My past two years were a... failure? Year One, I abandoned pretty early on. I didn't like what I was writing coupled with the fact that I was using someone else's personal experiences to write the story. It was all just wrong and devastating. Year Two, I plodded along full steam ahead until about 35,000 words. I only quit because of a different, more lucrative opportunity. Year Three? I've finished editing the gargantuan ms. I've moved to a new place - a happier place. A place more conducive to my creative exploits. I'm taking writing classes with women who foster my creativity. And - I have a decent idea. I think I'll make it.
Yesterday, East Line Books hosted a launch party. Launch party it shouldn't be called, actually. Because a few people showed up expecting a PARTY and were a little more than disappointed to find us all silently working at our tables. How is this fun? Seriously, though. How did I have so much fun?
For me, it's wonderful just to be in that environment. Surrounded by other writers who are silently working, silently struggling, silently hoping. It's universal. And not only that, to write in one of the most gorgeous bookstores I've ever been in, surrounded floor to ceiling by books! The smell of them! How could that not be fun?
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Excerpts from "A Kentucky Love Story"
One I love:
Tobacco mixed with saliva in his mouth. Instead of aiming for the rusty tin can which had been set next to his rocking chair for just such an occasion, Brent Engell chose to careen the sloggish brown mixture toward the bushes at the edge of his porch. The spit hung precariously from a barren branch before slowly stretching itself thin and falling to the ground with a satisfying plunk. A lone fly, quicker on the uptake than its brothers who buzzed incessantly in Brent’s ear, alighted from the can and hovered over the freshest dropping. Brent grunted and continued to clean his rifle.
It was hunting season in Kentucky for the muzzleloaders.
And another not so much:
A hawk took off into the sky from somewhere deep within the woods. A smaller bird fretted around it, seeming to fight off the larger, more dangerous bird. Brent watched as the hawk soared high and away from its tiny prey. The smaller bird settled back into the treetops and the hawk began to circle, giving the area where the bird had disappeared an extremely wide berth at first, but gradually coming in, ready but willing to wait. To lull its prey into a false sense of security as it burrowed safely back into its warm nest amongst the already changing leaves.
Ugh... how do you even fix that? But that's what so freeing about NaNoWriMo. I stared at that for a while and started to try and edit it. But I thought, NO. I've written it. It counts for my NaNo count and that's that. When November's over and done, then I'll edit. Move on. Keep writing.
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Are participating this year? What are some of your strategies for staying on task?
Visit my profile if you'd like to be writing buddies. I'd love to hear about what you're working on!
