NaNoWriMo: Days 2, 3, 4
NaNo#2
Today, second day of the National Novel Writing Month's November marathon, I learned that it takes me somewhere around (at least?) three hours to get to the requisite daily word count. This is pretty much just letting myself type out the scene/story as I'm envisioning it, trying to slow down to get all the details, and yet not worrying or fussing about the language or whether it fits perfectly with what I've written before. I love having my Evil Inner Editor on vacation. It does seem fairly easy to run with an idea (this morning's came do me during my morning journal pages: have Irene make French toast!) and I seem to accumulate 800-1000 words easily then have to push myself to go beyond.
I see on the Portland home region NaNo bulletin board that many participants are getting together for Write-Ins here and there. Maybe this is something the younger generation feels the need to do—a group as support and comfort while you write. I don't think I need this. All these years I've been trying to make writing my priority seem to finally be paying off. I wake up, show up at the page, begin the writing for the day. Of course, it helps that I don't have a job and that I can neglect pretty much all of my normal responsibilities (even stay in PJs all day) if I want to and with few consequences if I do. But haven't I also created a life with this space, this time, this openness expressly for this—to have my creative work be my focus, to be what I mainly do?
Today the morning journal pages that I often rail against and have lately wanted to stop doing were actually of use. They helped me clear out my dream-clogged brain, I think, and gave me a few moments to just let my writing hand ramble, away from the novel story line, into whatever words popped out. I might spend some time these November afternoons going through the old AM pages notebook—I think I'm up to #38. Way back when I started a database to log what might be useful as source material in all fo them. Getting back to that would also be useful as I can then throw away anything in the notebooks that is self-indulgent, foolish, embarrasing crap. And eliminate yet another bin from the stacks currently stored in the basement.
I have to remember balance in all of this as well, to take the month-long view rather than live for the short intense bursts. And to keep up with all the rest of what it is I do: Walking, reading, listening to music, cooking, eating. Getting out of the house.
NaNo #3
I've had cold fingers while working on my novel pages this morning. It is November, after all, and there was a frost again overnight. I may have to get those fingerless gloves before this marathon is done. After about an hour of shivering, I finally decided it was time to turn on the heat.
Today was an easy slog with many more words than needed added to my tallky because I mostly edited a lengthy section that I worked hard on a while back and the prose was in pretty good shape. At this point, I'm trying not to worry about whether or not all this "fits" with the book. I'm just writing, accumulating, trying to focus on what seems to be logically next in the progession of the story. And so far, the judgmental vitriol of my ever-critical inner editor has remained MIA.
My neck aches from sittting these two or three hours in a straight-backed wooden chair. And with probably the wrong angle for my typing fingers, wrists, and elbows, too. Tomorrow will be more of a challenge. My goal today is to use my puttering around time for thinking about the arc of the story, how to deepen the characters, where the story is really wanting to be about. I can already tell I have too many, possibly competing threads. So far, there's the story of Irene and her going home again. Why has she done this? Why now? And what happened wherever she was before to prompt this. There's also a thread about Irene and her ongoing, perhaps secret relationship with Hank to the exclusion of their son, Miles. Which then leads to the whole why would Hank behave like that and why would Irene keep it secret from Miles. And then what surely must be awkwardness and estrangement between Irene and her adult son. There's also the budding relationship with Andy who is either much younger (37 or 38 to Irene's 52?) or her age but a deadbeat she knew back in high school and now is finding cosmic consciousness with. Is Andy the Lost Soul she is excited to save? Is he simply her anti-Hank?
And how much narrative to locate in each place? So far, there's Meander, Pennsylvania which has mostly dominated the first 35 pages. And there has to be an Oregon Coast Range bit, too, to deal with the cleaning out of the cabin. And then there's Ithaca, where Hank grew up, where Hank and Irene lived together with Miles then Irene as a single mother after Hank took off, and where Hank now has requested to have his ashes scattered.
So is this a tale of Irene and her son? Irene and her failed relationships? Irene and her inability to find peace with herself? Lots to explore, much to question, much writing to do to try and body forth answers.
NaNo#4
Sunday morning, the day after the clocks go back to standard time. For some reason, that time switcheroo always messes me up sleep-wise. Anyhow, it's a foggy morning here in Portland and J. and I both upstairs working in our side-by-side rooms. I seem to have less inspiration and energy to pump out story and thus words this morning. I think I know where I want this next chapter to go but I don't quite have the scene figured out yet, or the objects and people to follow around. I managed to get through 500 words describing the VISTA house where Irene meets Hank. So that's something.
Now I feel like I need to take a break and think about where this is going next. Back to the present moment or is every other chapter going to alternate between present and the past? The beauty of getting far ahead on the word count is that I can do this without guilt. I don't think it's going to break my stride, either. If anything, getting away from the keyboard for a bit—to run errands, walk, some cultural stimulation—might prime the pump. I really cranked the first three days. Now I need to slow that pace and steady myself for the longer haul.
