ten at a time
Aiming for word count
2655 to go
Why can’t I ever
ten at a time
Aiming for word count
2655 to go
Why can’t I ever
throughout the nations.
But on day 6
and the end of day
My eyelids are drooping
and I think there’s no way
after pounding out emails
and working all day
I have any energy
for what writing entails.
But I’m half way through
a fun new novella
If I can just sit and type
avoid Facebook and Skype
write, write, write
then perhaps in spite
I’ll be able to sing
No need for special inspiration
just dedication to my narration.
I commit to write
one thousand words a day
So I am 3 437 words behind today.
I read the manuscript
and laugh out loud
at scenes so real
I believe them.
how do they connect?
Where will I
find the patchwork
pieces to make
this fit together?
I clip a poodle.
I clean the kitchen.
I make the bed.
I go to the gym.
I tell my students,
“Don’t think. Just write,
your brain is in your pen.”
So now I need
my own advice.
At the Vernon Writers’ Conference this past weekend, author Patricia Donahue encouraged participants to create biographies for our characters. She uses cards for this purpose and makes point form notes. I decided to explore ‘background info’ on the character of Christie by letting her speak for herself. This won’t be in a book, but it tells us interesting things about her, and how she got her job watching Grace. Enjoy!
My name is Crystal Visions of Rainbows.
It’s stupid. I know.
On the first day of kindergarten everyone laughed at me when they heard it. Everyone except Grace. She came and sat beside me on the circle time carpet and whispered, “That’s the prettiest name I ever heard.” I adored her from that moment, of course.
As I’m sure you can imagine, anyone who names her kid Crystal Visions of Rainbows is a hippy. Free love. Peace not war. Tie dye and joints. Yup. My mother. Her real name was Martha Grimes but she changed it to Earth Helper. Sometimes it is an absolute mortification to have parents.
She did one good thing, though.
One day, in her communing with the goddess through some psychedelic haze, she got me a job. I was assigned to watch Grace.
Watching, in this case means knowing who Grace’s friends are, how she’s feeling about things, and helping her out in simple ways. In other words, I was hired to be her best friend. I would have been her best friend, anyway. Theoretically I’m paid for this, but I don’t know if it’s in drachmas, gold, or good karma. Mother looks after the finances and any of those would be good enough currency for her. Myself, I don’t ask.
My brother Shane is lucky. Somehow he was excused from the expectation that he be a flower child. Shane (birth name, Sky Rider) is now aiming to be a corporate lawyer. Mother rolls her eyes, and is relieved when he assures her that he votes Green. It’s a small consolation.
With his abdication of the family burden to save the world, all the weight of expectation falls on me. Hence the bargain with a goddess.
When I was about twelve, I decided that my mom had been hallucinating the whole thing, and I put my foot down. No more spying on my best friend and leaving written reports in the silver bowl on the dining room table. There’d be no more of this crap about goddesses and duty and obligation.
But then the goddess showed up and introduced herself, and what could I do?
It was Friday after school. I was going to be meeting Grace in a couple of hours, so we could go see a movie. I walked in the door and there was this woman sitting in my living room.
My mother was nowhere to be seen. Shane was at some debating practice at school. I froze.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”
She smiled and extended a beautifully manicured hand, “Hello. You must be Crystal Vision of Rainbows.”
I scowled. “My name is Christie.” I didn’t take her hand.
“Have a seat.” She indicated the chair opposite the one she’d been in. “We need to talk.”
I crossed my hands and stared at her. “I don’t think we do,” I’d said, and turned to leave. I was going to the neighbours to call the police. I took a step forward and froze, my right foot stuck in the air. I couldn’t move.
“Actually,” she drawled, “we will. Have a seat, child.”
Completely against my will, my body pivoted and carried me to the chair. “Hey!” I tried to fight it, but I had absolutely no control. “Who are you! What are you doing!” My hands folded themselves demurely on my lap. Inside I was thrashing, but outside I was quiet and calm. It was like being wrapped in an invisible strait jacket.
“Crystal Visions of Rainbows, I am pleased to meet you at last. I am Aphrodite.”
I gaped at her. “The Aphrodite?”
She inclined her perfectly coiffed head in assent. “The Aphrodite. Your mother told you about me, of course?”
“I read,” I grunted. Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love (beautiful, vain, used to getting what she wanted) was sitting in my living room in a perfectly tailored, spotless white suit. Her hair was twisted into a chignon. Scarlet toe nails peeped from shoes made of satin brocade. No blouse was visible; the suit jacket displayed her cleavage in suggestive, if not provocative, style.
She nodded, “Very good. You know that you have been in my employ for several years.”
I started to speak but she raised her hand, and my mouth wouldn’t open.
“Your work the past few years,” she continued, “has been exemplary, and I have been pleased with your efforts. Recently, however, I have observed that you are growing dissatisfied with our agreement. This is not acceptable. You have an obligation. You must follow through with it.”
I tried to speak, but it doesn’t really work when your jaw is clamped tightly closed.
She flicked her index finger through the air and my body returned to me. “Speak,” she said imperiously.
“She is my friend. I don’t want to spy on her. What will she say when she knows that her best friends is spying on her! She’ll hate me!”
Aphrodite nodded, “Very likely. What would you feel like if she were to die because you were not spying on her. Would that be better?” Her brows were raised in calm inquiry.
“What?” I stared at her. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It is not. Why would we have someone watching her if she were not in danger? You are a key reason she is still alive, and make no mistake, the older Grace is, the more danger she is in.”
“Really?” I squeaked.
She inclined her head. “Your job is vital to Grace’s survival. Are you enough of a friend to keep her safe, even if it is a secret that you are doing so?”
“What’s so important about her?” Grace was just a regular kid. Uncoordinated, silly, crushes on boys, not great at PE, not great at music, not great at math, but good enough at everything, and pleasant enough that she got along with everyone, kids and adults alike.
“If I told you, I would have to kill you,” Aphrodite deadpanned.
Or maybe she was serious.
At my incredulous look she laughed daintily, in a contained, fake sort of titter. “She is important to me. I would like her alive. Your job is to continue to file reports through your mother… What?” She’d intercepted my rolled eyes and tilted her head. “You don’t trust your mother?”
“My mother is a nut job.” I love her, but she is. She’s into all the quackery of tarot cards, crystal gazing, tuning into her qi, and all that. She’s fervent, and loving, and fun, but she’s a nut.
“Your mother is attuned to me. It is not your place to question your mother’s role in this. Your place is to obey, and in so doing, to keep your friend alive. Can I trust you to return to your duty?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said quietly, looking down at my feet.
“Excellent. I look forward to your next report, Crystal Views of Rainbows.”
“My name is…”
“Yes. I know. Do you understand the power of your name? You see clearly. You divide simple facts into a spectrum of understanding, like a crystal divides colours into a spectrum, or rain divides light into a rainbow. You see beauty and create beauty. Your name is a declaration of your true self. You should not deny it.”
I sighed. “Can’t you call me Christie?”
She laughed that contained titter again. “If I remember. We are in agreement, then? You will report?”
“Very good. Farewell then.” She rose in an elegant unfolding, stepped into the centre of my living room, and (I swear to god!) vanished in a slice of light, as if she’d stepped through a curtain from a dark room into a brilliant one.
I sat staring at the spot. I was twelve, but I suddenly felt as if I’d grown up. I was doing great and important things, even if no one else knew about them. I was a hero, keeping my best friend safe. I smiled to myself and inclined onto the couch, pondering what else my mother might be right about.
(As a bonus, I can count this in CampNaNoWriMo word count. I’m in desperate need of the 1200 words! I have been seriously distracted by poetry this month).
April is Camp NaNoWriMo time. You may know about NaNoWriMo–that frenzy of writing that is National Novel Writing Month. If you sign up, you commit to write 50,000 words of a novel in November. (Like you have nothing better to do, what with American Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, and the like!) I find it to be a punishing pace to write 1666 words every day for 30 days. You can join with or make writing friends who you encourage. You write. Your receive encouragement or pressure from your writing friends. You write. You get inspiring emails from the Office of Letters and Light. You write. I did it (as you can see by the icon on my page), but I confess that while working full time and juggling all my other responsibilities, it was really painful.
Camp NaNo is much less intense. First of all, you can set your own goal. I set mine for 25,000 words in 30 days. That’s the pace I wrote Grace Awakening Dreams and Power: an average of 834 words a day. At that pace I finished a 157,000 word (400+ pages) novel draft in six months. It is a nice, relaxing pace, and joining Camp will provide the discipline of commitment and accountability to stick with it, since I’ve gotten a bit lax in my writing routine lately.
So here I am, plodding along at camp. I still have to introduce myself to my cabin mates (having some trouble figuring out how to email them). Another nice thing about Camp, is that it doesn’t have to be a novel, so long as you’re writing. So while I do have a novel that I expect to be working on, I can count blog posts, poetry, and articles I write for magazines. Gotta love that, right?
Look! This makes 290+ words towards today’s word count! 🙂
See you at Camp?
Well, I did it. With just an hour to go in my time zone (the Marshall Islands, for the purposes of NaNo!), I finished the sentence that put me over 50,000 words during the month of November.
I am exhausted.
A couple times I flipped back to see what I’d written, and I was pleasantly surprised by what was there. Even though it was written only weeks before, sheer volume erases the old before too long. Or else I have a terrible short term memory. There are 107 single spaced pages in Times Roman 12. That’s a lot of pages!
At any rate, I won. I took on the challenge and I met it. I battled sickness, a fulltime job, report card writing, parent/teacher appointments, book club read/moderator responsibility, reading 3 novels, and I persevered. I thought 1667 words per day was obnoxiously fast, but after being ill, I had to do a week of 3000 words a day to finish on time. I barely managed to finish, but I did! Now I can catch up on the housework, groom the dogs, finish that sweater, and celebrate hubby’s birthday today! 😀
I shall continue puttering away on the three pieces that are my NaNo project, fitting the scenes where they belong and writing to fill out what remains. I will not do the next 50,000 words in a single month, but I will keep writing on the project.
For now, I am going to bed.
NaNoWriMo Day 30: 2991 words (November total 50,005)
Things are heating up!
“I don’t care how nice her shoes are, she’s stupid.” Tanis said, clenching her teeth as she set her cafeteria tray down on the table.
“I’m sure she doesn’t mean anything by it,” Georgia said, sliding in beside her.
Tanis’s eyes flashed. “I think she definitely means something by it.” She glared at Georgia, “You should be worried. It is your boyfriend she was just making out with.”
“Ryan is no Ben, Georgia. He was kissing her back. You understand that, don’t you.”
Paul looked at me, but I just shrugged. I wasn’t wading into the middle of this debate.
I looked around for Grace, but there was no sign of her. I sat down beside Paul.
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, Tanis. Ryan isn’t stupid.”
Georgia inhaled and looked over at me. “Tell them, Ben.”
“Why do you think I know something?”
“You always seem to have an inside track. People talk around you. So? What do you know?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea what is going on with Misty.”
“It’s like she’s turned into someone else,” muttered Paul. “Some crazy nymphomaniac or something.”
I lifted a brow at that. There were certainly draughts and spells that could do that. Who would be behind it, though?
“You’re thinking love potion, perhaps?” Tanis said, rolling her eyes.
Ryan slid onto the seat next to Paul and leaned across the table to Georgia, “Now before you condemn me, hear me out.”
Tanis gave him a ‘let me scrap you off the bottom of my shoe, first’ look.
He was focused on Georgia, as if the rest of us weren’t there.
“I don’t have a thing for Misty.”
“You’ll make out with anything with breasts, you pig,” said Tanis.
Georgia scowled at her.
“Maybe even without breasts,” Paul observed nonchalantly.
Ryan scowled at him, then turned back to Georgia. “I don’t know what happened. I was just minding my own business, and suddenly there was a tongue in my mouth!”
Tanis scoffed. “Right. Like that’s possible.”
I coughed, “Actually…”
Tanis shook her head. “You saw him. He was kissing her back.”
“I couldn’t help it!” Ryan exclaimed, wide-eyed. “I did it automatically. It’s not as if I like her or anything!”
“You are so dead,” muttered Paul with a whistle.
NaNoWriMo day 28: 3006 words (November total: 44,012)
NaNoWriMo day 29: 3002 words (November total: 47,014)
This is a ridiculous pace! Working all day and writing for 4 or 5 hours off and on all evening is exhausting! Only 2986 tomorrow to finish the challenge though! Yay! 🙂
Here’s a chunk from today’s NaNoWriMo scribblings. I confess that I have lost a bit of inspiration about what’s going on in Grace Awakening Destiny, (Book 4) I’ve decided that any novel writing counts, so long as it’s new writing. I have some holes I want to patch in Grace Awakening Myth, (Book 3) and here is a patch for your entertainment:
“ARES! I shouted. “Get out here, you coward!” I stomped in a circle around a foggy clearing, trying to force it into something less ethereal.
“Shouting is so immature, Orpheus,” declared a bored feminine voice, manifesting a throne behind her.. “Aren’t you a little old for such theatrics?” She looked down her elegant nose and then added, “But of course, you’re all about the theatre, aren’t you?”
“Hera. Isn’t Ares a little old to be sending his mommy out to fight his battles?”
She smiled, but it was a dangerous thing, like the tantalizing blossom of a poisonous plant. “My son is busy right now. Unlike you, he has important things to do.”
“Your definition of important and mine are rather different. What is he doing? Is he fueling some holy war or training up Middle Eastern terrorists? Doesn’t the Earthly Realm deserve a break from war?”
“The humans don’t want a break from war, silly boy. Giving up war would mean giving up their quest for wealth and power. Humans are all about power. They all want to be in control. They get it by buying favour. They get it by killing little men, so they can crawl on their backs, to attain what the little men don’t even dare to dream about. Their glory is being trodden upon by those climbing over their pathetic lives. They’re just ants, Orpheus. And if Ares wants to play with his magnifying glass, why should anyone stop him? It’s all humans are good for, after all, entertaining us.” She shrugged, dismissing the entire human race with the slightest of movements of her shoulder.
“My wife isn’t an ant. My friends aren’t ants.” I said.
“Wife?” she laughed. “Now you imagine that she’s your wife? I seem to recall that she is the prize of whoever wins this challenge, and victory is very unlikely to be yours. She is not ever going to be your wife again.” She stepped closer to me, and stared with eyes of ice. “My son is a god of war, Orpheus,” she spat. “He is not one of your pathetic little musician friends. He is not a dancing girl like those Graces.” She curled her lips and snarled. “He is powerful, and you will not defeat him. Now go! Return to those pathetic creatures and their pathetic lives. You are not worthy to be in this realm.”
NaNoWriMo Day 27 total: 4118 (November total 41,006)
Writing furiously this evening, after a raff of medical appointments today.
From Three Views of Crystal Waters by Katherine Govier:
There are stories. Stories that are told and told. They belong to the people who tell them, not the people who are in them. The one who is the storyteller is the one who collects. Maybe he is lame. Maybe he lives alone and has no one to talk to . Then he will remember them, go over them in his mind, so the stories are not lost. This is an old tradition. Now not so many will follow. When the story teller is ready, he will tell the story. You may be in the story. It is not finished. You may be part of the story…
NaNoWriMo Day 26 1537 words (November total: 36888 13,112 to go in the next 4 days!)