Thursday, November 25, 2010

Ooooohh, Saucy!

Day 25. 29,147 words written. 41,675 which should have been. 20,853 words left. 5 days to go.

 I am in considerable pain. It's only almost double what it's taken me 25 days to write. It's not like my pride is backed into a corner and growling ferosciously at me. Breathe son, breathe. Here's to a truly magnificent weekend, stuffed to bursting with broken wrists and caffiene. I can't tell you that I'm surprised. It's a classic Rutter move. I put things off. I assure myself that it will work out. Then I feign compete disbelief at the outcome.

In my defence, I was attacked last night. Now, I've been attacked before, by move obvious things; a three legged cat, my brother, nettles, my mother, a headbutt from a drunk girl. But this, dear reader, was much, much worse. I'll set the scene for you. Myself and my boyfriend were innocently walking in the dark, to what one may call the gymnasium. When out of the blackness arouse a squelch. Something struck my face. Now what, what could have possibly offended the man in the passing car, so much so, that this revenge was necessary. Ladies and Gentleman, we had been sauced. I kid you not. A squeezy bottle of tomato ketchup. Our fellow citizens thought we were bleeding to death. But we survived. Although, to add insult to injury, they got James right in the tash. He was walking around Morely with someone elses ketchup in his tash. I fear for his masculinity.

Now, wish me luck in overcoming my recent trauma, and attempting this impossinble feat. Much love x

Sunday, November 21, 2010

For the adventurous.....

I'll tell you what I've been doing instead of writing; calling my parents because I miss them, drinking a lot of banana milkshake, reading Erica Jong's sexually charged poetry, listening to Laura Marling, fighting to fall asleep, developing my relationship with Play.com, enjoying my winter morning walk, thinking about Anne Frank again, trying to decide what I want to do with my life afterall.

Nanowrimo is reluctant awakening. Tim Minchin read in a book somewhere that if you're too open minded, your brain will fall out. There is a definate loosening in this whole process, and you become suddenly suseptible to more than just an onslaught of written words. I also think that having a plan for once, a goal, an ambition, can make you realise that for the past year you've been casually exisiting, without so much as a shiver in any direction. And it's encouraging that anything else is produced, alongside paying bills, and shots at the bar, and matching socks. I don't want to get up one morning and realise that my whole life was just a series of eventful Novemeber's. That's why I'm going to keep this blog up, into December, and onwards through the New Year.

2011 is the year I try. Short stories, poetry, my lonely left behind Novel of 08. It's always best to catch your regrets before they catch up with you. I urge everyone to remember that one thing they used to be desperate to do, and do it. No more excuses. I think by now, most of us have realised that easy was never going to be an option. It's not retail, or teaching, or printing lottery tickets, or car finance. I want to write. So I'm going to start by finishing Nanowrimo, despite being so behind, and end up with a pile of manuscripts. And so are you, with whatever you once wanted. I dare you.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Me and Mr Flynn

I'm trying to write my blog, and frantically steam ahead with Nano at the same time - to the incredibley apt soundrack of Johnny Flynn. I look at life as a series of spinning plates on wooden spikes. You can work out your own happiness by assigning an aspect of your life to every plate. Are you running around like a headless chicken trying to keep them all going? Have serveral fallen and smashed? Does one profess a constant wobble. Of course Nano is a much needed added plate, make a timely entrance smack bang next to Christmas. As if there weren't enough plates collected from earlier in the year. But surprisingly, it seems to encourage everything else. It gives me something to rant about to my friends. It outweighs the other pressures, by sitting firmly at the forefront of my mind. It reminds me that it's good to do things for yourself, and only for yourself. It gets me back in touch with silliness. And the other plates just don't seem such a big deal, if only for November.

I like noting the quiet approach of week three. It's where the pride is, the lure of success. You become incredibly aware of how important this is. And you're not wrong, it does prove something. I think everyone ends up with a question answered. One that was particularly difficult to pin down. Let's pick up the pace a bit, and entirely indulge.......

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's a cag in a bag!

For those of you who don't know me, I think it's time to share an intimately personal aspect of my life; I walk to work. For the last few weeks my commute has been a soul-destroying battle, including the obliteration of two umbrellas, and a steep decline in personal appearance. But as I write to you today, I am on the brink of a life changing revelation. And that, ladies and gentleman, is the cag in a bag. What, you may be wondering, is this wonderful invention of which she speaks so fondly. As it says on the tin, it's a cagoule, which you can stuff back in on itself into a small bag. Today, I donned my cag for the very first time and would like to report my findings. On the way home I was thrilled, with the hood up over my beanie, to realise that this was exactly the kind of wind velocity that would kill my umbrella. Should it have been raining, my top half would've been completely dry. How comforting that was. Unfortunatley, at the time of purchase, I'd forgotten that I had legs, but am planning to fashion some kind of wrapping out of bin bags. Due to the depth of the hood, your head resides in a warm cave. This means you have no peripheral vision whatsoever. As I only cross approx 16 roads on my way to work, this is of little consequence to me. Another benefit, is that coming round dark corners, I look like a tough hoodie, and would likely scare off any muggers before they spot the light blue and scatted pink roses pattern.

In writing news, I am not doing well. At all. It's really hard. I've never had the kind of discipline required. Nails are still bitten, chocolate still consumed. And I barely manage 1 glass of water, let alone 8. I wish someone would tell me that quitting now would be okay. After all, who needs another demand heaped onto a 9-5 job, a relationship, and a backlist of household chores. But sadly I must answer to myself. And myself is a drill sergent when it comes to pride. On my day off tomorrow I aim to write 10,000. But I will bite my nails, eat chocolate, and drink fanta fruit twist to get through it.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Pick your nose

No writing for me this weekend I'm afraid, and I'm definitely not at the desired 25,000. But let's not panic! I'm sure that by tomorrow afternoon, the words will flow readily on all manner of fascinating subjects, and I will smugly make up for lost ground.

 I'm going to drink coffee until I can't physically close my eyes.

Irritatingly, I'm still wrestling with my inner editor, cautiously typing with the overhanging fear of writing complete balls. It's this grow-up, get a mortgage, commuting on the train rubbish that's done it. I couldn't be further from my Creative Writing self at University, when we were up at 3am performing prose, frantically scrawling, tracking down our ever elusive voices. It gets harder to convince yourself that you weren't just some teenage whinger, enchanted by their own diary. And I know that I won't remember how to write again, in that proper, 'oh the hell with it' way, until I stop pinning it up as an escape from the office, and start writing for writing's sake like before. Any tips?

I guess that's the beauty of Nano; a timely reminder to regress. To go back to being that kid screaming in a supermarket, or having a unselfconscious nose pick at school. To stop insisting that everything has to be perfect and effiicient, and believing that it's worthless unless showered with monetary praise. Rewind.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Thank you Mr Joyce

Today was not a remotely creative day, I'm sad to report. It was extremely painful and mostly involved my forehead on the desk. I decided that rather than achieve anything, I would throw a sulk, and spend my time reading that fascinating story about the paedophile book Amazon were selling. And the weather is miserable, and I'm tired, and oh you know, the trillion other excuses we invent to validate our own laziness. On the up side, I met my word count - just. And, like all the other irritable writers out there who vowed to themselves that this would be the year, I'm still going.

Funnily enough, the book I'm reading - A portrait of the artist as a young man by James Joyce, is proving very apt. It's a load of mildly entertaining, sporadic drivel. Where he too, has seemingly put pen to paper and written for thirty days. What I'm saying is - we probably won't need to edit our own illegible ramblings. They'll appear as perfectly formed post-modernism, and we can just, in the way of Joyce, get published with high acclaim. Hurrah!

So don't worry; your sacrificing a month of your life, but you're going to be famous.

Week two, cue delusion

Thursday, November 11, 2010

You can survive winter, and so can your umbrella

Oh the unrelenting joy of week two, where all your characters reveal themselves to be as dull as you, your laugh takes on an hysterical edge, and you make some very interesting wardrobe choices. Personally, this is the toughest point. I've not written enough to feel invested, so why not just quit? I daydream, I procrastinate, I phone old friends. I even clean things up. Anything, just to avoid the fact that my protagonist for the last five pages, has been listing his childhood memories in chronological order. This is the point my friends, where despite intending on an intellectually stimulating period drama, you must insert the dragons, and the magic wands, and....you get my drift. Abandon the plan. Relish it. In order to succeed, we must become more imaginative, and bow to the madness.

Nano taught me a lot of things in that first year; How to endure my own company again, how to trust that my writing, though not always exceptional, would turn up if I demanded it, and that something beautiful will always be thankfully salvaged from the sheer volume. Even if it's just a bloody fantastic title.

Happy Writing

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Nanowrimo - The sure road to insanity

Hello world,

How's things?

I am sighing with despair at the realisation that another glum November has turned up. And as any aspiring writer will know, that means several awful things; less sleep, a steep decline in social appearances, and a reluctant sign on the dotted line. Fifty Thousand words. One Month. Oh Nanowrimo, how subtely you appear, as perhaps the only proof that I am not that 9 to 5, gym going, washing up nightmare that I swore to never become. So begrudingly I stare at the white page, dredge up  forgotten ideas in old notebooks and prepare to look awful. The things I do for my art. Last year I made it to 48,000 and decided to have a rather long sleep that saw me snoozing over the deadline. So here's to victory, and nonsensical rants, and the rapid return of insomnia. Be patient with me.

http://www.nanowrimo.org/