In Which: Nanowrimo Ate My Soul Once


I remember it like it was yesterday: It was 2005 and I was dead set on writing that 50,000 words in 30 days. I only let myself eat as a reward for finishing that days word count, and even then sometimes I forgot to eat or drink anything. Still for all my effort I only got to 25,000 before  the slow burn of writing so much everyday got to me and buried my willpower under the gravy of Thanksgiving.

Now years later, I think I know what truly beat down my willpower: For all the talk of silencing my internal editor, writing with the unspoken dedication to whatever I produce being bad by default just wasn’t me. It’s one thing to have a first draft that’s not polished and pretty awful. (Goodness knows my dyslexia helps with that XD)  But trying to shut off any remnants of critical thought to the plot and characters of a story just for the sake of writing it as fast as I was able felt off somehow.

I actually really love Nanowrimo in theory is the saddest part. I just wish more energy was put toward teaching participants that speed does not always have to come at the price of quality, salvageable writing.

There have been a number of published Nano novels in the past few years so I know it is possible in my heart of hearts to have more at the end of national novel writing month then you started with and something to be proud of at that. Here’s to 1667 words a day (even outside of November)!

PS. I’m very sorry for not writing an update in so long. From now on I promise to at the very least write two blog posts here per month over the holidays. My family is much older now and so I’m trying my best to spend as much time with them as I possibly can 🙂


In Which: I Accidentally Stole A Book


I was a serious child. I followed all the rules, and characters that got away with breaking rules in fiction drove me crazy. If there was a system of rules set into place I figured it must be for a good reason. I was the teacher-est of teachers pets, and I took pride in that, because it was one of the few things I could do well.

Nowhere was this clearer than in the library. It was my domain and all the books my well cared for subjects. You could find me there everyday in grade school and jr high. I always returned books back to their homes and was awarded the honor of taking home as many books as I could carry (sometimes more!)

But then, the dark eye of high school fixed its gaze on me (side note: High school, not as scary or as amazing as advertised)  and I panicked. After all, who could think when you’re already hearing horror stories of trash cans and judgment?   I did something I had never done before: I lost a book.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal and even after all my crying it wasn’t, the book was paid for and life goes on…

I still have that book. I found it some years ago and all the memories came flooding back. And by memories I mean guilt. I can’t help but feel that book, that paid for in full book, isn’t really mine. That red ink stamp on the inside page leers at my do gooding, library girl past.

Even though the school switched to being a crout school with a different name years ago.

Even though 6th through 8th grade is now integrated into the elementary school and there is no jr high  where I live.

Still, I love this book, in all it’s dogeared shabbiness.

I wonder what 17 years of late fees would look like…

Oh google, I love you to.