The novel hasn’t killed me yet.
So far, I’m on a steady pace. I’m thinking of trying to get up to two thousand words a day, try to get a little bit ahead. Trying hard not to ignore everyone so that I can still have friends at the end of the process.
If I don’t call back or anything. . .
It’s not you–it’s me. I’ve changed.
Okay. Seven hundred and four words. I’m going to bed. That’s a good start.
To some of you, this may be old news.
I’m going to be participating in National Novel Writing Month. Basically, it’s a mad dash towards the completion of a 175-page novel, starting on November first, and ending on November thirtieth. For those interested in word count, according to NaNoWriMo.org, that’s 50,000 words. Which means that more than likely, I’m not going to be available for a good portion of November.
For more info and to join up, check out the site.
Why?
Well, why not? I’ve got a title, a concept, a rough outline, a few friends joining in the madness, a copy of Strunk and White’s Elements of Style, a coffeehouse across the street with outlets and no internet access, access to a laptop, and most importantly–a deadline.
I also figure that if I actually do complete this, I’ll purchase myself a Palm Tungsten as a gift to myself. If I don’t make it, at least I tried. I’ll keep everyone up to date here with wordcount and occasionally some excerpts.
She looked at me, puzzled.
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you still talk to me?”
She had put me in a difficult position. I could probably sink the four off of the one, if I hit lightly enough. Line up the shot. Remember to breathe. Bend the knees. Use both eyes. Keep everything in one plane. Lower left English.
“I mean, I feel strange that you’re here.”
Be the ball. Keep an even stroke. Follow through. Why do I talk to her? The four rolled towards the corner pocket and politely refused to fall in. I cursed. “Missed by half an inch. Your shot.”
“You’re the last person I would expect to be able to talk to–and we’re here playing pool.” She paused, and leaned against her cue. “I’m confused.”
“Why are you confused?” I asked.
“Well.” She bit her lip. “I hurt you.”
That was a long time ago. You never plan these sorts of things. They just sort of tumble together and people get hurt as a result. People get hurt. Balls get knocked around on a table. It’s the same thing.