Hitting the Books

Yup, NaNoWriMo is just around the corner.

That mad, wild, crazy time when billions and billions (okay, well, just lots and lots–last year 79,000+) of writers, aspiring writers, and plain ol’ lunatics attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. That’s from midnight November 1st to 11:59pm November 30th. From scratch (sorta–background info, character sketches, etc., are allowed).

I did my darndest in 2005, but life got in the way.

I was going to last year, but procrastinated too long.

So the question is, do I try again this year? Or just assume that having a Punkin underfoot will make it an Impossible Dream (To dream the impossible scene, to write the unwriteable book, to try when your arms are too weary, to type with a Punkin underfoot… Sorry–random “Man of La Mancha” moment.)

That is my dilemma. I’m having a rough enough time right now with health issues on top of the usual full plate. Do I really want to add one more thing?

I think I do. I mean, even if I only write 25 pages worth of story, that’s still 25 pages more than I had November 1st. Right?

Write!

You know how all those writing books say “If you want to be a real writer, you have to write every day”? Well, most of my life I’ve ignored that axiom. I’ve always been a fits and starts type writer. Nothing for months, then 4 or 5 hours a day for a few weeks. Rinse and repeat.

Well, a few weeks ago, my Muse came knocking for the first time in months. So I did my normal write until all hours of the night, every night routine. Except now I’ve got a toddler who likes to go to bed at 8:30. Great–the rest of the evening is free for writing. However, the Punkin likes to get up at 7-7:30 in the morning. Not so good when Mama only collapsed onto her pillow at 3 a.m. And sometimes the Punkin comes wandering in at 0 dark thirty (i.e., 5:30) wanting a diaper change. Double plus un-good.

So, I decided to be a (somewhat) good girl and write from 10-12, then try to be asleep by 1 a.m. And that worked really well. I was flying along, getting tons of stuff accomplished on my massive rewriting campaign. I was rather surprised–gee, maybe this every day business had something to it after all.

But then I missed a day, and then another. I was too tired, or too busy, or just not in the mood. My muse doesn’t like being ignored, and so she’s gone off now. And I’m left wondering if I had spent just a few pages every day with her, maybe she’d still be here.

Between attempting to keep three blogs going, a quilt designing business, writing, raising a kid, keeping a husband, dancing, church, extended family, something of a social life, etc., I just don’t have large chunks of time anymore. And I’ve always been a large-chunk-of-time person, whether it’s for writing, or designing, or sewing. As the song says, “With me it’s all or nuttin’.” Nor can I keep up this 4-5 interrupted hours of sleep a night. Yup, the old grey mare, she ain’t what she used to be.

The question I’m coming up against is this: do I really want to be a writer? For that matter, do I want my quilt business to take off? If so, I need to become quite a bit more disciplined, to take what time I can when I can instead of waiting for those nonexistent large chunks of time (and not squander my little chunks playing Mah Jong, Free Cell, or Minesweeper. Or getting lost in Wikipedia.). And it needs to be every day.

Well, I’ve bitten the bullet and posted the first chapter of my newly reborn historical romance now fantasy. I’d really love, and need, some comments and critiques (though at the same time I’m scared to hear them) as I’ve lost any sort of objectivity concerning this piece (after 15 years it’s hard to be impartial).

If you like what you read and are interested in reading the rest of the book, just drop me an email at info@hittingthebooks.com–I’d be more than happy to have your input on the whole shebang.

It was the dryad who warned Travis that there were Confederate soldiers already on this side of the Chickhominy. She was trying—unsuccessfully—to pry Miníe balls from the trunk of her gnarled black oak with her fingers. After recovering from her initial shock at his appearance, and at his ability to see her, she willing accepted his offer of assistance. Especially of the steel knife she could not herself handle.

“It is rare for one of your race to still be able to see clearly,” she commented, wincing as he dug out another lump of lead.

Travis paused, peered closer at the bark, then frowned thoughtfully. “Mum says it’s our Irish blood. There you go, ma’am. I think that’s the last of them.”

She ran a hand lightly over the wood and smiled, body already melting back into the tree. “Yes. My thanks, bluecoat.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

Her nut-brown face faded from sight. Travis turned to remount Meg. Then a pair of leaf-green eyes blinked from the trunk. “I would not continue down this road—there are many grey men ahead.” She closed her eyes as if listening. “They are crossing the river even now. The blue riders and the men with deer tails have already retreated towards the city.”

Oh blast, Travis thought, one foot in the stirrup. She’s talking about the 4th and the Bucktails. If they’re back in Mechanicsville, that means we’re cut off.

A slim arm pointed back the way he’d come. “There are more of your kind that way, down the road that enters at the grove of beeches, near to what you would call the Totopotomoy.” The eyes opened again, looking puzzled. “There is something else, but I can’t place it…” Her voice dissipated as she vanished completely. Travis turned to Meg with a grimace.

“That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear,” he said, hauling himself into the saddle.

Well, I’ve gone and fallen off the face of the planet again. Suppose it’s mostly the time of year, but I’ve also been doing a lot of thinking and reading. I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to blog-fast for a bit if I’m to get any real writing done. Actually, I think I’m going to try to Internet-fast too. I’ve already cut down my daily consumption of email and the such. Some days I don’t even turn the computer on (except to order more books from Amazon). (if you wonder how I manage to write without turning on the computer, it’s because I still prefer to write longhand. There’s something freeing about putting pen to paper rather than fingers to keyboard).

I’ll miss all of your sparkling wit and delightful posts. But it’s difficult to write when I spend all my time reading other’s writing. And I don’t have a lot of time to spend in the first place.

I hope to see you all with the turning of the year.

Happy Holy Days!

Nessili