Drum roll, please. 

True to the blog title...a bad novel.

I'm sick of typing, so I'll make this short. I have completed the bad novel to which this blog's title refers.

New ending...

I discovered, through fretting and worrying and a nasty but short-lived case of writer's block yesterday and this morning, that no one else's scheming will tell Bronte's story. Sorry, Jan and Gina. I tried to make it work. It was brilliant. But it wasn't in the cards. I tried to force it to fit, but, in doing so, I was unable to even write a decent paragraph yesterday, and I became dejected and morose, convinced that after all this work, I'd be unable to ever complete the story. I reminded myself before I fell asleep last night that this whole project was in fun and that I should just write an unsatisfactory ending, if need be. Even that would be better than no ending at all. I've been scribbling on notecards all morning, summing up over and over again the most current, organic developments in the plot, leaving off the malarkey that I wrote last night and this morning, scrapping it into a heap of crossed-through and multi-colored trash in the gutter of the Word document. Hey! The words still count, even if I don't use them. In this incessant paraphrasing, I finally hit upon the solution to my problems. I started typing again, unfettered by any specific direction, just following my, or Bronte's, gut, and I think that I may be able to muster a satisfying denouement after all. I'll let you know the minute I've typed words 49,000 and 50,000 - "The End."

I've still got til midnight.

Definitely utilizing the 31. I've got about 3000 words to go. I can do it in one day. I'm sure of that. I got a little stuck yesterday. I began to take myself and the bad novel a little too seriously. I panicked, unable to write anything meaningful or logical. Then I remembered that the title of the blog is "On Writing a BAD Novel." I don't have to write anything meaningful OR logical. In fact, that would almost defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? So perhaps Bronte will be beseiged by aliens or tap-dancing polar bears today. Who can say? All I have to do is wrap up the story in 3000 words or more by midnight. No big deal.

Jan and Gina - Evil Geniuses, Inc.

I was surprised to find that Jack was not nearly as nefarious as I had hoped he would be. While his evil musings are profound, they do not have the absurd and immediate effectiveness of either Drs. Evil or No. And so when I hung up the phone with him yesterday, I found myself in the same impotent situation in which I'd been in when I solicited his help in the first place - my heroine had the perfect ploy to foil the wicked plans of the IOOF, yet the IOOF were sadly lacking in any wicked plans. I had made up my mind to sulk the rest of the evening, and I had even come to the conclusion that the whole plot was stupid - okay, it is, but that's not the point - and that perhaps it wasn't such a big deal anyway if a secret society dominates the world. Would it really change anything? Just then the phone rang, as it does so often in films and novels when the main character finds herself grinding to a halt and the plot needs to be kept moving. My friend Jan and his girlfriend Gina were going to dinner at Juan's Flying Burrito, and he wanted me to join them. As I said, I was prepared for a night of sulking and forehead-slapping, so I initially said, "No." But then I changed my mind. Kismet? The mysterious hand of the divine agent in the sky? Who can say? I called Jan back and accepted the invitation. After a lot of catching up talk and just as we were about to leave, I mentioned my current evil-plot-problem, or, more aptly put, my current lack-of-an-evil-plot-problem. As if they spent their Sunday mornings in bed discussing efficient and yet also aesthetically pleasing methods for taking over the world, they began gushing frighteningly infernal machinations for the IOOF. I was aghast and delighted, all at the same time. So I wanted to take a moment before I begin my writing today to thank Jan and Gina for their sinister minds.

Kind of stuck

I just hit 45,092, which is right on target. I know where I'm going, at least for the moment, but I'm a little stuck on some plot details. Hopefully, Jack will help me come up with something. He's been good at that so far. I don't have much of a mind for adventure-type stories, though I love to read them. I can only take it to a certain point, then I need someone to give me a nudge in the right direction. Right now, Bronte and Fladger have hatched up a plan to save the day, but I can't figure out what exactly the nefarious doom that they're curtailing is. I suppose I should be relieved that I'm not nefariously inclined. But it would certainly help at this point in the game. Nonetheless, I'm glad to have made it this far, and I know that I will finish...by Thursday. Boy, I'm glad this is a 31 day month.

Here's a few lines:

Finally the door began to move. Time crawled along pulling at it, extending my wait so that I was nearly yanking at my hair when it finally opened all the way. I stood just a foot or so from the entrance, holding my breath. The white tile of the opposite wall stared back at me, but only for a second. A man stepped in front of it. Not just a man. The man. The one from the car in Manhattan. Gyle Harkless.
“Hello, again,” he said and bowed to me like I was the queen mother.
“Great. Harkless,” I said. “I was afraid that I might have been kidnapped by a non-smoker.”

New sort of nerves.

I'm struggling with a new and improved case of the nerves. Whereas the first week, I was anxious because I was sure that I couldn't come up with enough words to write for a whole month, now I'm stressed because I don't know if I'll be able to wrap up the story in the few days left to me. I feel confident that I've got the words, but I may have too much story. I'm leaving place-markers where I can. "Insert car chase here." "Describe railroad here." That sort of thing so that I can push ahead. But I can only do so much of that because I have no idea what's going to happen until I'm in the thick of it. Place-markers are great when I KNOW what's supposed to happen, but I don't seem to know what's going to happen until it's already happened. I'm as clueless as my main character, it appears. When I began the story, I knew how it ended. Or I thought I did. Then, about a quarter of the way into it, strange things began to happen. Characters appeared without my bidding. They did things that I had not instructed them to do. Bronte was my Eve. I had a certain amount of control over her in the beginning. Then she started making decisions without consulting me. Little things at first. She rearranged the cans of tuna and Sloppy Joe in her cabinet while I was distracted with other matters. No big deal. I was okay with a reasonable amount of self-determination. It took some of the pressure off of me. But then she started making bigger decisions. Out of nowhere. Decisions that altered the ending that I had planned. Then came the rogue characters. First there was the money-hungry literary agent. Then the black-clad leader of the IOOF. Then Bronte's old college chum reintroduced himself into the plot when he was only meant to be a side note in the first chapter. Now bathroom attendants who seemed entirely ornamental at first glance are taking over whole scenes - kidnapping, punching, making dumb jokes. The guy that I had pegged as the romantic lead has bad breath, and Bronte just isn't into him. The plot is darker. People have died. Even people that I liked. Not people that I liked a lot, of course. I would have to intervene in those cases. But my point is that I have no idea how the novel ends now. The characters are developed. The action is mounting. The suspense is killing me. Is anyone else facing a similar situation?

Also...why have I been the only person posting entries? Huh? Natalie? You must have something to say about all of this. When I don't see entries, I think that you've been swallowed up by an earthquake...or worse...you've quit writing your novel.

I ended with 43,408 today after a weekend of power-writing.

Six Days to Save the World!

Okay. I'm at 35,057. Could be better. Could be worse. I skipped a few days while I was at the beach with Debby and the kid. But I'm going to spend some time catching up today. I'm shooting for 40,000 in one mad dash. Bronte is on a date with the movie star and is disappointed by his unpleasant breath. If you ask me, I think that she's just making excuses because she has feelings for her old college chum and fellow-world-saver Fladger Parsons. But that's just me. I had hoped to employ the film shoot during the next couple of scenes, but the plot doesn't seem to want to go there. Instead, I think that she may soon find herself in the catacombs of Paris. Or maybe she'll be whisked out of Paris altogether. One thing is certain - she will be kidnapped again, but this time she's going to see it coming. It's all part of the French resistance ploy to infiltrate the IOOF. She's decided to try her hand at heroism, since her life is in jeopardy anyway. I hope that you're all doing well. We're almost there. Don't abandon hope! Keep up the momentum!

A day at the beach and a pedicure

I didn't quite make my 4000 words yesterday, but I did write about 3400. More importantly, I hit a wall and climbed it...Again. That's one of the great things that I've learned during this month. Before, I'd reach a point in a plot when I'd say, "I've got nothing. I can't do this." And I'd stop. Now, because I'm forcing myself, I manage to always find a route up and over. I'm always surprised at the end of a session when I've found a solution. I seem to eternally underestimate myself. Anyone else discover more in their little noggins than they originally expected to find? I struggled with accepting my ignorance of every detail of the Parisian landscape, and I overcame that detail-oriented obsessiveness of mine. I said yesterday, "Great. What do I do with Bronte now? I don't know anything about covert operations. I don't know anything about resistance groups or secret societies. I must have been nuts to think I could pull this off. I gots nothing." But I had several hours and a computer and a will to write, and I did it. I am proud of myself. I am a novelist. Today, Debby and I took the little one to the beach for a while, and then Debby left me here at the internet cafe to my own devices until 6:00. A little salon next door caught my eye, and I decided to pamper myself before settling in to write. My little piggies are all smooth and pink now and I'm feeling relaxed and ready to go. I hope that you're all doing well and having as much fun as I am.

Paris, Florida

I am behind...again...still. But I am not in a stir of anxiety. Rather I am in an internet cafe in Gulf Breeze, Florida, hoping that a change might do me good. Don't be jealous. Rain is pouring over the sides of the strip mall making small oceans in the parking lot. I did manage to finally reach 30,000 words on Sunday night, and Bronte has reached the safe haven of a Resistance apartment in Montparnasse. She just sat to dinner with Michele, Jean-Pierre, Apollinaire, and Laure. Michele prepared a delicious pot-au-feu. I figure that I can focus on character development of these new acquaintances for another 1000 words or so - if I'm lucky. Then I can have one of the characters explain Bronte's predicament to her so that she will FINALLY begin to understand the dire circumstances into which she has been cast by fortune and my whimsy. My goal for today is to write 4000 words. I have until 3:30 so I better get started. I'll let you know how I make out. First, though, let me say that if nothing else comes of this project, I do enjoy being able to say with exasperation, "I'm stranded without a computer 30,000 words into writing a novel." It makes me feel mysterious and intriguing. Good thing I'm wearing silver bangles and Jackie-O sunglasses.

Later that same night...

Somebody tell me that I can invent Paris as I go and make it accurate later. I'm getting overloaded with unhelpful information. I was in Paris years ago, but my memories are fuzzy and not enough to put Bronte there now. I'm quibbling over what street Michele lives on, what Bronte sees as she drives to the apartment - can she see the Eiffel Tower? Montparnasse Tower? I'm freaking out here. Help, s'il vous plait.

French Resistance

At last, Bronte has arrived in La Rochelle, France after an uneventful journey on board her Ukrainian merchant ship. You will be happy to know that she was able to relax and enjoy a full menu of cabbage rolls, perogies, and borscht, of course. And she also used the uneventful time to learn a smattering of French. "Je nes comprends pas," that sort of thing. So, unlike Dan Brown, who sends his poor hero off to save the world on an empty stomach and without the benefit of a decent night's sleep, I have taken care to see that my heroine is well-fed and rested before another onslaught of adventure. I can be a benevolent creator when I'm in the mood. I am a little behind, at 28,218 words, but I'm not stressed, which is a new and quite pleasant feeling. I'm going to work more tonight, if I can. I have spent some of my free time today reading about the region of France that she must pass through with Jean-Pierre, her courier, so that I can have a little description. I won't focus too much on that, though, as I can research and add more atmosphere during revisions. I also took a few moments to flip through my Paris guidebook, which I adore. I turned right to a page about the catacombs of France, specifically the ones that were the sites of French Resistance hideouts during WWII. Imagine my delight! I'll have to work those into the story. The only thing better than a crash and burn car chase is a mad dash through eerie tunnels with mysterious evil-doers close on your heels. I spoke with my friend Shelly about the story last night, and she and another old friend Laura wanted to be written into the plot. So if either of you happen to read this, you are now officially part of the Resistance. I hope that you don't mind being French (and now sporting the Frenchified names Michele and Laure). I can't imagine that you would. Off to write! Au revoir!

"A night of reading," I said with a smile.

"He smiled." "She smiled." I have this problem. I'm struggling even now to explain it. Technical difficulties might be the simplest way to say it. Two of my characters, the two who are living in Molly's parents' home, are helpful, kind, and compassionate people. They have been spending a lot of time trying to make Bronte feel better about her current predicament. As they encourage her, they smile. Perhaps too often. Then they "say" things. For example:

"Everything will be fine," he said and smiled.
"Yes," she smiled, too.
"Blah, blah, blah," they smiled at each other.

They do other stuff too, of course. They pat her hand, kiss her cheek. But then there are other people who smile. I have no problem with smiling. Or laughing. Or tittering. Some other gestures that come up a lot. It's just that I don't want a whole lot of the same thing. The problem is that sometimes a smile is appropriate. And sometimes people smile often. But if you write that over and over, even if it's accurate, it becomes noticeable and problematic. Even supplanting a "smile" with a "grin" doesn't solve the dilemma. In fact, it may exacerbate it. There are other things. Other little affectations and gestures that are superfluous in daily life. If, say, you have just been through a traumatic experience, your hands shake. But your character can't constantly reference her shaking hands. But what if there are two separate experiences that both result in shaking hands. Or blushing. Or flushing. My character has done an exorbitant amount of both. As I said, these are technical problems, and I tell myself that I will correct them in the editing process.

I didn't write last night. I took a little time to read The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler, one of my favorite writers. I paid close attention to his dialogue structure and gesticulations. Just to see how he handled similar problems. I read him for his writing, which I've done in the past, usually to relish the cleverness of his prose. Last night I read more for grammatical structure. I'll catch up this weekend.

fox messenger and snakeskin magic

the day has grown gloomy and I cannot write another word.
end count for day 17::
29, 082 words, we really are just over half way done, amazing!

I have allowed one of my superheroines to abandon reason for passion with the lovely yakuza man, she of course, doesn't even know what yakuza id yet, that is for tomorrow!
She’ll be finding out that the foxy guy with the wet black eyes is a treacherous gangsta.
Will she feel excited or betrayed when she discovers that she will have to defeat him?
I have not decided yet!!! She is kind of spacey so maybe her conflicted mind will be mucky. Tomorrow they will also be introduced to their ancient goddess-given weapons!! (and for those of you who don't know, I am not just spouting neo-pagan goddess-embracing crap, in Japan it is believed that the emperor is descended from the sun goddess Amaterasu!)

Deus ex machina

Bronte is on board a Ukrainian merchant ship tonight waiting to depart New England for the safer shores of France, where she will be met by a representative of the Resistance group that will protect her from l'eminence grise. Her agent Cora suffered a fatal heart attack while jogging in a business suit and heels in a park in Brooklyn. Suspicious, non? I didn't have to kill her, of course. Perhaps I should have saved death for a time when I was feeling uninspired or blocked. But I just couldn't go another page without wielding the full weight of my power on some poor, unsuspecting schlub. Has anyone else had this experience?

Molly, I hoped that you might suggest a good park in Brooklyn for a killin'. I left a big question mark in the hopes that you might give me that touch of authenticity.

By the way, over half-way finished! Who thought we'd come this far?! I stopped at 26,742 tonight.

friendly gothic lolitas and sinister school girl assassins

is anyone else getting that half-way-through-and-afraid-they-won’t-be-able-to finish-telling-the-tale-by-the-deadline feeling? I am wondering if I have introduced too many elements for a 30 day novel.
But, now that they are there I don't want to purge them. I guess it is best to keep working without thinking of consequence. I have managed to work out the believability-flow kinks so far. Hope I can just continue to glide on that grace.

Day 16: 26,802 words still on track.
Not bad since I skipped yesterday to draw…
are any of you able to write/draw/play music with both right and left hands?

À bas belles lettres

Well, kids, I'm back in the game. Boo-ya! That's right. I caught up to my 1667 word a day quota just minutes ago with a word to spare at 25,006. Ta-dow! Woo-hoo! Ka-ching! I can't think of any more exclamations off the top of my head. I' m sure that you catch my drift.

I am finally beginning to enjoy doing the writing. Tonight, my heroine Bronte Sparks went on a date and got a kiss laid on her, and I was exhilirated! It was an incredible moment. The writing itself is not the top of my game. My descriptions are minimal. My dialog is not what it should be. But I'm getting a feel for the story that I've never managed to get before now. The writing is more visceral, less neurotic, more enjoyable to do. I feel more like I'm reading or acting or living.

I've been thinking a lot about Natalie's entry regarding the loss of crafting during this experiment. I have to say, and I never thought I would, that I enjoy this exercise in imperfecting, this mad-cappery. I love crafting. I love creating beautiful images with well-placed words. But this Pollack style slapping words onto canvas to create something - ANYTHING - is great, too. Ask me again in a week.

Anyway, Bronte is still in Molly's parents' house over the paint shop in upstate New York. I hope that she isn't in the way. Her parents' have been replaced by another couple who are shielding her from the mysterious order that is threatening her. Molly assured me that her mother was on vacation, so maybe her dad didn't mind the company. I was a bit surprised to find the tone become more serious over the past few days. Thus far, she has been completely clueless regarding the real danger that she is in, and so she has been frivolous and somewhat shallow. I don't mean to say that she is not developed as a character but that she has been thinking in shallow terms. More recently, she has been confronted by several undeniable facts about the perilous state of the world and her precarious place in it, and she has reacted with awe and fear, which has set this different tone. However, I hope to have her back on track with her flippant disregard for everything pretty soon.

Line of the day - this one's for you, Molly.

A Cheshire moon beamed down at us, a dopey grin of a moon.

Volte-face

I had the luxury of free time today, since Jennie took the baby to the zoo for a couple of hours. I nearly caught up to the Quota. I'm at 22,489 - less than a thousand words short, which doesn't seem nearly as daunting as it would have a week or so ago. I have a feeling that I can catch up easily if I do it this week. I'm sure that I will. I'm not as neurotic as I was a couple of weeks ago, either. At least not where this project is concerned. I hope that you are all doing well.

Line of the day:

I was sitting with a not unattractive man who had just saved my life, who had also been known on occasion to save the world, after having listened to the whole story of how he lost his wife, who was not after all the bimbo that I’d imagined, and I was moping because I might be forced to cancel my date with someone that I hardly knew anyway, someone whose sole asset, to my immediate knowledge, was a nice set of buns and an adorable dimple.

there should be a word for it

difficult day, but I suppose if you just prod forward,
you reach the point where you cycle back around to more inspiration.
still sometimes I get the feeling that I am just putting the story into words and it makes me unhappy, I enjoy reading novels with poetry in them, really lovely descriptions and
elaborate life philosophies, strange childhood memories.
this is not giving me the time, and the story is a little bit emaciated,
I keep telling myself that the editing process will allow for fattening up,
but I’d like to have time to craft the story more.

day 14:::: 23,538 words.
and
why is it the only thing I can think of is getting home and putting on my new waxy lilac shoes?

On the Lam...

Well, my character hasn't moved much since yesterday. She's still in a safe house over a paint shop in upstate New York (shout out to Molly's parents). I'm trying to integrate a little bit of all of my friends into the story. And even some of your stories into mine. One of my characters made passing reference to a Japanese mob, for instance. It wasn't necessary to the story, but I thought that Natalie would appreciate it. I like the idea of little hidden nuggets in a novel. Secret codes to you, my novel-writing compatriots. I have 20,107 words after about two hours of writing today. I'm averaging about a thousand words an hour, which ain't nothing to wave a bat at. I don't know what that means. It just sounded good. I don't even know if I meant 'bat', as in 'baseball bat,' or 'bat', as in 'small, flying furball.' Maybe there are other bats that could work equally well. Nonetheless, I didn't write as much as I had hoped today, but I did spend some quality time brain-storming with Jack. He was a huge help, and I think that the next few days of writing might be an actual joy. I might even write above and beyond what I hoped to write this week! I recommend Jack to you all as a great resource for crazy ideas. All hail Jack! I also suggest that you each begin to think of ways to reward yourself when you are done. I, for one, have a lavish spa day planned at Belladonna on Magazine on March 31, including, but not limited to, a massage, a facial, something called a saki bath, a pedicure, and a manicure. Just one more incentive to finish the job.

Catching Up

OK...I can hold my head a little higher now. I began writing at about 12:30 and just quit at 4:00. I managed to go from about 14-something to 18,365. I am now only a day behind schedule. Not bad. Not bad at all. I wrote almost 4000 words today. I began the session with low expectations of myself. As I mentioned, I had ill-intentioned troops piling concrete blocks in my brain, and I was sure that they had won the battle and constructed an insurmountable wall. I struggled for the first half hour. Keep in mind that at this point my heroine has already: quit her day job, written a best-selling novel, been run off the side of a mountain in her Honda, had her beach cottage torched, gone into seclusion in Mexico for a year, sold the film rights of her book to a famous Hollywood director, and received threatening phone calls from a mysterious bad guy. And that was just the jumping off point. But I was struggling over what to do to her next. I was drawing a blank because I had hoped to stave off further trouble until she got to Paris with the hot leading man of the film version of her book. But that left me with a month of nothing. Sure, I could have shot ahead a month, but the leading man just asked her out on a date, and I didn't want to miss that. Unfortunately, they were both booked for a couple of weeks, which left a couple of weeks of nothing. I just wasn't happy with that. So I had her kidnapped. Of course, she escaped. But then she was thrown in the slammer for brandishing a weapon. Fortunately, she was bailed out by a lawyer-friend of an old college chum, who is taking her to upstate New York to hide out. But now I'm worried that she might miss her date! And how is she going to be able to go to Paris if she's in hiding because her life is in jeopardy. It's always something. Any suggestions, oh wise ones?

The Human Factor

I've fallen behind. Far behind. It started on Tuesday. My friend Jennie came for a visit, and we drank Riesling and Chardonnay until ten o'clock. I tried. I really tried to write after she left. But I'm a mother, people. I'm tired! It's no excuse. I know. I nearly caught up Wednesday. I quit while I was only about 500 words behind. I was sure that I could catch up on Thursday. But on Thursday I got some freak stomach bug. It came out of nowhere. I was fine. I was queasy. Then I was laid out in the middle of the den with a baby sleeping on my face, unable to move or breath. Jennie saved me when she got off work. She fed the kid, played with him, put him to sleep with a few bedtime stories, while I lay in bed moaning. Knowing that I was sliding farther and farther from the quota made me feel sicker. I thought that I could regain some ground yesterday, having convinced myself sometime during the last year that illness can only last one day. I was wrong. My head was throbbing, and I couldn't stomach any food other than loaf bread. Fortunately, my little curtain climber never showed any signs of being sick.

But here I am completely behind. And I wasn't at a great place last time I sat down to write. I think that I'm at a critical point. I may be near breaking and giving up. I can feel the little Germans in my head building up a gray wall, establishing the despotic Writer's Block. Help me! I don't want to quit.

an answer to my own question

my bad guy is a sexy soulful m.f., i cannot wait to hook him up with one of my foxy superhero girls!
plus, i think i channeled joyce carol oates today for my graphic pseudo-incest scene
feeling motivated.
have you ever tried an e-mail exchange rather than a dialog?
tried it today, um, well, we'll see about that
am also considering a blog thread as a conversation.
what do you think?
too post-modern?

Day 10: i am at 20,383 words and the sun is shining

how is everyone else doing?
still on track?
enjoying it?

Finally met a day's quota!

And only a third of the way through the month!

It's going pretty well. It's a fictional biography about a heroic sheep written in the future by a hard-hitting sugar glider. Set in Scotland after humans devolve and animals take their place. I don't suppose that all meant anything to anyone.

Favorite paragraph from today:

"The traitorous deception theory is popular because it is sensational. Any theory that breeds fear enough in the creatures of the Shetland that they will repeat it without confirming the details will become as popular – this is how so many county myths have gained popularity. (In fact, there are not giant humans living in our sewers, nor will one’s stomach explode if one eats an artichoke while lying on one’s back, nor is there a mad squirrel who delights in hiding painful metal barbs in the loquats meant for the St. Wolversbury fair.)"

is it important to develop the villian?

should the villian be a one-dimentional silly easily defeated foe, or have some substance?
i cannot decide. this novel is meant to be comic-booky but the characters are getting a bit more developed. as the days pass.

also i am writing in third-person Omniscient, but in each chapter i showcase the inner workings of a different character, and all others are kind of viewed through thier actions and dailog.
like a black and white world where only one person is in colour per chapter.
is the too confusing?

day 9: 2049 words. 17,839 total.

have any of you found that you have a strong desire to write things other than your story?

thangs what crawl...

Fav. Quote of the day:
Chris was in the company of Eric, an obvious and confident Japan-o-phile who had already spent many years in Japan and his lovely wife who spoke very little(English or otherwise) and smiled a great deal, and Joe a freaky American who had apparently lived in Japan for 14 years but had on the previous day picked up an English language book on how to pick-up Asian women. Joe was a little “off” as was evidenced by the fact that he had a rat tail, the single slim long line of hair displayed at the nape of the neck and resembling the rodent’s appendage for which it is named, (this style was popularized by bad kids in elementary schools all over the U.S. in the 1980s and was not something that one could see in modern America except in a few untouched alcoves of the South)

day 8: 15782 words, but don't forget i am doing extra because i am taking a break this weekend.

Am I to assume that Karen-Lynn is gone?
and what of our cheerleader? Molly?
Autumn, you rock!
jack.. JAck?? are you still there?
Pete... how is it going?
Jeff...Sheep...great!

Hello Hello Hello Is there anybody out there?

How is everyone doing? Natalie? How's your story coming? Pete? What about you? Jeff? Karen Lynn? I'm itching to hear from you all.

I can't believe how late it is. (To me. I realize that lateness is relative. Mama time is different. Longer? Shorter? It's hard to say.) I started writing at 7:36 pm and finished at 9:18 with 11,672 words. Three words over the Quota. Yihaw. Yawn. Yaaawwwwwnnnn. I am so tired. But I am going to keep posting these entries every day to remind myself that I am being watched. I don't want to slack.

These seven days have been so enlightening to me. I learn something new each time I sit here and face my anxiety (and beat it to a pulp). It comes back every day. It doesn't slink into a corner. I don't beat it indefinitely. I just beat it every day with the knowledge that I'll have to beat it again the next day too. But I realize that I've never finished a novel before because I've invested so much into the desire to be a novelist. Since I was old enough to read books, I've wanted to write them. I've never wanted to do anything else. That's a lot of pressure to perform, especially for a neurotic basket case like me. It's no wonder that I've let myself off the hook over and over again. I've come up with a million excuses not to write. I've only just now realized that they were bad excuses. Because I sit here every day - despite laundry, despite bath time and poopy diapers, despite back aches and exhaustion, and despite that nagging voice in my head that moans after every word, "I can't think of anything else, I'll never be able to come up with 1000 more words, I can't do it" - I sit here and I do it anyway. I'm saying it from amazement, not arrogance. The tone that I want you to hear is befuddlement. Every time I reach that Quota, I am dumbfounded. And I'm anxious all over again because I know that the fight is only over for now. That I have to fight again tomorrow. And the toughest part is knowing that I'm fighting myself. Tooth and nail.

Line for the day:

I considered the possibility that not everybody is cut out to be a somebody.

Invasion of the Real

Well, I knew I wasn't going to get any writing done on Friday. Friends invited me out to eat at Leatha's, a fantastic bbq restaurant in Hattiesburg (once every three to four weeks is all I can handle, though), went out for drinks with a another buddy after dinner, and then caught a little bit of Sci-Fi Friday which I had to tape. Saturday I got back into the novel, but Sunday I became consumed by an impending interview – for the job I currently have. That's right, folks, in academia you sometimes have to apply for and interview to keep the job you've already got! A friend of mine at a-university-I-won't name might go through this process three times before he can actually feel some job security; glad I should be done after the second round. That's where my thoughts have been (along with feelings of dejection for a loss by the UK basketball team yesterday...), and today I find out that they don't even know if they are going to interview me tomorrow or Wednesday. So I keep on practicing trying to stay on top of my repertoire – a performing audition is part of the circus – and hope to churn out a couple of pithy phrases later tonight.

The writing has actually gone well, I feel, although I am nowhere near any pace to hit the magic 50K by month's end. I won't even say how many words I have written anymore, but the story is interesting enough to me that I will probably keep writing until it is finished – end of the month, word count be d***ed. March may not have been the best month for me to take on this endeavor, but I definitely believe that this project got my creativity kickstarted. Rarely does it feel forced to sit in front of the computer, except when there just isn't room in my brain to breathe more life into the story.

The muffler has been replaced, although I had to go back to the shop Friday for a 1/4-inch adjustment to eliminate the rattle that a misaligned hanger was creating. Silence again. Although if I wind up with elusive job security here (or elsewhere) I may kiss my 230,000-mile Saturn good bye!

Monday, March 7th at 4:22 pm

I had a bloody awful weekend, it was a shut-in kind of drab weekend where I was not inspired in any way. I did not write, draw, wear fabulously silly clothes, but lucky for me I had a surplus. Today, despite the fact that everyone around me is cheerful and the sun is still in the sky and the snow is melting, I am so sleepy and working really hard at getting the requisite number of words down. I notice that the comments have gotten to be scant here, I’ll do my part to remedy that but I expect some fruit-juicy words from all of you as well. I imagine that in New Orleans you can smell the sweet olive already, here is still fishy cold smells, but soon, I expect earth and flowers…

12965 words.

i have to write extra this week because this weekend is the Hodare Matsuri, a fertility festival where a giant wooden penis is carried around a town called Tochio by strapping young men and single women are able to ride it. Also included are penis lolipops, penis soup (no thanks) and naked snowball fights, (wait i think that that is just something my friends have arranged) Anyhow, i know i won't be writing at all this weekend.

Do footnotes count?

No, really. I got a lot of catching up to do.

Hooting with the owls.

My eyes are bleary. It's past my bedtime. I got a late start today - about 8:30 pm. I just finished at 10:14 with a total of 10,015 words. Still on track. Tonight's session wasn't the worst. I wasn't quite as anxious as I have been. I realized today that I should look at each session as writing a scene for the novel, rather than as writing the novel. A scene is less daunting. And six to seven pages is just about the right length for a long scene or a couple of short ones. I can prepare for scenes before I sit at the computer. I took a little time to think about the story before I started working, instead of free-falling. I thought about what I could do to move the plot forward with less blech. I contemplated car chases, fires, cat fights. I decided to throw in a couple, but I won't say which. I am too tired to try to make sense.

Line of the day:

The whole place had a kitsch air that didn’t exactly match my mood, but I found it incomparably more comforting than I would have found a dark dive filled with sad Mexicans.

I've been workin' on the railroad.

I hit a wall today. My story was just dragging on and on and not going anywhere. I didn't know what to do because, though I have a general idea of where I'm going, I have no idea how to get there. So I remembered the tactic that I used as a kid when I was doing those mazes that are always on paper placemats in restaurants. I went to the end. I figured, words is words. It doesn't matter where they're coming from as long as they belong in the story. The method did assuage my general sense of boredom and frustration, though it still wasn't a joy ride. How is it that something that works so well in your mind can be so difficult to capture on paper? If I were an inventor genius, I would create a telepathic transcriber that would tapatapatap what was in my head directly into the word processor. That would be fantastic.

I hit a grand total of 8335 words today between 9 am and 10:46. Maybe I'll just write the novel 1700 words at at time from the end to the beginning. I'll just start at some random point towards the end and write until I've reached my quota. Then the next day I'll try to write up until the beginning of the previous day within the space of 1700 or so words. I still stand by the great and terrible Quota. I wouldn't have made it this far without the necessary fear of failure and damnation that it instills in me.

Least horrible line of the day:

“No easy way? No easy way to say that you’re dumping me? Hello? I am dangling from the ceiling in a full body cast. Can you not see how wrong that is?"

On second thought...

True. Everything that I wrote today was atrocious, and it was a miserable and disheartening experience. However I have to also say that I stuck with it anyway. That's something. In fact, that's the whole point. Prior to this effort, I judged my efforts in terms of hours. I would say, "I'll write for two hours." What that actually meant was that I would sit in front of my monitor for two hours. I counted gawking at a blank screen as part of the two hours. In fact, anything done during those two hours counted. Results? Not many. I think that I gave myself too much freedom because I was terrified that if I put any pressure on myself I'd realize what a failure I am. I wouldn't be able to perform. But it wasn't doing much good just staring. I wasn't writing, which is what I wanted to do. So, ok, I wrote 1667 words of garbage today. But that's 1667 words more than I would have written on any day before March 1st. I just want to thank you guys for being here to taunt me cruelly if I neglect my daily Quota. The anxiety is making me a better writer, even if my writing isn't better.

The Quota is a Cruel Tyrant. I Hate the Quota.

Maybe I am just too neurotic to write a novel. I feel sick every time I sit down at this desk now because a NUMBER is standing over me with the sadistic grin of a professional nail-yanker. But I must be a little bit of a trailer park masochist because I don't think that I can live without the Quota. Today was the worst day yet. Everything that I wrote was TRASH. TRASH. TRASH. I told myself, "You only have to write as well as the worst writer that's ever been published." You know? That writer that you read with disgust, every new page cause for disdain, telling yourself, "I could write better than that." BUT I CAN'T! I AM THAT WRITER! Who's idea was this, anyway?!

Nonetheless, I reached the Quota. I slapped him in the face with 6672 trite and putrid words. I didn't even feel better when I was done. I'm a hack.

The Quota is a merciless dictator.

Only even remotely unhorrible line of the day:

By the time he was at Yale, I let him go bald, and I made sure that he was impotent to boot.

horray!

My interest in supporting you all is even greater than my ignorance of blogging and phobia of people learning how heinous my spelling is. I would prefur that everyone not really read what i write, just immediately associate my entries with too short tank tops, hot pants, and pom poms.

Can you see the sweat droplets? 

karen-lynn, are you still out there?

and i will say it again in a formal post::: Molly you should also write!!
late start -schmate start.
You don't have to catch up, just try for the daily Quota from now on,
besides time is so subjective,
here it is already day four whereas Autumn, Jack, Karen-Lynn and Pete
have not even finished day 3 yet..
and as they say in my old home town of Santa Cruz, CA
"Dude, time is like..., a social construct,... totally, dude"

so much snow

Cheerleader

I wanted to mention that my lovely friend Molly has joined the group as a cheerleader. She is so moved by our efforts at bad-novel-writing-documentation that she felt compelled to shout sweet virtual encouragements from the sidelines of cyberspace.

Almond-scented heroines.

I am opposed to heroines with almond-scented hair. Especially in thrillers. Thrillers generally consist of a lot more running than bathing, so women who manage to maintain a delicate and sensual odor under thriller-style duress just seem preposterous to me. I needed to get that out in the open. I feel better.

I wonder if this process will get easier and less stressful one day. Perhaps if I was not obsessive-compulsive, anal-retentive, and just generally neurotic. As it is, every sentence ended is a cause for panic. "Now what?" My heart continues to skitter. My armpits continue to tingle. My hands continue to quiver. And, somehow, I continue to meet my quota. Against all odds. I can't explain it. The quota is a good thing. I bow before the quota. In fact, I am going to begin capitalizing the Quota, so that it shines as a Platonic Eidolon amongst paltry, lower-case formatives.

I sat down at my computer today at 12:49 pm and agonized. I had no idea what to write. I wrote two words, probably "the" and maybe "thing," and then I checked my word count. I agonized some more because two words didn't put me close to my Quota of 5001 (total). But I was the mama with the hard eyes who refuses to let the kid leave the table until he's finished every last brussel sprout, even the one he threw on the floor and the dog licked. And I finished at 5028 just as the baby woke from his nap at 2:28. And, yes, I've already begun to dread tomorrow. Woe is me.

All hail the Quota.

Favorite line of the day:

My hero needed a leading lady, so I made one for him, using a Cosmo and a lot of clichés from Harlequin-style romance novels that I had read as a sweaty teenager.

roar no more?

So I'm a little behind in this contest, I've only managed to rack up about 2,800 words in my two days of writing. Perhaps I will be able to catch up on weekends, although I am not holding myself to a strict word "goal" for each day of writing. If I get too tired, I stop; weekday evenings I need to relax after practicing and teaching throughout the day. If I can write for about an hour and a half I feel pretty good, since my intention is really to investigate a different form of creativity rather than write the novel that has been inside me all of my life. I think there has been something else inside, but I think I finally digested it last night ;-)

That being said, I think I have managed to get some kind of structure in place. There will be an alternation between the stories of two main characters: one in a Bridges of Madison County-style flashback/imaginative setting, and another engaged in a journey across Italy which will be a series of more or less autobiographical travel essays. I have various ideas for how the two characters might eventually interact, but I will let the writing dictate if they are destined to intersect in a feel-good sap fest or will have a parallel but distantly related development during the course of their stories.

For those of you amused by automotive repair anecdotes, I was unable to get my muffler replaced on Tuesday. Midas did not have the right muffler for my car in the shop, so I was told – no lie – that the mechanic in Hattiesburg would go to a "meeting place" on Wednesday to get the proper muffler from a mechanic from the Midas in Biloxi. Sounds like a bad drug deal going down! Hopefully this afternoon will finally bring an end to the earsplitting (and less funny every day) growl of my Saturn, although I have enjoyed cranking up a Frou Frou CD to drown out the noise....

OK, time to get ready to teach. Write on!

fruit wine

okay 1430 more words today (perhaps more later)
grand total: 5739 words
not quite the quota but not bad considering I wasn’t at all in the mood to write.
sun is shining on the snow and it is BRIGHT outside. one of my students wrote an essay a brilliant one actually, which I will post on my journal eventually (www.fatetwins.com) anyway in this essay he was writing about how Japan is darker than the U.S. and he cited as evidence that Americans often wear sunglasses. I didn’t have the time to explain that we have lighter eyes in general and that pale eyes are less resistant to sunlight. But the whole thing made me remember when I was young and whole weird theories could be based on ideas like this, and this made me think of the general philosophy of our endeavor: take risks, be free, expect endless supplies of suspension of disbelief.

Whew. I was a little worried.

Today I was more nervous than I was yesterday, which doesn't diminish how nervous I was yesterday. I was shaking and moaning nervous today.

I typed a paragraph, and then I deleted it and cursed myself for ever contemplating writing a novel. I reminded myself that even my grocery lists had been shabby and lacking in imagination recently. I also informed myself that no one liked me and that everyone who pretended to like me was just trying to get my money. Then I remembered that I have no money, so I became more nervous because it occured to me that the only reason, other than money, that people would pretend to like me was because they belonged to a black market ring that sold body parts. Maybe these back-stabbers were really going to stab me in the back! And remove my kidney!

Then I stared at the blank screen. And stared. And stared.

Then I typed another line or two. And deleted them. And called myself several names that I won't repeat. And threatened to hire a hit man to run over me with a banana truck if I didn't write something half-way decent before Tim came home with the baby.

Then I wrote another paragraph. And another one. And they weren't too terrible. They weren't terrible at all, really. Well, maybe a couple were stinkers, but I let them stay because I was running low on time, and I wanted to reach my quota.

And that's the end of that story. My grand total for two days (about five hours) is 3506 words.

And I like this line:

My first thought upon seeing all of these successful Fladger Parsonses was that some names are just better than others.

kabuki-cho literallly crazy neighborhood: the name for a Tokyo red light district

okay, not as prolific a day here, but i hope that you guys have blazed some trails... 1480 words (linear this time)
checking out in hopes that the "Mexican" restaurant i spied two weeks ago en route to the "Irish Pub" (think irish stew eaten with chopsticks and bite sized pellets of brown bread) is a fabulous as i want it to be, or at least has margaritas.... xox

Kurachi-gumi means dark blood society (2619 words)

and it is that name of my wicked yakuza gang

I have transformed the story to 7 western women (1 Canadian, 2 American, 1 Irish and 3 Brits, though one is an American hybrid) move to Japan thinking that they will be teaching English only to find out that they are locked into a year long contract that requires fighting an evil sect of the Yakuza and consuming ancient herbs which give them animal sensory capabilities. I have introduced an ancient feud between Inari the Japanese rice goddess and a mortal who got caught trying to steal her secrets and was turned into a serpent and caged in a pond, 2619 non-linear words, I have also begun the glossary of essential Japanese words and British slang. But I had lots of coffee and no classes to teach yesterday. Today I have a full class load and girls night at a “Mexican” restaurant. (It amazes me the way that Japanese can make any ethnic cuisine awful, small portioned and Japanese-ish)

favourite part so far: description of kappa:
(Kappa were strange freshwater creatures with webbed hands and feet, a shell like a turtle, beaks and an indentation on the top of the head used to carry water. The bearing of this water enabled them to leave the pond or river of their residence for a short period of time. While the spilling of this water rendered them powerless outside of the water. They were greatly feared by people who would go to great extremes to avoid any pond rumored to have kappa in it, but especially the pond which housed a serpent and kappa. They were a source of fear because they were said to drag victims to the bottom of the river or pond, hold them there until they drowned, then remove their livers, turn their bowels inside out and discard the bodies on the shore.)

1,717 Down, 48,283 To Go

I am feeling just downright self-satisfied at the moment. Tim took the baby to the zoo at about eleven this morning, so I had the house to myself for a change. I hopped in the shower and put on some clothes that made me feel confident. I even wore shoes with a little heel. Flats make me feel insecure. I know what you're saying. "The whole idea of being a writer is being able to work in your ratty pjs and slippers." But that's every day for me, since I stay home with my little boy. I needed something a little extra special to make me feel like more than the wrong end of a milk tap. I heated up a Totino's Three-Meat Pizza in the oven and re-heated coffee from this morning. I put the lock down on mental images of mushy carrots stuck to the kitchen floor, piles of smelly laundry lying all over the house, and other sirens that tend to beckon me away from writing. Peace and quiet reigned for a few hours. I began to type at 11:23 a.m. Well, I had my fingers on the keyboard by 11:23, anyway. My chest constricted. My armpits tingled. Blood rushed into my cheeks. My hair frizzled. And then I began to type. Every few minutes, I'd check the word count, and with each push towards 1600-and-something I felt more encouraged by the ground I'd covered. Before I knew it, it was 1:10 p.m and I was at 1,717 words - way past what was required by the guidlines of this project. OK. Not way past, but above and beyond the call of duty. I established the main character - her name, a physical description, and several personality traits. I set the tone - humorous, I hope. I presented a problem. Essentially, I did manage to set the stage for the rest of the novel. One of my fears had been that I would move too far to fast. But I don't think that I have. I'm really pleased with what I've written so far. And I'm already panicking about tomorrow.

My favorite line so far:

I mean, if I took a photo of myself and put it on the Internet and an adolescent boy happened to stumble onto it, I don’t think that he’d roll the computer just to ensure that the image was absolutely vanquished from the RAM.

golden touch

I'll get started on my novel this afternoon while having the roar that accompanies my driving eliminated at Midas. I am driving (flying?) a Saturn that sounds like a WWI biplane – maybe I can fit that into my story? Lots of laughs while gunning the engine the past couple of days, but peace and quiet will be welcome.
Ideas have been churning in my head for about a week since I decided to give this a try, we'll see where it leads me. I'm just going to write and not worry too much about structure, the whole thing will probably come off as several loosely connected scenarios. Maybe I can tie it all together in the end? We'll see.