Here We Go NaNoWriMoing

 November is very quickly coming on, and with it, one of my favorite activities in the world, because after all, November is Novel Writing Month and NaNoWriMo has helped make my daydreams and doodles turn into books and a bit of spare cash.

My first "Proof" copy

 The first time I heard of the idea of writing a quick and dirty rough draft in a month. I thought pledging myself to writ 50,000 words in November sounded just like what I needed.  After all, I had been telling people i wanted to write, and taking writing classes for 30 years.  But I had only filled a few notebooks with poems and short stories and sent a few out but stopped when the rejection letters came.  Now I know, DUH!  Of course they come.  They are good things.  Only writers get rejection letters from editors, so while I was getting them, I was being a writer.

The "real book"

first painting

 So I wrote the 50,000 words and realized that it was a lot of work, but it wasn't close to a finished book, and it took me a year to write the next 38,000 words and more time to edit and doodle and make covers that looked like my main character could have drawn them.

painting for 2nd book

 But createspace had offered to make a free copy of a proof of the finished book if we finished NaNoWriMo, so I was motivated to do this just to have one copy of my book in my hand.  I finally hit "publish" at createspace and my book came here, and obviously needed edited a lot, and a new cover but I was hooked.  I made the corrections and did the work and soon had a box of books to sell to people at schools and fairs and links on Amazon and other bookstores.

Book 3 went in a time travel journey to the Oregon Trail

 And now, years later I still love the rush of writing without worrying about cleaning it up as I go, and the social support of 300,000 other dreaming writers around the world.  I don't always manage a book, and sometimes I do CampNaNoWriMo in the summer instead.  I have managed three books this way, and by going to schools and to writer's Conferences and using social Networking sites I have managed to have fun and sell enough copies, in paperback and kindle, that I can really say, "I am a writer" and no, you may not have heard of my books, but that's ok - some kids have and I have.

and in the end, there are a lot of books out there, but only I can tell my stories.  I think everyone has a story they should tell, one that is only theirs.  If you are ready.  Check out NaNoWriMo at http://www.nanowrimo.org

and my books at http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004458ES2

Bogging Down in My Writing about Oregon Trail.

Trick or Treat Blog Adventure to be Posting  on Halloween with giveaway and links to Author Blogs

Logo Design by Tammie Gibbs

On August 3 I gave you the prologue to my Oregon Trail, work in progress, and on Sept. 12 I shared the first chapter.  I guess I am ready to revisit that trail again, and try to figure out why something that was flowing smoothly has become bogged down.

 I keep avoiding opening the document, finding that blogging, or facebook, or planning an entirely new novel have a lot more appeal at the moment.  I suspect that it was so easy to write at first, and I have the whole thing outlined and finished in my head, and somehow that has translated as "finished" in my motivation too.  Why was it easier to write two Duffy Barkley novels, when the actual writing was harder, than to force myself to finish Della and Kenyon's story?

I find myself re-reading what I have, with pleasure, but when I get to the final chapters, where all I have is a paragraph, planning where the chapter will go, I suddenly find that even sitting down to write out bills has more appeal.

Chapter 2  Kenyon (From 1990s) 

  “Dear Diary,

     Dad is trying to get me to smile like he can just trick me out of a “bad mood.”  Why can’t he see that this isn’t just a mood – it is my life ruined forever!  My Whole Life!  Just now he slowed way down and leaned forward like he was trying to crawl up on the dashboard and I yelled at him, “What are you doing?  Keep you eyes on the road!”  but he was staring up in the sky like he didn’t care if we ended up dead in a ditch.  I should want to end up dead but that convinced me.  I’m not ready to die yet. But I am ready to drive!

     “Girls – Look!  It’s a bald eagle!”  He looked back with this hopeful smile on his lips like some dumb bird could make me forget that my friends were getting farther behind us at every mile.

     Melissa started to twist around to see but I pulled her back down and snapped at Dad, “The only Eagles I care about are in Philadelphia – and that is only if Pittsburgh isn’t playing.  Stay on your side of the road!”

       He looked sad, and angry – I thought maybe I’d gone too far and held my breath but he shut-up and started driving again.  Doesn’t he get that my whole life can go by and I won’t forgive this?  There is no justice in the world when you’re 15.”

     Kenyon snapped her book closed and clipped the pen to the front cover.  Her mind drifted back to the late night Deli where her Grandfather had given her the desk.  They had just come from a Pirate Game and it had been a long standing habit to go to the small, corner deli after a game.

     Kenyon had felt bittersweet.  Happy that her beloved Pirates had won but anxious because she didn’t know if she would ever sit in their stadium beside her Grandpa again.  She bit into her sandwich.  Nothing had as much flavor as a hot pastrami, on rye, with mustard, onions, and sauerkraut.  Did they have sandwich shops in Oregon?  She swallowed the suddenly flavorless mouthful and blinked against the burning in her eyes.

     Grandpa reached out gently, and dabbed a bit of mustard from the corner of her lips with a rough, paper napkin.  “Penny for your thoughts?”  Kenyon shook her head abruptly and forced a small smile.

     Grandpa picked up his own hoagie and made exaggerated signs of enjoyment as he chewed, rubbing his tummy and smacking his lips, eyes rolling and tongue flicking out to lick his lips.  He snatched the dill pickle spear off her plate and dangled it between his thumb and pointer finger, “Ah, Heaven.  The Pirates win and I share Manna with the world’s most beautiful sport fan.”

    Kenyon laughed and found that she could eat again.  He patted her back approvingly and waited until the sandwich disappeared before pulling a large box out from behind his chair.  She had seen him take it from the car, of course, but wasn’t sure she could accept his gift without melting down into puddles of tears.

     She turned sideways on her chair and allowed him to place the package on her lap.  “What is it?”  Smiling right then might have been one of the bravest things she had ever done.

     “Just a little something I found at a garbage sale and thought it would be perfect for keeping you from forgetting your tired, old Grandfather.”

     Garbage sale was his only name for the garage sales he loved to frequent, more for the chance to snoop into peoples lives, and exchange gossip and chatter, than for any real interest in the items being offered.  Pittsburgh had a tradition of visiting with neighbors, family and passers-by on the swings and gliders on the wide front porches.  For Grandpa the yard sales were a happy extension of that tradition.

     At first, Kenyon hadn’t figured out how to open the seemingly, seamless box, but as she explored the stationary and exclaimed over the malachite pen, she found a cellphone with pre-paid minutes and she had been comforted by the evidence that her Grandfather intended to hold tight to the ties that bound them together as both family and friends.

     Now, she reached into the desk and extracted a sheet of writing paper and an envelope.  Instead of her diary, she needed to write a thank you note and up-date to let him know that she felt his love with her every time she set her hand on the silky smooth wood of the desk.  She glared out the window at the landscape, which was so not Pittsburgh.

     She set the tip of her pen to the paper as her Dad swerved to avoid a plastic bag filled with garbage in the center of his lane.  The van swerving made her draw an angry line across the clean paper.  In frustration she balled the paper up and flung it on the floor of the van.  She started to put her pen away, but drew a calming breath, sighed, looked out the window and took out another piece of paper.  Grandpa would still love to hear that she was using his gift.  Melissa looked up from her electronic game and smiled but didn’t try to make any demands for the moment.

 ____________________________________

I do realize that I am not being much more co-operative than my protagonist here.  Kenyon is stubborn but, in refusing to finish her story, so am I.  I told myself, I have to finish this first draft before I can start a new NaNoWriMo novel in November.  I hope to keep that promise.  At lest, I have opened the file and am rereading the words I wrote, and trying to hear the voices of the two girls as they travel the Oregon Trail, 150 years apart.  I just never realized when I first conceived of this book, that even the 1990s girl might be history when I finally put her in front of an audience.

Never Alone

      Solitude is a wonderful feeling but, as one of the peanuts gang once noted, while sitting on a dock, watching the water, "it can get very lonely when you're by yourself."  I had that cartoon taped to the inside of my High School locker during a time of my life when I was always lonely, even when surrounded by teeming hallways of other people just my age.

 I love solitude, and seek it often, locking myself in the bathroom in a tub of hot water if I can't really get away, or staying up, even though I'm exhausted, just to drink in the silence once the rest of the house if sleeping.  Writing is a process that requires a lot of solitude for me, I need to be uninterrupted as I allow my mind to play with the thoughts and words that might sometime flow into someone else's mind in a delayed conversation, but must be born in quiet contemplation.  But Loneliness is deadening, it kills the spirit and energy that good writing must be filled with.

I love to write about the ideas and experiences that I have shared with those I love, and to expand those ideas into new plans or take them off on a tangent ow "what if . . . fantasy
 but of course, first, I have to share those experiences and one I have written about them, I want to share my writing.  I want to see if the thoughts that made me angry, can infuriate you, if my laughter triggers yours.  I want you to love the characters who lived in my head first.

And I want to someday make more than a few dollars on the writing that I do, so that I can feed my family and care for my home and still have time to write even more.  I truly believe that my stories are my gift to the world and that the beauty I see can help other people find a reason to smile and the hope of love and a breath of fresh air on an otherwise gloomy day.

So sometimes I have to reach out to other people.  I have to say, look at what I have to offer, what can you share with me.  How can we help each other make this world a better place for our parents, our children and everyone?  It is easier to write than to look someone in the eye and tell them that they will find my book to be worth their hard earned money.  Learning to treat writing as a business does not come naturally.

 But I have found an incredible group of people who have helped to make my life less lonely.  I have found that social networking really is both, a social experience with give and take, and a connection that links each of us together in a supporting net.  I have found the net that did appear when I took the leap out in faith.

Author Central, on Facebook, and Amrita Press and Orangeberry Book Collective and a whole bunch of writers who work at almost every level and cover almost every writing field, have pulled together to shout out and celebrate each one of us.  Instead of competing and trying to say, My book is better, we have been encouraging and supporting and understanding that everyone has a story worth telling and they jut need help finding the person who needs to hear that story.

 We have been celebrating the joy in being writers and tweeting each others news and liking each others pages - AND - surprise, Surprise - LIKING each other

The chemistry between us has been magical and has created a group with a powerful voice.  You should stop by Author Central and see what I mean.

 We have flooded each other with support and it has already been bearing fruit.  And since I am already talking about on-line places where I have found support and friends, let me also mention a few others who have jump started me on the road to my best future.  NaNoWriMo, is the National Novel Writing Month site where you can find support to write a quick and dirty first draft of the book you've always wanted to write.
 FlyLady.com is where you can learn the babysteps to turn a overwhelmed house into a loving home.  NoExcusesWorkouts (NeWo) with Jonathan Roche will give you a simple set of nutrition and exercise goals that make you feel strong and energized and never like you are hurting.

Oh, and did I mention, If you love fantasy, especially journeys to other worlds like Narnia or Oz or Neverland, Check out my novels, Duffy Barkley is Not a Dog and Duffy Barkley: Seek Well