NaNoWriMo Update: Maintaining the Pace

To me, there is one thing about writing which draws me to it more than anything else, and that is how stories take on a life of their own.

We’re 4 days into November and NaNoWriMo. With the help of a few chapters I had taken for a test drive back in September, I’m well into my novel. I didn’t just copy and paste those chapters, but I followed them as a reference and edited them where they didn’t flow with the modified outline. I just came to the end, and now I’m back on the open sea with nothing but the stars of my outline to guide me.

And apparently feeling very poetic. Must be my MC’s philosophical mood.

I used to hate outlining because I relished in the thrill of a very organic writing process and was under the impression that such an experience could not be achieved if locked into an outline. Happily, I was mistaken. Here I am pounding along and one of the characters asks a question about dragon breeding habits or what happened to someone’s sword and before I have a chance to refer to my timeline and scattered notes, another character answers as if they’ve always known.

Which writers know is true, in a way. Meanwhile I sit back and say, “Where did that come?” Part of me wants them to stop asking silly questions, and another part says, “Please, go on. This is very interesting.”

Meanwhile, I lost track of what day it was and forgot to post yesterday. I’m still trying to decide what exactly I want to do with this blog. I know most people try to have a theme to their blogs, such as book reviews, recipes, backyard chickens, or gardening. Or even writing. Clearly the last one is out because I can’t ever give coherent advice on the writing process. The first is out, too, because I rarely find myself able to articulate why I like or dislike a book. Usually it runs along the lines of, “Oh. My. Word. The writing. I just…psh, pfft, uhg. So eloquent. So artistic. I stand in awe of such skill. Man, I’m so jealous.”

So, self-centered as it sounds, this blog is currently a compilation of the many facets of my life. It’s a very broad theme and somehow I feel it won’t attract plenty of people because I have no clear cut goal and could easily rave about chickens one day and imaginary people the next.

And throughout November, I’ll mostly revel in the rush of writing a novel. I’ll admit it; I’m a word addict. i get high off of a skillfully-crafted plot. Especially when I’m 4 days and 15,000-odd words in and I still haven’t lost the flow of the story. I’m so into it that I can’t draw myself away even to read the books that must soon be returned to the library.

My dog, who is currently in heat and thus very attached to and protective of me, keeps stopping by to poke me with her nose and remind me of her faithful shadowy presence and her need of the basic necessities of life. Nina pops down every afternoon to join me at the table and check in on my death toll. She knows I have several deaths in store and, while she doesn’t have the names of most and is worried for the cast in general, she is very eager for the day I off the king. She hates him.

He means well, but he’s rather misguided.

And Gram keeps up a commentary from the living room, unaware of the fact that my brain is off in another dimension instead of being telepathically tuned in to her and her need for food.

I never thought I would be sick of cooking food.

As I was preparing for NaNo and editing Book 1 at the end of October, I answered in monosyllables all morning until Gram grumpily announced that I must not be a morning person. On the contrary, I love mornings. I prefer to stir slowly, drink a large mug of tea, chirrup to the chickens, fry an egg, and scroll through my aesthetically-inspiring Tumblr feed.

I don’t think Gram will understand, so I don’t bother to explain. I just make sure to peek my face around the doorway every now and then and ensure she is given food every 2 hours. We’re doing better, but I may never quite adjust to the concept of having a woman in her 70’s sitting in the house every day waiting to be tended to like a toddler. It’s both oddly amusing and a little unsettling.

Anyway. This is scattered and I need to tie it up. One of the dogs needs medicine and I have an MC to throw in prison.


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