differencia

right now it is 12:45pm on Monday in Niigata City, Japan and you are at 9:45 pm on Sunday in New Orleans, so I get a head start…

Last Words

Problems already. Why is there so much noise? TVs blaring, babies, well, one baby crying, people honking car horns. I guess this month will be a good lesson in learning to say, "Hey, this is what I have to deal with. Either I find a way to work with what I have and what I never will, or I just shrug my shoulders and give up now." I'm nervous about starting tomorrow, but I'm also excited in a way that I haven't been for a while. Yesterday I found myself wildly car-dancing to that song "Let the Music Play." I was a total chick. I waved my hands and shook my hair and bounced up and down. The balding, middle-aged man in the car beside mine smiled and looked away. I feel like I'm about to go on an adventure. A secret mission.

Jack and I talked about the fact that this web log could become a distraction from the actual bad-novel-writing. My suggestion is that we don't make daily entries until the end of the day just before we fall face first into our pillows. The entries then function as either reward or punishment. If I've written the requisite 1600 or so words by bedtime, then I can write about how easy it was, how I coasted through it, how wonderfully creative I am, etc. But if, say, I only managed 15 words - well, then the entry is a cruel and unusual testament to my laziness, lack of fortitude, witlessness, or whatever. I have to crawl under my covers, haunted by the knowledge that my literary impotence is out there for anyone in the world to see. What say you?

I have to say that I'm intrigued by the unique nature of this group. Natalie doesn't know Jack. Wait. That sounds insulting. Natalie doesn't know the other writer whose name happens to be Jack. Obviously, then, Jack doesn't know Natalie, except for these recent posts. But you couldn't find three people who were more different from each other, at least on the surface. I think that it will be interesting to see how we each handle this crisis, er, endeavor. There's definitely a documentary feel to the whole idea.

I wanted to take a moment to explain why I feel compelled to write a bad novel in a month. First, I was inspired by the creators of NaNoWriMo. I read the book No Plot, No Problem and loved it. Second, I've been trying to write a novel since I was about sixteen. I think that I've begun about ten on a variety of subjects. The first was an appropriately apocalyptic piece of garbage about the survivors of a global nuclear holocaust. I know - original, right? Then there were several about women having nervous breakdowns that were indicative of a certain period of my life. No one needs to know that much about me though, so I'll say no more on the subject. Third, I turn thirty in April. I just really thought that I'd have finished something by the ripe old age of thirty. But I haven't. So I need to.

Two Days of Anxiety

I was so excited when I initially decided to spend March writing a bad novel. The ideas were everywhere. I couldn't wait. That was about a month ago. Somewhere along the way, the steamroller of anticipation and inspiration lost its fuel. I nearly forgot about the plan altogether. Now there are two days to go, and I'm filled with anxiety. And the baby's crying.