I'm Done!

At 2:06 pm today, Frieda’s Chair came into the world. Sure, she’s ugly—12 fingers, 11 toes, and a really frightening head of hair—but I think we can work with that. I’m seeing faux-hawk, thinking we’ll emphasize rather than understate. But she exists! And I’m in love.

56,356 words ago, she was just a rough idea. I thought I knew what the gestation process would be like but, really, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. It’s been a mirror, a joy ride, a terrifying free fall. But she’s alive and kicking and I’m happy as a clam.

The Ten things I learned through NaNoWriMo:

1. I can’t spell worth shit (still) but luckily MSWord can.
   
2. Breathing out (creation) is as important as breathing in (observation)—can’t do one without the other—and the moments of transition from one to the other are terrifying and magical.
   
3. Trust your characters to guide the way. Trying to force them to go where I wanted them to go lead to temper tantrums (theirs) and writer’s block (mine).
   
4. The world is magical if you take the time to look, full of weird, wonderful synchronicity.
   
5. A first draft is not the same as the finished product, but you can’t have the latter unless you’re willing to make room for the former.
   
6. It’s much easier to take wild adventures with a little bit of support.
   
7. Perfectionism really is the enemy.
   
8. Sitting and typing for hours will seriously shorten your psoas.
   
9. Letting the story unfold on it’s own consistently creates something better than what I’d originally imagined.
   
10. Play really is a path to power. Laughter is healing. Ridiculous goals can inspire. Imperfection is rich.
    

So I’m officially a 2008 NaNoWriMo Winner and I couldn’t have done it without you. Deep thanks to everyone who emailed, Facebooked, became a “supporter” on the blog, posted comments, asked about my word count, or just sent out the love through the ether. I couldn’t have done it without you! I mean that.

Breathing

I have the closing scene in mind. I know who did it. The characters have learned everything they must know. But I can't feel how to flow from there to the finish.

A little panic, I think, about ending. Sort of like breathing out and then holding your breath: it's that little moment of hesitation before breathing in and knowing that you'll be OK. Weird.

Tomorrow is the last day so I have no choice but to make it happen. It's not going to be pretty.

But isn't that what editing is for?

OMG 50K!!!

:D

I’m not quite done yet but I’ve reached that goal that was completely unimaginable 28 days ago!!! See how my word counter thing off to the right has changed? Pretty cool, eh. So now I’m tying up loose ends in the story and dancing around my apartment.

I’m probably insufferable right now but I’m just so darn PROUD OF MYSELF!!

Who knew I had it in me. :)

Kinky Boots

Tantalizingly close: 49,154. 

And so I take a pause, a thanksgiving, before stepping across that threshold.

Today I sat on a bluff in the Marin Headlands looking out over the ocean. The high fog had pulled back from the coast but was still overhead, blocking the direct rays of the sun. And yet, there it was, the invisible sun bouncing off the lagoon a thousand feet below me, reflecting brilliantly right up into my face.

For my evening's entertainment, two disparate sources converge. Michael Meade talking about the desiccation of fantasy and the healing power of imagination. Kinky Boots, a based-on-real-life movie about a family-run shoe factory that saves itself by making fetish footwear for drag queens. 

What do all these and NaNoWriMo have in common? The courage to start when you can't know the finish, trusting in true sources of inspiration (embodied, mythic) even when they are hidden, and searching beneath the surface for that fragile thread that binds us.

Oh, I know I'm waxing all philosophical. My impulse is to entertain instead. But I'm just feeling so grateful. And full of thanksgiving to you all.

Whodunit?

I finally know why the murder victim died but whodunit is still up for grabs (although the field has definitely been narrowed).

Reporters live by the five W's: who, what, when, where, and why.

What, when, and where: all back at word 9747.

Why: At word 47,664 it starts to fall into place.

Who (as in whodunit): Somewhere near to 50,000, give or take 2,000.

When I first started writing, I was afraid to think about who did it for fear that the writing would be too stilted if I already knew the destination. Then I came up with three plausible motives and just let them act like the little lights along the aisle in an airplane, hoping they would illuminate my path in case of emergency. Now the who (and how) are emerging out of the same creative fog that has powered this whole thing. And it makes more sense than anything I could have imagined back at word 1.

That is the biggest lesson I've gotten from this process: trusting the timing and pace of intuition. Not only is it richer than what I might force into being, but it's easier too!

Brick Walls

For the first time, I am at a loss for words. (Well, clearly not completely since I'm typing and your reading, so the words have come from somewhere). But the end of the novel is in sight now. I'm definitely coasting towards the finish. And to tell you the truth, it makes me incredibly nervous. 

Perhaps it's the memory from my childhood, how when coasting downhill on my bike I slammed headfirst into a brick wall. Granted, closing my eyes wasn't the best idea. But ever since, I've been a little anxious about relaxing into an experience. 

So here I am, on the NaNoWriMo downhill . . . and it's been such a sweet ride. I've learned, and fretted, and pushed through, and stirred up stuff that I never could have imagined being part of the richness of writing what may very well be a very bad mystery novel (or a very good first draft). But I've also indulged myself in moments of hope and pleasure and even very tiny ones of trust in myself as an artist. It's been a ride like I never could have imagined. I don't want it to end. Even more, I don't want it to end on an unforgiving brick wall. So I need to remember the hard-earned lesson from way back then (the one learned after the face full of scabs--the envy of all my classmates--healed). That with eyes open, you can steer clear of the wall, and then ride back to the top and do it all over again!

Spontaneous Knotting

You know how you reach into your purse, your backpack, your pocket and pull out your earbuds for you iPhone or iPod or whatever iDevice you have. You reach in and pull them and and somehow, in the dark all by themselves, they've pulled a Houdini and tied themselves into knots. There's a phrase for this: spontaneous knotting.

My plot lines are beginning to do a similar trick. Overlapping, intertwining, confusing me to no end. While I'm busy visiting with one character, others are over in the corner introducing themselves and forming alliances. They've eyed each other from across the room, bought each other drinks, and made small talk. Now when I try and write my parallel plots lines, things are all tangled up. So much for linearity. And so much for my ability to keep track.

I'm just going to have to stick the darn things in my ears just like they are, all funky and weird and tangled. With just 6 days, 0 hours, and 36 minutes to go, there's no time to waste. So here's to spontaneous knotting in plot lines! This ought to be good. :)

Magic Happens

Kind of a long post today, on 40K day, because the overlap between fantasy and reality continues to amaze me.

This morning, I could not get started. I sat down to write and had no idea where to go. My characters just stood there, arms crossed, staring back at me. I got up, washed dishes, called home, sat down again. Still nothing. The plot flat as a post-mortem EKG. Things outside the novel didn’t help either. Events of the week had left me stirred up and unhappy with my own company. We were all in need of a change of venue.

I headed out to a coffee shop. First thing, I see one of my characters, the one with the Great Dane and the little mutt, halfway down the block. Thing is, he and his dogs are not one of my based-on-real-person characters. I thought he was pure fiction but there he is. Perhaps this is an encouraging sign from the muse.

At Maxfield’s, I grab a coffee, plop myself down, and plug in the headphones. I am determined not to get up until I reach 40K. I poke at my characters, elbow them in the ribs, place banana peels in their paths, try my own angst onto theirs to see if there’s a fit. Somehow, somewhere, something sparks. Words start to flow, dialogue emerges out of nowhere, truths began to be told. And I push past 40K!

Walking home, I amuse myself by pretending—atleast for this month—that I am a ‘novelist’ and thinking that actually, it’s kind of a lonely of way to make a living.

I round the corner by my house. Coming towards me: a skinny, grey-bearded homeless guy is pushing a shopping cart full-to-overflowing. We nod at each other. “You’ve got a lot of colorful stuff there.” I say in passing, impressed by his bounty. Twenty yards later, “Hey lady!” I turn and look back. He’s walking towards me, holding out a fancy mylar balloon with streamers and stars and the words “Happy Birthday” across the middle. “I’ve got two of these, maybe you know someone who’s having a birthday today.” I thank him and smiling, turn away thinking that’s me: today, I’m giving birth . . . to a novel, to a self, to possibilities.

I can’t help but wonder. Was he real? Would I have seen him had I not spent the morning writing fiction? Perhaps fantasy, rather than being an escape from reality, nurtures it. Perhaps creativity makes magic happen for real. It did today.

Taiko

Tonight I took a break from the writing to go see Taiko drummers perform. Athleticism, rhythm, grace, power, and noise! But what struck me most was how much they smiled . . . at the music, at each other, at the shear delight in creation.

I like to imagine all my fellow NaNoWriMo participants in one room, the sound of our keystrokes rising to a cacophony, and most of all, our smiles as we peer over our keyboards and delight in our shared creativity.

Collectively, we have hit over 1 million words! How's that for some noise?

Wordle

I hit the 36K mark today (thus avoiding Onerosity Coupon #1) so I am all worded out. Thankfully, though, there's a great online tool where you can plug in a bunch of text and out comes a picture, i.e., a wordle, where frequency determines word size. So for you visual learners out there, here's a sneak peak at the novel:

Torture 'em

Today's helpful NaNoWriMo pep talk was from Jane Fitch, author of White Oleander. She suggested that in order to create good fiction you must create protagonists you love and then torture them. Playing it safe makes things dull. Pushing them off a cliff . . . atleast it'll be exciting. I'm a little afraid of the chaos that will ensue but tomorrow the torture will begin in earnest. After all, if you read the Plot Arc? post, you'll know I need to crank out 2652 words tomorrow or else so volume (and action) will be key!

Fiddling (as if I know anything about that)

I can plan out a series of events that I hope will move the plot forward and not leave the reader snoozing. But I can't plan out the small details, the texture of context, that seem to come out of nowhere. Like today's complex color-coded guest list for the restaurant opening. I've never color-coded a guest list myself, I've never seen a color-coded guest list, so why did that flow naturally? Because J.B. (my character) color-codes her lists that way, like she's done a hundred times before. Possession, that's all I can offer in explanation.

Of course, as the Dow drops below 8000 NaNoWriMo feels a little like fiddling while Rome burns. But then again, if we're all going to be out of work, we might as well be writing novels around the bonfires together!

Plot arc?

I'm scared. Do I have a plot that will stretch all the way to 50K? Or will it sputter out somewhere in the mid-30s, only to leave me prostrate and shy of the mark?

So far, I've just been winging it, trusting my memory and instincts and characters to guide the plot forward. But today I actually sat and detailed some of the possible actions that could be included. The NaNoWriMo folks talk about having a story arc pretty clear at this point. I'm concerned that my "arc" is but a plane, flat and dull, like documentary footage without dramatic impulse. Perhaps some of you experimental film buffs might enjoy that, but I'm hoping to entertain here. Writing with no clear plot arc feels kind of like walking a tightrope: exhilarating, but not exactly pleasant.

Oh, and I employed another tool today: the Onerosity Coupon. I pledged to hit 35K by Friday or I would have to undertake a particularly onerous task for a friend. So if you have some heinous task you need doing, by all means track down your NaNoWriMo friends. Either you'll get credit for being a super-supportive pal or you'll get your stuff done. Win-Win, atleast for you.

On the Rebound

Yesterday, what I swear will be my lowest daily word count was logged. Today we're on the upswing again. I visited with my people for 832 words. You wouldn't think that was much but it was enough to let them know that I'm still here and were going to get this party started again on Tuesday, full out to the end!

And lest you think I'm making this whole thing up (which I am, the novel's content not the novel itself) here's a little tidbit that contains the 25,000th word. (remember: editing comes later).

“Allen’s a bit too much of a dick for that.” he found himself saying out loud as he placed one more wine bottle into the array. He pulled out his tire bouchon, the one he’d found in the antique store in the Marias during the last wine buying tour he and Allen had made in the summer. With deft hands, he flipped open the little knife and sliced through the lead foil around the cork. Snapping the knife back in place he pulled out the corkscrew and lever and made quick work of twisting it down deep into the cork and then pulling it free. Now that bottle could breathe too.

Staying in Touch

One piece of advice they NaNoWriMo folks offer is to stay in touch with your characters. That if you leave them idle for too long they'll get bored and wander off making it very hard to pick up where you left off on the novel. You'll start typing and no one will be there. Some kind of a rapture of the imagination.

So today, I say goodbye to my generous Seattle friends and head for Portland to visit my niece and see her in her new world of Reed College. She's the one who planted the NaNoWriMo seed in my imagination so it seems only fitting.

Alas, only 392 words today. But that was enough to say a quick hello to the plot and the characters and to assure them that tomorrow, once I'm home, they will have my full attention. I can't wait to find out what they've been up to!

Slow and steady

OK, I know the word count was a bit low today, but it was a big day. Lot's going on in the outside world (that is the world outside the novel) including Prop.8 rally in Seattle and ongoing delightful visit with friends.

It's alright though. 804 very good words today representing a headlong dive into the plot. I'm still on track and intend to spend heavy time at keyboard tomorrow while my friends bike.

I feel good, I feel strong, I feel curious about how this will all turn out :)

P.S. Thanks to all the notes of support. VERY MUCH appreciated!!!

Half way there!

Broke through the 25K barrier today. Yippee!

Hard to imagine how the second half is going to unfold but it sure is getting interesting in here. New characters are cutting in line after I'd gotten everyone all organized. Temper tantrums are happening (theirs not mine) in unexpected ways. The thing really does seem to have a little life of its own.

Of course, it could be that I'm just no longer able to keep track of everything neatly in my head and that "life" is randomness due to my imaginative limitations. But what the hell.

Take a deep breath, just 25K more to go!

Touching the Void

I'm in Seattle today, visiting friends. Does this mean my characters will be here too? Pretty darn likely some elements of the visit will end up in the story. That's how it do (to paraphrase The Wire, to which I'd recently developed a strange addiction resolved only by reaching the end of the series).

The main tension I feel right now is worrying about whether or not I have enough material. I worry that my plot is thin and so resist diving in fully. The No Plot? No Problem motivation card for Day 12 suggested we ponder the example of the fellow from Touching the Void. His motto: just keep making decisions, even if they're bad ones. I need to be less cautious with my characters, to trust that material will appear when needed, rather than worrying whether the tiny plot points in my head right now will suffice. They won't. But if I keep playing them out, keep making decisions, things will get much more interesting. And my biggest fear--boredom--will be avoided.

Dog Days

So how many dogs does it take to populate a murder mystery?

Apparently, lots. So far there is Skittles, GM (who you met 11/5 post), Molly, Rocco, Paco, Tim and Stubs, Sodom, Gamora, and Snowy. And that's not counting Mr.T, who only thinks he's a dog.

That's a lot of creatures to keep track of, and a lot to pick up after. Which reminds me, I don't think I've included a 'picking up the poop' scene yet. That's a word count padder if ever I saw one! These are desperate times, we must do what we must do, no matter how transparent the motive.

The good news is the knee bone and the "touchbase" have found their way in. Flummery and the big Samoan are still looking for a home.

Did I mention Week 2 was the hardest week?

Writing Like the Pros

Today, I caught an interview on the radio with John Updike. I was so pleased to hear that—despite our vastly different levels of talent and experience—our writing processes appear to be very much the same. 

Minor character details (like his how his character relishes the feel of the smooth inside edge of a walnut on his tongue) are stolen liberally from his own experiences. Plot is roughly imagined but not set in stone as he allows it to unfurl all on its own. His stories and characters are chosen because there is something he is curious about, something he might learn from trying to tell their as yet unimagined stories.

This comparison seems akin to a little kid flinging a basketball up toward the hoop, no greater hope than hitting the back-board, versus a Michael Jordon taking off from the foul shot line, floating through he air, and, at the very last second, rolling the ball gently off the very tips of his finger. Not the same shooter by any stretch of the imagination, but soul-mates in the joy, the dream, and the delight of the attempt.

Water Stops

NaNoWriMo is like running a marathon, complete with annoying hills, shin splints, and much needed water stops along the way. Today, I pulled into one of my very favorite 'water stops' and washed down some Gatorade-for-the-soul. It left me untethered and loose, spiritually limber. Refreshed, I regained my stride with goal of crawling inside my characters, feeling their embodied truth, and working (with reverence) from the inside out. Surely this will add to my word count. But knowing what a riot of energy and images live inside my own body, I expect I'll need a flashlight and some bread crumbs to find my way back out of theirs.

They say Week 2 is the hardest week of NaNoWriMo, the one during which most people falter. So leave comments to spur me on! Guilt, encouragement, accountability, public shaming . . . whatever it takes! My stride feels good right now. Heartbreak Hill is still weeks away. But a little cheering from the sidelines never hurts.

Where I'm spending my days and nights

This is the NaNoWriMo shrine/workspace.

Key elements include:

- progress calendar (upper right)

- laptop

- 'No Plot? No Problem' kit

- coffee

- strange wooden icon (left) giving me the strength to persevere.

Welcome to my world!

Offerings

Friends bring me little virtual tidbits to include: flummery, a (human) knee bone found at Fort Funston, man overboard on the bay, galette. I like it. They are things outside this growing tumoristic novel that is taking over my imagination. It's fun to try and see where they might fit.

Right now, everything feels like fodder for the novel. And that's not just because the shear volume encourages me to stick just about anything I can think of onto the page. I come out of my apartment after writing for hours and am shocked to see some of my characters out and about, the corner where the body lay undiscovered perfectly calm and clean. And when I go back to the keyboard, coffee in hand, words roll out from where I do not know. Today, 1473 words appeared from nowhere. I felt like I was daydreaming on the page.

The boundary blurs between fantasy and reality. The novel is everywhere and everything is (potentially) in the novel. Is this a good thing? We shall see.

Spillover

The slog phase (or the first slog phase) has begun. Sitting and writing for hours, allowing unrepentant drivel to pour forth, is hard work. The inner critics are getting hoarse from all their shouting.

But are upsides, and they are these:

1. Exercise seems appealing. It couldn't be any more unpleasant and it doesn't require a keyboard.

2. Ditto on eating right. Comfort food just isn't up to the task of beating back the slog-energy so might as well fuel the mind and body well to reduce the suffering.

3. Story telling fatigue. Since all my creative juices are being poured into this "novel" it leaves little energy for making up stories about my own life. You know the ones, like why hasn't so-and-so called, do I belong, does my hair look nice. The stories we tell ourselves on a regular basis. No energy for that anymore.

NaNoWriMo . . . a much better escape than watching TV!

The Body has been found

Need I say more?

It's a murder mystery, right? So at some point a body must be found. But I've been a little nervous about the moment. Gone are the easy intro pages--all character development and context--now we have a murder to solve, facts to connect, the reader's critical eye to consider. Who should die (yeah, Allen . . . he deserves it)? And who's the killer? You'd think I'd know already but, to be honest, I'm really not sure at this point. 

Will I have enough content to get me from death (word 9737) to the end? Have I dropped the body too soon? 

Stay tuned for the answer.

Politics is in the air, and it smells sweet!

Like so many, I'm completely elated by Obama's victory  . . . and completely pissed off about Prop. 8. In the real world, I'm committed to action, optimism, and a focus on what's possible. In the fictitious world that is emerging in this novel, there things bleed over in interesting ways.

Tonight, one of my characters was introducing his new black, shepherd puppy to a friend.

"This is G.M." Rich said, "Short for Gay Marriage. We figure if we spend every day calling "Here, Gay Marriage" and "Come, Gay Marriage" and "Stay, Gay Marriage" we might send some karmic message out to the universe to overturn this hateful Prop. 8"

I'd heard this might happen, characters taking on a life and a voice of their own, but damn it's fun. Fiction, yes, but a satisfying way to channel the frustration. And who knows what other forces are aligning to our cause right this moment.

Trust is an interesting thing

Yesterday was a good day of writing. Characters came knocking at my door, plot lines fell into place, I could see (atleast a little bit) where things were heading. I could breathe.

Today, I'm nervous as I sit down to write. Will it flow again? Are the characters ready? Is this interesting in the least? Will the plot come to a screeching halt and the whole thing implode somewhere around word 5,555?

This mirrors the feeling in the air today on this election day. All across the country people are voting. Will he win or won't he? What'll be next? Hope or fear?

It makes me wonder if the real challenge is not about eliminating fear but rather about coming to expect its visit. Fear pounds on the door and yells, tracks mud in on the clean floor, demands our attention. Yet trust says open the door gracefully, stay calm as fear storms past, extend one arm politely towards the empty chair and say, "I'll be right with you after I finish this dream!"

Who are these people?

They said that, while writing, characters would just appear unbidden, each with a life of their own. I didn't believe that until today, when Allen showed up. He's a bit of a twit, actually, pompous and full of himself but with a lovely, long-suffering Boston Terrier named Skittles. I'd say he's at the top of the list of murder candidates right now. Funny thing about writing a murder mystery is you know that someone has to die. So as each character steps on stage I have to wonder: will they be the one? Sort of a perverse form of speed-dating, quickly assessing who I might kill.

Some characters are based on real people, or amalgams of real folks. But even then, there is an element of mystery that humbles me. I may know their name or appearance but in trying to imagine their thoughts or the color of their bathroom walls I find myself wanting to do justice to their human complexity.

Who knew making things up could bring such reverence.

Crack those gnuckles

This is when I feel age knocking at my door. Early Alzheimer's rooting in my brain. My fingers feel stiff and I feel the desire for a good crack of the  . . . "gnuckles"? No, that's not right, I think as I stare at the odd word. The spell-checker's red dots underneath knout me: wrong! "Gnuckles"? What are you thinking? Hey, I pout, there are words in the English language with a silent "g" at the start. I hit the backspace key. OK, smarty pants: nuckles. Uh oh, still not right. I've never had a knack for spelling but, for one frightening moment, I'm at a complete loss. I knit my brow in concern. Gnash my teeth. How do you spell the word that is those knobby joints, slightly achy in this damp weather? And why can't I piece it together? Terrifying gnosis of myself hunched over, drooling slightly, springs to mind. It jolt my spelling synapses back to life. Sparks fly. Oh yeah, I think, all cool and confident now: knuckles! Now that's what I'm talkin' about.

The Starting Line

OK, all the pieces are in place. I've cracked open the great starter kit "No Plot, No Problem!", read the instructions, joined the website, created the writing space, set up the blog. Let's see, what else can I do to procrastinate?

So much resonance between this and my other project: the Rocket Ship workshops. There's the excitement of beginning, the lessons that will be learned, and then the hard process of actually seeing it through. A skill, a capacity, that needs cultivation. I love the tenor of the starter kit (funny, compassionate) and think we could use some of that in the Rocket Ship in particular and the world in general. Functioning in chaos, walking on the high log of a ropes course, moving through the unknown . . . we have it in us.

OK, I'm wasting words here when I need them in my novel. 

Wish me luck!