lila and smiled before grabbing his juice and getting back to his breakfast. On the third stool was a police officer, but Annabelle couldn't tell anything about him since his back was to her and he was reading (what book?).
Assuming she was to seat herself, Annabelle walked Lila to an empty booth and helped her into the seat across from her own. Before she had even set her purse next to her, their waitress appeared with a pot of coffee and a name tag that declared her name was 'Tina'.
"Good morning! Do ya'll need a few minutes to decide on what you'd like?"
Annabelle smiled and silently blessed whoever it was that had invented coffee before answering.
"Actually, we'd both like pancakes and my daughter would like some apple juice. Oh and where is your little girls room?"
Tina took the menu from Annabelle and then signaled to a door next to a pinball machine.
"Ladies room is right over there. Your food should be ready in just a few minutes. Can I get you anything else?"
"No, thank you."
As soon as Tina was back in the kitchen, Lila jumped down from the booth and walked towards the restroom. Annabelle added some sugar and cream to her coffee and sat back to watch the cars drive by her window.
"Hi!"
Annabelle was glad she had set her mug down a few seconds before since she would probably have spilled it in her lap. Standing next to her table was the little boy from the counter.
"Hello."
"Where'd that little girl go to?" He asked as he climbed into the seat across from her.
"She's using the bathroom right now."
"Oh. Well, what's her name?" Annabelle smiled at him. He was really very cute with his red hair and freckles.
"Her name is Delilah, but I just call her Lila. What's your name?"
He fidgeted a little with the buttons on his shirt before he looked up, "Justin. Justin Cooper. My Momma says I was named after her daddy, but I never met him. She says I look like him with my hair being red, but my grandma says I act just like my mom. She says I am ob-stre-per-ous. I don't know what that means, but she says Momma was the same way when she was little."
"Momma, he stole my seat."
Annabelle picked her daughter up and sat her down in the booth next to her. "He didn't steal it baby, he's just visiting for a few minutes. His name is Justin. Say 'hello' to him."
All it took was Lila saying hello before she and Justin were buried in conversation about Sesame Street and bicycles and their favorite things to do. Annabelle just sipped her coffee and listened.

(2,148 words)
(47,852 to go)

Characters developed: 3
Music: Hinder
Sanity levels: stable

untitled two

Annabelle rolled her eyes at the radio dj's comment and changed the station. She didn't feel like listening to the morning shows, she just wanted to find some music. After a few seconds of turning the dial, she came across some Tom Petty.
Well some say life will beat you down
Break your heart, steal your crown
So I started out for God knows where
But I guess I'll know when I get there
I'm learning to fly around the clouds
But what goes up must come down
I'm learning to fly but I ain't got wings
Comin' down is the hardest thing
Annabelle thought to herself for just a second that she and Tom Petty were kindred spirits. She smiled at the idea of the two of them driving together into the sunrise talking about how they would drive until they found the right place to stop.
"Mom, where are we?"
The small voice from the back seat pulled Annabelle back into her car, back into reality.
"Hey there sunshine. We are somewhere in the middle of Texas. Are you hungry?"
"Yup and I need to pee too."
Looking into her rear view mirror Annabelle saw the sleepy face and tousled blonde hair of her four year old daughter. She rubbed the sleep from her green eyes and stretched her arms over her head with a big yawn.
"Momma?"
"Yes, Lila?"
"Could I have pancakes?"
"Yes ma'am, pancakes it is."
Lila smiled and pulled her blanket up to her neck as she watched the world pass by her window. It still surprised Annabelle that she and her daughter looked so different, practically opposites. While Lila's hair was white blonde and curly, Annabelle's was almost black and wouldn't even hold a wave. Her eyes were a pale shade of blue and gray, almost sad, but Lila's were such a strong shade of moss green that they almost jumped off of her face when she looked at you. Lila's nose turned up just a little at the end and Annabelle's own nose ended in a point, Lila had a slight sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and her mother's skin was pale and void of any markings. Yet, they somehow looked right together. Annabelle had always thought that it was their bond to one another, it managed to supersede everything else. The love that they had for each other was so obvious that they had to be mother and daughter.
The gas light lit up signaling that it was time to find a place to fill up the tank and Lila's tummy. There has been a sign a few minutes before saying that there was food and lodging a few miles up the road. Annabelle flipped her visor down to inspect her face. She looked the same as she had looked the day before when she had thrown all of her and Lila's things into her [van?]; tired and sad. She took the claw clip out of her hair, letting it fall down her back, and ran her hand through it to smooth it out. Deciding that this was as good as she was going to be able to look, Annabelle flipped the visor back up and put on her sunglasses. Seeing the exit sign coming up on her right, she flipped on her blinker and left the highway.

(1,110 words)
(48,890 to go)

untitled one

Annabelle Stevens loved the peaceful serenity of driving at night. The slight hum of her car, the soft breeze blowing through her cracked window and the low music coming from the radio. She loved that there would be twenty minutes between the last car she had passed and the next. She enjoyed seeing all of the little towns when they were empty and looked abandoned and forgotten. But most of all, she loved the feeling that she was putting so much behind her, every mile on the odometer was further away and Annabelle loved to feel far away from what she was leaving behind.
She had forgotten how many times she had packed up her old [car/truck?] and hit the road, how many places she had lived, how many jobs she had worked... she had traveled from one side of the country to the other and then from the top to the bottom and back living in apartments and houseboats and even her [car] that one week in South Dakota. There had been so many different jobs and Annabelle had learned long ago that she could do just about anything. She had painted, cleaned, cooked, welded, sailed, taught, bagged, stripped and even written for the local newspaper at one point in time [more jobs? less?]. She just considered herself adaptable and capable and happy to learn new things. She never chose the job for the job itself, she just went where she felt she should be. It was the same with the towns that she chose. She would drive and drive until she felt a place pull at her and then she would pull over and unpack. She would stay long enough for her past, for the pain, to catch up and then she would leave it behind and move to the next town. She loved new places, new people and the thrill of finding them. She had never felt the urge to stay in any one place for more than a few months, there was too much out there.
Dawn was beginning to break. The sky was changing from black to that blue that only happens an hour before you see the sun. Annabelle glanced down at her watch and saw that it was almost six. She wasn't sure exactly where she was, only that she had crossed into Texas at nine o'clock the night before and had been heading South ever since. The heat appealed to her after months of snowy winters and she was sure that she would find a town South Texas that called to her. She reached down and adjusted the radio to another station since the one she had on before had faded out.
[radio talk?]


(452 words)
(49,548 to go)

NaNoWriMo 2005 :: Week One (from Chris Baty)

Dear Writer,
What were you thinking?
I mean, really. With your busy schedule; with everything else you're supposed to be doing in November, you're going to write a novel too?
Are you crazy?
We here at NaNoWriMo think you might be. Which is why we're so proud to have you as part of the team this year.
Because you know what? No one in their right mind has ever accomplished anything truly great. It's a delicious sort of insanity to reprioritize your to-do list and move this freaky, creative adventure of novel-writing to the very top.
Well, near the top, anyway.
Showering is important too.
As is napping.
The bathing and sleeping, we'll keep. But as for all the chores and favors and selfless acts of kindness you've spent your life bestowing upon the people around you...Well, in November, you're off duty.
Seriously.
Let the dog walk itself. Empower your kids to drive themselves to school.
Nothing instills character in a child like operating a piece of heavy machinery. Cooking? Bah. A host of local fast food chefs stand ready and waiting with a wondrous array of largely edible delights.
Pizza is brain food, after all. And you have more important things to do than cook. You're going to be busy building universes and forging lives.
In November, we spare no moments for drudgery, devoting our limited hours instead to frantic typing, long, bookish walks, and soulful glances out the window (which serve as restful interludes between prose creation and much-needed practice for our future book-jacket photo shoots).
Yes, November is our chance to play. To goof around in our imaginations.
To fall asleep fulfilled and wake up a'buzz with revelations about backstories and front-stories and the electric, book-changing knowledge of what our Peruvian double agent has been hiding inside that taxidermized muskrat all this time.
In four weeks, this state of manic creative bliss will be over. And we can go back to doing dishes and wearing clean clothes and talking in complete sentences to our loved ones.
For now, though, our books beckon, and our tales demand an author.
Let's go give it to 'em.
Best of luck to everyone on the first week of writing. We'll meet again in seven days, when we gather together on the mighty precipice of Week Two.
Off to dream a few beautiful stuffed muskrat dreams,
Chris
NaNoWriMo