frazzled & frumpy

So, November is over. And, if you peruse my blog, you will not find a 'NaNoWriMo Winner' badge. Nope, it didn't happen. Things like a limping child and a multitude of doctor visits sort of tripped me up. It's ok. I got a lot of writing done on a new story and... I got a lot of writing done. On the bright side, I did win one thing. Before NaNo started, our local group had a competition. They gave contestants ten random first lines. You pick one, then write a first page using that line. I thought it would be fun. Because I mostly write YA fantasy, it's always a nice break to write something else. The line I chose was- It was common knowledge around town that Bill drank like a fish, the kind of fish that consumes large quantities of cheap scotch on a daily basis. There weren't a lot of contestants, but, hey, a win is a win, right? And, I have a good start on my new book. Here's to good attempts and a big, huge CONGRATS to all those who did win!! Too Late...

(This is one of my novel inspirations.) Are you NaNo-ing? If not, are you working on something? Something that lights your fire and keeps you awake at night? Do you have a dream? Something you want very much to do, but are afraid to speak it because you're sure someone will laugh or roll their eyes? Is there a hidden talent you know you could be fabulous at, but you don't know where or how to start? If you didn't know, it's *NaNo month. The one where thousands of slightly insane people try to write a novel in a month. (Yes, I'm one of the crazy ones!) It's hard. It's frustrating. And, it's thrilling! So, let's all embrace the spirit of NaNo and go for it this month. Do something. Dance. Sing. Sew. Cook up a storm. Write something. Creating makes us happy. It makes us better. It brings us closer to God. "God left the world unfinished for man to work his skill upon. He left the electricity in the cloud, the oil in the earth. He left...

cabin fever  (n) -a state characterized by anxiety, restlessness, and boredom, arising from a prolonged stay in a remote or confined place. Last night I went to WalMart at 10pm. We still didn't have Halloween candy, so it seemed a good time to go. I wandered the aisles for 20 minutes. I didn't want to go home. I've been home a lot . Now, not having a car and being home has its perks. My house is cleaner (not much, but some.) And, with National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) looming, I have plenty of time to write. And, I'm all caught up on Downton Abby. There are problems with being home, though. Not the least of which is--it's getting colder. Which means I can't leave the windows open. So, I breathe all this stale air. Air filled with dust and skin cells and many, many kid-germs. *cough-cough* I'm thinking it's the stale air that drove artists crazy. You know, staying inside their studio, breathing in sculpting dust, or paint fumes, or Whi...

The night called to me.  It drew me out of bed, away from the warmth of my blankets and the body next to me.  Sleep was illusive, so instead of watching the minutes tick by, I got up. With cat-like stealth, I stole downstairs, laptop in hand.  I sat on the couch in the glow of the Christmas tree lights.  My dog joined me, confused by this nocturnal partnership.  He lay at my feet and snored while my fingers tapped the keys. My house is rarely quiet.  There are voices, live and broadcast, at all hours of the day.  Little boys jump down stairs and run through small rooms, shooting and sparring through imaginary wars. Teenagers talk and yell and laugh.  The noise--it rises before the sun and rarely dies before darkness envelopes us. I love it. I do. But, the silence of the night was heavenly.  Creeks and moans of my old house settling were my only companions.  No music floated around, save the songs dancing in my head. I put my ha...

I apologize profusely to the NaBloPoMo powers that be.  I signed up with every intention of posting every day.  Like a kid at an all-you-can-eat buffet, I imagined that I could have some of everything.  But, as my mother would say, 'My eyes were bigger than my stomach.' But, I am writing. Furiously. I'm still a bit stunned that I've written 13 chapters in less than two weeks.  I'm behind, but determined to catch up.  It's amazing that at the end of the month I'll have a book . I'm trying hard to ignore my inner editor and leave the rough edges for later. I think about going back to make changes and fight that urge.  I just keep going on, letting the story develop. I'm working on a blurb and when I like it, I'll post it here. Sorry for the lameness. P.S. From BlogHer (they're so not lame)- Would you please take a few minutes (no more than 5) to take our survey about watching video online?  Your thoughts are so valuable to us and...

I have this notebook I found. The first three pages are filled with handwritten words, the beginning of a story. A young girl is distressed as she watches her mother go into labor. The girl feels the pain of the contractions, sees the white-hot light that blurs her mother's vision.  As her father takes his laboring wife away, Grandmother comforts the little girl, trying to explain her gift.  I don't remember when I wrote these pages. Worse yet, I have no idea where the story goes from there. I wrote it then left it to rot and spoil, to become a snippet of an idea, never able to grow or flourish. This is how I wrote for many years. Sporadically, randomly. A poem here, a story there. I had no focus or structure. Admittedly, not having a computer or typewriter was a huge stumbling block. How all those authors wrote entire novels with a pen is beyond me. My carpal tunnel would never allow it. My first book took me two years to write. I would work on it for a day or two, ...