NaNoWriMo Update #2

Last night the word count reached 3196.  I wrote another scene.  Then I began sketching scenes and characters.  Today’s work will be similar.  The hero of my story is a guy in his late twenties.  He needs a love interest and an ally.  So I am putting a lot of thought into her, and the dynamics of their relationship.

This week, starting today, I need to step things up.  Yesterday I proudly declared myself a tortoise pen.  This coming week i have a relatively open calendar.  But a week from today my brother and his family are coming to North Carolina for Thanksgiving.  I have to get ahead of the curve this week.  During Thanksgiving week, daily high-volume-output will not be sustainable.


A few, brief, thoughts.

I have been quiet the better part of a week.  Possibly, the best week of my life, in many ways.

Since my previous post, I have been in wheel-chair prescription-limbo.

It’s bizarre.  How strange our worlds?

Become, when insurance enters our lives.

It’s not my control.  It’s shared control.

In order to gain control, I have to learn how insurance companies think.  It’s what I imagine before.

The alien, suddenly, in my dreams.

And this has been possibly the best week of my life, because, for the rest of it, I have only been writing, and meditating on my manuscript. I am now in full book-writing mode.

Beam me up, Spock.

To a heavenly place.

Each day, when I begin to type.

Thoughts.  Not my own.


On the porcelain throne, just moments ago, I began to imagine my book as a novel.  Again.

I keep coming back to that.  And then, I have second thoughts.

A lot of ideas seem to be coming together for me.  The book-as-novel does not, yet, make sense.

When it does, I will feel it.  This odd piece of the puzzle.  It never seemed to fit anywhere.  Suddenly, it will either slip into place, with a click.   Or, I will reach a point where I am done.

And the novel was never necessary.


Yesterday.  Though.

Another epiphanic moment.

I began the actual book.


That’s how it felt.  I slipped into voice after a mere two or three sentences.  And I switched from writing a journal entry, to writing the opening to the book.

It is raw.  It needs to be cooked, or polished.  Maybe both.  But, I can imagine the book in that voice.  And the opening reading similar to yesterday’s words.

And after I wrote.  And even as I wrote.

The book began to open up for me.  I have a sense of the form of the narrative, from start to finish.  It meanders.  And in the end, it makes sense.  But, in the moment, the reader will only have questions.

I want it to read as a series of questions, building on each other.  I want it to read like it doesn’t make sense, until the end.  And I want the reader to read with confidence that it will come together.  I want the reader to trust the voice of the story to eventually make a big, epiphanic, point.