How Low Ing

Lots of quehaceres today. The italicized word means "things to do" in Spanish. Once of the quehaceres for the day includes a rough draft for a paper on A Clockwork Orange for British Literature. And, since we're speaking of language, today I put on my otchkies because my glazzies were tired and I had to itty to church real skorry. I know, I know. Not another slovo.

FPOTD: The doorbell rang twice before the youth smashed the window with a rock. The lights were out of course, the owners out of town or something. The kid, dressed as a ghost, reached 'round to the doorknob and pulled the door open. Leaning in, he yells.
"Trick or treat, I said, you fancy shagnats. Woudn't open the door so I thought I'd let me'self in. I c'n treat m'self, trick you nuts." And without another word he walked in.

Fall Back

Last dress rehearsal today, and I can say this the play is going to SU-UCK. Not that I didn't try.

Only two days to NaNo and I'm freaking out. I have my outline pretty much done up to about the fifty or seventy five page mark, and I know the ending, but I have no idea how to pace things or how to write anything how I want it. I love my idea, but I don't want to trust myself with it because I'll screw it up too badly. Oh well, I guess that's what rewriting is for.
If I don't finish the book in thirty days, I'm going to continue until I do.

Man I wish I hadn't just bought San Andreas. BLOOP! That's the sound of my extra time disappearing.

FPOTD: The figure that steps out is hunched forward, hooded and robed in dirty yellow linens. A round, bulbous nose protrudes from the hood like a sentinel along with a chin hidden by forty long years of hair growth. The regal ivory beard declares the robed one male, and ancient.

In Memoriam...

Went to a friend's grandfather's memorial service today...I knew the guy, he was a great man who died Sunday. His family found out he had terminal cancer four weeks ago. Really not cool.
Other things? Built a trebuchet in World History.

FPOTD: He powers off his laptop and slides it into the drawer of his desk. In the morning he’ll send it off to his editor and that will be that. Tomorrow will be my first day of retirement. How swell. There was a time when writing was a task, something to be done for lack of anything better to do, and he would avoid it in favor of anything he deemed more important. But that had changed. For the past fifty years it seemed the flow of words would not stop, and his fingers had only to catch them and write them down on the way out. There was a time when this lonely man would sit at his desk and stare at a yellow legal pad, open to the first page, inviting him to write a word. And yet he would sit, staring, unsure of how to start. Unsure of the right way to start. His future self would have laughed at that, of course, but only because his future self knew something he did not. That it was not how the thing started that mattered, but yet how it ended. That was the kicker.

6 Months?

Today is my 6th month anniversary with my girlfriend, Libby. That's all I got.

FPOTD: He looked out warily, the broken window providing at least some cover. If he stayed this way, staring into the wind for long, he'd go sand-blind. And then Harrison would have the upper hand. Best not let that happen. So he took a length of material from his shirt, ripped it off and made a primitive bandana which he wore over his eyes. The trade-off was simple. His vision would suffer, but he'd be able to maintain his vigilant watch. Then, before he could move, broken glass crunched behind him and two large, dirty hands grasped him around his neck.

The Modern Prometheus

Watching Frankenstein on Hallmark Channel. Enjoyable. Going to see Mitch Hedberg and Steven Lynch in Ann Arbor (U of M) on Nov. 12, just have to get my sister to buy the tickets! Plus, I think I may have recruited her to NaNoWriMo.

REASONS TO DO NANOWRIMO

• There's an incredible support group full of people who are going through the same thing
• Perfect if you love to brag about things
• You learn how to write a book...novel pacing, character development, plot etc...
• It's only 1667 words a day at minimum
• Have a newspaper story written about you
• Become famous in your hometown
• Meet the president
• Show those people who never thought you'd amount to anything how wrong they were
• Have something to talk about at your ten/twenty/fifty year reunion

And the number one reason why you should participate in NANOWRIMO is:

• To be initiated into one of the coolest clubs around: Authordom

FPOTD: This is Mitch. He’s an old man of seventy-three who is wearing a mustard colored tweed jacket. He’s not a tall man, but he doesn’t hunch and keeps his little hat tilted back. He’s got a sharp face with buried eyes that are unmistakably hazel in any light. His ropy hands are age-tattooed and the tips of his fingers bend sideways like hinges from the arthritis. Old Mitch walks with a gait that is either cautious or hindered. And yet he doesn’t use a cane.

Nibor Dooh The Great

Just got home from play practice. The play? Robin Hood: A Western. Twisted? I know. (I play Robin Hood and am the heart-throb of all the girls, even if they are only 13.) My girlfriend probably wouldn't want me bragging about how hot I am, so I'll stop. Anyway, I decided to make my story about a thousand words longer. I need to finish it so that I can have some time to novel in November. Speaking of that, I gave one of my teachers the job of filling out a letter of recommendation for me, and I ended up explaining NaNoWriMo to him. He liked my novel idea and asked to read it when it gets done. That's a good sign.

FPOTD: It was as if some strange hand had reached out and pushed at Henniford, not toppling him but simply moving him, and the second bullet removed a large piece of the marble flooring, ejecting pieces of rock in all directions, spinning the larger ones like skipping stones. The man in the cream trench coat looked at his gun for long seconds, and then dropped it. He began to run, now realizing that not only had he failed, but that the airport security already knew where he was.

Itchy Weather

No insulating got done today. It was kind of sad how overcast and misty it was. Finished my second rough draft of the story I'm going to try to publish and you can imagine how surprised I was when I ended up rewriting the whole thing. It's better than it was, and that's all I can ask for. Roughly 3000 words, and it might be posted here in a week or two. Tentatively titled: The Itch.

From the RD: "Are you..are you all right, mister?" The homely woman with mousy hair was half turned to him in worry, but Todd could see she was just as eager to leave the elevator as stay and see what was wrong with him.
Todd didn't answer her.
Instead, he laid his hand flat on the top of his head, feeling the warm, congealing scabs that covered his earlier handiwork. He tore them off.

Insulate This!

Have to help my dad insulate the attic today. No big deal, right? NaNoWriMo is starting up here in about a week and I'm anxious. I'm afraid of 50,000 words. It might be too many. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, click the link.) Matt Bell, a kid (well, he's seven years older than me) who grew up across the street from me in a rural town is doing it too. He's a published author already. Grrrrrr...

FPOTD: One moment a speck on the edge of a great metal beast. Now in the air, appendages wheeling about and core steadily accelerating toward earth. Then, at the moment of what should be climax, when jumper crumples like paper and bones disintegrate, a surprise. What should be dead is rolling, appendages now wheeling for a different cause.