NaNoWriMo had me in its greedy grip. I barely won the 50,000 word marathon which took two intense days of non-stop writing (no bathing or socializing) to catch up the nearly 15,000 word deficit as I fell behind.
I struggled daily to write anything coherent because…
This doesn’t sound like the terrible thing that it truly is. It sounds innocuous and a charming reminder of the sleepless days when we first brought baby from the hospital without a clue as to the insomnia bomb we’d actually welcomed into our home…willingly.**
I’ve been planning on writing about stealing…no, liberating… uh…adopting, yeah, adopting a pet rock. I even have pictures of the day we unearthed it from a public park and lugged it home.
Too tired to share.
The visit to a restaurant in the middle of nowhere that just has to be experienced to be believed.
Can’t find the energy (or typing skills) to write that one either.
Then there was the whole time I nearly chopped my finger off. (Always with the exaggerations is this one…oh, my, that sure is a lot of BLOOD!)
So, instead, I will stumble like a drunk back onto the blogging stage and beg your forgiveness.
Until the doctor figures out the right tranquilizers***, I will be the babbling mess you are enjoying right now. Unfiltered and unedited and mostly unhinged.
Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:
*I’m tempted to leave my post at that comment and call it good. But, I am just not that succinct.
**Now, whenever someone tells me they are having a baby, I have to muffle my snickering when I wish them well.
***Go to Amazon and search ‘Elephant Tranquilizers.’ It’s amazing what they offer as an option. Or go to the following link for one of the recommendations they gave me:
One – I wrote 5,000 words yesterday; I am still riding the high. There is a effervescence of spirit that comes from writing. Words arrive in a pell-mell rush which my brain regurgitates onto a screen. (Hopefully in a shape that vaguely resembles what I see and hear behind my eyes.) This is the honeymoon period after the storm of words and before the tempest that is self-doubt and editing—the halcyon days of loving your creation.*
Two – Yesterday I sent my heroine on an adventure. There was a horse, of course. And plastic fruit and a tragedy for the hydrangeas—though now I am thinking petunias might be a funnier flower.
Three – I brought frenemies together and then forced them to climb deadwood to safety—only to fall like tumbling blocks—spelling out embarrassment and trouble in their awkward landing.
Four – I have yet to release the monkey—but I am cackling in anticipation.
Five – Today I rest while Officer Dettweiler removes the thorns—one prick at a time.
Six – And I haven’t decided who is getting the spring-loaded trap the heroine left for her anonymous hero. Perhaps the busybody Mrs. Bridewell is going to get her just desserts at the Fudge Festival after all?
Seven – I have no regrets, except that this pace can only be maintained for so long. Sooner or later, something is going to explode—most likely the laundry room.**
Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:
*At least, I think this is caused by the writing. It could be the lack of sleep and caffeine talking, now that I think of it.
*Warning, graphic and disgusting content follows.*
You are ruining everything! I was supposed to be having fun, staying up late, writing a novel for NaNoWriMo. Instead, I’m seeing how fast I can go through a mega pack of toilet paper and finding out exactly how dehydrated one has to get before you have nothing left to give.
I hope you are happy.*
Sure! You let me have a Halloween party, but then you show up and knock me on my ass!
For days I was too tired to even whine. Did you read that? TOO TIRED TO WHINE!*
I threw away CUPCAKES because of you. I, who may or may not have eaten cake which had been left out for days in my past, threw away perfectly good—well, let’s be honest, my kid ate all the candy pumpkins off the top and it looked like tiny orange homicides occurred in the remaining frosting—cupcakes. They were tossed–much like cookies.*
I have only managed to eat the Jello brains leftover from the party and chicken soup. Four days of chicken soup. Bkwawk. I suspect I have started to cluck.*
My son has run amok in my absence. I actually had to chase him once when he escaped the house. You of course followed me and made my life hell.
You can imagine that phone call to the police department:
Dispatcher: “9.1.1, what is your emergency?”
Me: “My son has eaten a truckload of candy and is running amok. He’s dressed as Robin Hood and breaking into people’s homes. I’m in danger of shit running down my leg any second. I’m dressed as Dolores Umbrage—you’ll find me squatting in the nearest bushes.”
No thanks to you, I found him before they had to be involved…and I was arrested for indecency and polluting a public place.
The house is a mess. My son is officially out of clean clothes. And the basement…I don’t even want to describe what he has done to the basement. Suffice it to say, there will be Lysol in the old house tonight.
I’m sorry. But we have to break up. And let me be frank. It isn’t me—it’s you! I just can’t put up with your shit anymore.*
Asterisks Not So Bedazzled:
*A graphic representation of how frequently I have been interrupted while writing this post. You can only imagine why.
And because I suspect you think I’m making this up…here’s photographic proof.
I have barely looked at my novel and I have nothing drafted for the upcoming Nanowrimo (National Novel Writers Month www.nanowrimo.org) adventures*. When I open my laptop lately, I promptly lose myself in the joys of Facebook and reading other people’s blogs. I consume this content with all the attention of someone mindlessly scarfing potato chips in front of the tv. “Munch, munch…reading other people’s issues and triumphs…how delicious. Nom, Nom, Nom!”
In short, I have been a poor writer this week. Before you accuse me of laziness (true) and chronic avoidance (ditto), please be aware that the stress of trying to find a house while also preparing for an upcoming surgery has left me as twitchy as a distressed zoo animal flinging feces at its captors. (It has also left me poorly equipped to draft clever analogies. Feel free to fling your own poo in response.) If, at the end of a day searching for a home, I have no energy beyond channel surfing some form of media, you can’t really blame me. Instead, do what I do: Blame Castle.
For those of you living under a rock, Castle is this phenomenally casted show based on the novels by the fictional author “Richard Castle”. (I haven’t read the books, so I have no idea who is the real author behind the fake author.)
Nathan Fillion (ruggedly handsome actor) is living the fictional life I would love to lead.** The character is a recognized author, in a terrific, if episodically challenging, relationship. And apparently he can wander all around town during the day and romance his lady in the evening and the writing somehow magically gets done in the space and time in between. This is where I would like to learn how he does it!***
Where is my magical time of the day where I can squeeze in massive amounts of quality writing? Instead of fine dining and super sleuthing, I wrangle a hyperactive ten-year-old and juggle various responsibilities like an inebriated clown. (I have been known to drop a ball or two…over-sleeping the bus Monday comes to mind.) In the coming month of November, I have sworn to dedicate myself to the act of writing 50,000 words—or suffer the pangs of literary shame. Somehow I will have to find the tenacity, the willpower and the gumption necessary…to put the remote down. Then I can begin building my own castles in the sky. But, it isn’t November yet…and there’s going to be another Castle marathon on TNT starting soon.
* * *
For those of you who want to keep me honest (catch me cheating), view the link to follow my progress during Nanowrimo at the sidebar.
Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:
*As we head into Nanowrimo, I feel compelled to notify the blog-o-sphere that I will cease to exist in the month of November. You have been warned.
**No comments from the peanut gallery about me fictionally being a writer already.