My Writing Buddy

As I said before, most nights over the last 10 days or so, I've been working on my NaNoWriMo story with Ava in my lap or held in the crook of an arm or sleeping on my chest. Here we are last night as I worked on pounding out some words.

As you can tell by the tilt of her head, and the fact that her eyes were open at this point, she is totally engrossed in the story.

Progress!

Last night was pretty calm, so I was able to pound out a cohesive 4,000 or so words yesterday. This brings my current total to 14,124, putting me just under 1,000 words behind where I should have been for yesterday. I should be able to close the gap today and catch up to where I should be for today (16,670).

The trick will be maintaining my word count for the rest of the month. With Windycon this weekend, that's going to be a trial, but I might be able to make a little headway before Friday to make up for a lack of time Friday night through Sunday.

NaNoWriMo Word Count Update

My current word count is 10,584. I'm still a few thousand words behind. Yesterday I wanted to get to at least 11,000 words before I called it a night, but Logan started calling out for me from his room around 10:30. I got upstairs and checked on him.

He was a little awake and calling out for me to lay down. I checked his forehead as I usually do when he makes noise in the night and it felt pretty warm. Not only that, but his arms, for some reason, felt like they were on fire. Obvisouly that couldn't be good. So despite his protests I went downstairs to get the thermometer. Luckily, his fever was only 99.4. I went back downstairs and got him some medicine, being sure to wash my hands each time I left his room. Then, I laid down with him for a while so he would go back to sleep.

When I was finally able to sneak out of his room it was close to 11. I worked on my story for about ten or fifteen more minutes before he started calling out again. This time when I laid down with him I ended up falling asleep next to him until about 1. At this point Brandi was headed upstairs with Ava, the night owl, and I was so tired there was no way I was going to be able to get up and type another thousand words or so.

Logan's fever was gone in the morning, so that's good, but I still felt like a bit of a bad parent when my second thought when I went upstairs and found out that he was warm was "Oh great, this is going to cut into my writing time."

NaNo, NaNo Where Does the Time Go?

It's NaNoWriMo time again, and so whatever free time I can scrape up with a computer around is going there. For those of you who don't know, it's the month-long writing marathon to crank out a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. This will be my third year attempting NaNoWriMo, and I hope that I can get my word count in on time.

I have a bunch of friends who are working on NaNoWriMo as well, and it's nice to have the support system, as well as a little bit of a sense of competition. Among my friends that are doing it this year are (in no particular order): MWT, Eric, Jeri, Kimby, and Shawn. I'm sure I'm leaving people out, so my appologies to those I didn't mention above. Good luck to everyone participating this year!

It's interesting the way each year is different when doing NaNo. And I'm not just talking about the story itself.

The first year I did it, 2007, we had just moved and there was a lot going on at home. I wrote when there was time, including scrawling on a legal pad during my hour-long commute. Don't worry, I kept my eyes on the road and just wrote really big. In addition to unpacking and trying to get the house in order, Logan was just over a year old and I was working two jobs. When I was at my part-time job, I would write on a piece of paper when I could and then type it up when I got home. The fact that there was so much going on forced me to make time to write, and it worked really well in my favor. I knew what I wanted to write about before hand, and had at least part of the story figured out. I wasn't too keen on this story while I was writing it, and about half way through I got another idea that I wanted to work on, but it was too late in the month to start over.

The second year, I wrote in a much more linear fashion, and there was less going on around the house, which didn't always work out to my favor. This year, I worked on the idea that I had from 2007 and I liked the story a lot more. I had another idea about half way through the month again, and while I liked it, I didn't want to go off and abandon my first idea to work on the second. Also, the second idea would have been a different story that takes place in the same world of the first 2008 story.

This year is again entirely different. Once again, there is a lot going on at home. There's a new born, who demands a lot of our time, there's a three-year-old who demands a lot of our time (partially because of the new born), and there are a lot of family/social obligations. We have Ava's baptism in a couple weeks, Thanksgiving being celebrated on two different days to ensure we have more time to spend with my side and Brandi's sides of the family, there's Windycon next weekend (I know, I brought that one on myself), and whatever other things pop up between now and November 30. At my current job, there aren't great periods of down time like there were at my last job that would allow me to boost my word count during the day. At night, it would be impossible to work on my story while Logan's awake, and then after he's in bed I try to give Brandi more of a break by taking Ava and rocking her and all that. It's become our regular bonding time. This means there have been a lot of nights where I'm typing one-handed and rocking from side-to-side to keep the baby calm. And let me tell you, to type with a baby in one arm and a laptop on your lap makes you feel so warm you think you're going to melt into the couch. A lot of nights I'll be typing until Ava is fully asleep and I can bring her upstairs to bed, which has been between 1 and 2 lately. Or, if I'm lucky and she falls asleep before that, I'll take her upstairs and try to stay up and type a little more, but that only works for an hour or so before I need to get to bed so I can function and make decisions at work the next day.

Also, this time around, I really had no idea what I was going to write about before I started writing, so I had a start and stop approach. I thought about writing about werewolves, inter-office warfare, paranormal investigators, and cryptozoology. By day three I had started three different stories and, as MWT so accuretly said, "each restart has about 500 more words than the previous one." The third story finally took, and that's the one I've been working on. I'm still in the mundane, building it up part of the story, but it seems to be coming along well.

So my current word count is 7,020, which is a few thousand words behind where I should be for day 7. I'm hoping that I'll be able to generate 2,000 words a day for a while to catch up. But any progress is good progress and if I have to do some real late nighters toward the end of the month, so be it.

This year's novel, which as of yet does not have a title, incorporates the Survial Tips that I've been working on for a while. When all is said and done, I think I'll use the Survial Tips as a lead in to the chapters, plugging them in only after I've reached my 50,000-word goal.

In this story, a newly retired university professor and widower, Luther, decides to fulfill the dreams that he and his deceased wife, Martha, had by going out and actually seeing part of the world. Up to this point, it isn't that Luther has been a shut in, but as he reasons, there's always been something else going on to prevent him from ever taking a trip. After making sure the house will be looked after while he's away, he sets out for destinations near and far. During his travels, he takes with him a journal that Martha had given him but he'd never written in to record his experiences. This is where the survival tips come in. As he encouters things that he would have never thought possible, he creates these reports so that others might know the pitfalls that are (in the story) very real but largely unknown. From the vast corn fields of Illinois to giant, man-eating Venus flytraps, Luther experiences a world he would have never guessed is even possible.

The Monkey Madness Continues, More Curious George Insanity

This is a follow up to my previous rant about Curious George. When I got home today, Logan was watching the Curious George DVD he got for his birthday, Curious George gets a Job. In one of the episodes, that crazy little monkey takes it upon himself to work at a local grocery store. And you know what, no one seems to care that he's a frickin' monkey.

Apparently, store + hat = shop clerk...wait, that might explain some of the people I've worked with in my previous retail career.

So anyway, at this grocery store, a guy comes in and he needs a very special bunch of bananas, one that is extra sweet. You see, this nice businessman is going to make a banana cream pie for his mother. Maybe in one of the few bursts of logic on this show, the man recruits George to help him find this perfect bunch of bananas. After all, who would know a bunch of bananas better than a monkey. To test these bananas, George picks up each bunch (and for some reason, every bunch has three bananas) peels back half of the peel on two of them, and takes a generous bite. It is not until he gets to the last bunch, and is feeling rather full, that George finally finds the perfect bunch. Then when he finds it, the stupid guy actually buys the half eaten bunch of bananas to make the pie for his mother. Maybe the guy isn't really that nice after all. Maybe he really hates his mother and he figures he can secretly get back at his mother by serving her some banana cream monkey spit pie.

"I baked this pie just for you mom. What's that? No I don't want any, I'm still full from lunch. And you can go ahead and keep that whole pie. Why don't you share it with Mrs. Henderson. I can tell you that when I was a boy, I didn't care for Mrs. Henderson much. I thought she was a rather strict babysitter, but I can see now that she was just showing some tough love. What? The pie tastes a bit gamy? I don't know why that would be. The clerk helped me pick the perfect bunch for you."

On another episode, George works in an Italian restaurant in the kitchen. I guess, in New York, they don't mind eating food at restaurants that includes monkey hair and possibly monkey feces. It's just so confounding.

For Want of a Flu Shot

If you live in Cook County, IL and want to get vaccinated against H1N1, good luck. It seems like it's been nothing but lines and problems and people being turned away when trying to get the vaccine that no one can get enough of. I know they've been having trouble, at least around here, getting enough of the vaccine in to fill demand, to the point where even healthcare professionals have had to wait.

Brandi's been pretty worried, understandably so, about getting the shot. We've got a 3-year-old, as well as a 4-week-old at home, not to mention her father, who has a compromised immune system. We do not need this germ in our home period.

It's been in the news that hundreds of people are turned away at the vaccination clinics, and then we found out you have to make an appointment. There are numbers set up, based on where you live to schedule a vaccination appointment. I've been calling. And calling. And when I'm done calling, I call some more.

Last Friday, when I was able to get onto the automated system, I waited on hold for an hour and 45 mintues, being told every couple of minutes that my call would be answered in the order it was received. Finally, I couldn't wait on hold any longer and I had to go. Then Monday, Tuesday and today I've been calling, getting a busy signal every time. Eventually, I called the County's Department of Public Health. The very friendly woman there gave me another couple of numbers to call after taking my address. I would imagine that there are a lot of hysterical people calling into these numbers, so for the woman who answered to be pleasant and polite was very nice, and not what I was expecting. I proceeded to call the numbers she had given me and got back onto another automated system where I sat on hold. I was loathe to leave the phone while on hold, but nonetheless, there were times when I would have to run to another part of the building and drop something off, or check with someone else for something.

After a little over an hour, finally, I got a ring. I snatched the phone off of speaker phone to make sure I didn't miss the person on the other end. I told her that I wanted to get the shot for Brandi, Logan and myself. She asked how old Brandi is, and when I told her, her immediate response was "She doesn't apply, you can't get the shot." Right now the only people getting the shot are in the high-risk category, which, among other factors, includes parents/caregivers with children less than 6 months old, children 6 months to X (I don't remember what age) and people with immunity issues. "Wait, wait, wait," I told her, "we have a four-week-old and a three-year-old at home, we apply."

So she took my information, and now we're all set. What an ordeal. At least now, come Monday afternoon, we won't have to worry so much about H1N1 invading the home any more.

A Halloween Story for Y'all

Here's a story I wrote last September. I submitted it to a couple places but it wasn't what they were looking for. So here it is for everyone to see. I hope you like it. And if anyone does happen to read it and you like it enough to publish it, let me know. :)

"Killing Time on a Friday Night"

It had been an incredibly long day at work and an even longer week. In the world of corporate accounting, time was a black hole. Regardless, the week was over and the weekend was charging to life. Well, charging to life wasn’t exactly right, especially since Jared was watching over the dead.

He had been out for over an hour, and the moon was high. Its silvery light shone on the headstones, giant gray teeth that poked out of the ground. A slight breeze blew, carrying the scent of cut grass and the river that flowed between the cemetery and the edge of town. All was quiet.

Usually Jared’s mind would be calm, and he would sit, a living statue in a marble garden. Tonight, however, he couldn’t focus, and the headstone he usually perched upon felt lumpy and foreign. Tomorrow he would get Cassie to cover for him. She owed him anyway, considering how he took four of her shifts when her boyfriend, the preppy, arrogant insurance agent, took her on a surprise getaway. That smug bastard. And what did she see in that jerk anyway? He wouldn’t be able to go five minutes on watch without wetting himself at the first snap of a twig. Okay, he admitted, maybe that was pushing it a little. Mr. Insurance Agent wouldn’t come out on watch to begin with. Too risky. Speaking of snapping twigs, what was that? Focus, he chided himself.

Thinking about Cassie and Mr. Insurance Agent wasn’t improving his mood or his concentration, and he pushed the thought aside as he tried to find a more comfortable perch above Gary Linerman, 1914-1976, Husband - Father - Watcher. Linerman had been one of the original Night Watchers, a group of men and women who protected themselves and their communities from "creatures of the night." Jared’s idol. A man who stepped up to take back the night from the ghouls, ghosts and ghastly creatures that made regular folks cower in fear at the onset of dusk. Linerman founded the Night Watch, and Jared grew up listening to stories of his exploits, and had signed up for the Night Watch as soon as he became of age.

With the moon full and the sky clear, there was just enough light to read by, and he fished around in his backpack until he found the battered and creased pad. He flipped the pages of Monster Mad Libs Volume 2 until he came to one that wasn’t filled in. It was the second to last. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a black pen.

"I need an adjective," he called out to the empty graveyard. "Anybody...Anything? It’s just an adjective...Ok, how about ‘pickled’?"

He scribbled it in and moved on to the next blank. "Now I need an adverb."

"Grruuuunnggghhh."

The noise came from behind him, closer than he would have liked. It was a low, mournful groan that he knew well. A whiff of fetid corpse breath drifted to him on the breeze. It smelled of rot and wet earth. Despite all his years on Night Watch, the stench still bothered him.

"And just how do I spell that," he said as he dropped the pad into his bag and reached for the machete resting against the headstone.

The zombie groaned again, more forcefully, and this time its breath made his eyes water. It was too close for comfort. He could almost feel its cold hands on his shoulders.

"Now I need a verb," he said, his hand tightening on the blade’s well-worn handle. "I thought I’d use ‘chop’."

He pushed off the headstone and spun around. The blade glinted for an instant in the moonlight before it sunk into the zombies’ yielding flesh.

The machete had completely missed the head and neck of the towering creature. Instead it had sunken into the walking corpse’s chest, lodging in the breastbone. Jared’s eyes traveled up the mountain of undead flesh that stood before him. Instantly, he recognized the man it had once been. George Masterton, a former Shea Dale High linebacker who had gone on to become head bouncer at a club in the next town over.

The undead man-mountain looked down at the blade and pushed at it with gnarled fingers. Looks like he’s about as smart as he ever was, Jared thought.

"Hey Georgie, how’re things?"

The zombie moaned.

"That’s really interesting. How’s the whole undead thing treating you?"

It moaned again and resumed its shuffling. Jared stepped back, but reached out and gave the machete a tug. The zombie pitched forward a little, but the blade remained, caught on bone.

"Damn," he said, and retreated around another large headstone. Automatically, his right hand dropped to the Bowie knife at his belt. However, experience had taught him that it was hard to kill a zombie with a knife, especially one that had six inches and 75 pounds on him.

The zombie groaned again, louder and longer this time. To Jared’s shock and dread, another groan answered from the patch of forest about 200 feet to the south, followed by a third farther off, on the other side of the long field.

"Double damn," he said. "You just had to call your friends didn’t you Georgie?"

George kept coming, one dragging step at a time, and Jared was careful to keep a headstone between them. One of the other zombies called out and George answered. They were getting closer. Of course he could run. Outnumbered and vulnerable, the Night Watch manual demanded it. But Linerman never ran in any of the stories, and Jared wouldn’t either.

He looked around, seeking a weapon, inspiration or both. Two rows back was a chest-tall monolith of a headstone. He hurried over and waited behind it, keeping it between the zombie and himself.

George’s meaty corpse followed, intent on its first undead meal. With the headstone between them, Jared grabbed the handle of the machete and pulled, pushing with his feet against the towering marker. The hulking ghoul slumped forward against the cold marble and the blade came free with a wet sucking sound. Bloody, rotting hands groped at Jared’s arms, leaving trails of gore. The zombie’s mouth opened wide to receive living flesh.

Jared stumbled back, twisting his left ankle on a patch of uneven ground. Pain raced up his leg. He yelled, more from frustration than pain. The two zombies coming closer groaned again. "Shut up," he yelled. "I wasn’t talking to you."

George straightened slowly and groaned urgently. The other two groaned insistently. Jared rose just as slowly, trying not to put too much weight on his ankle. George’s animated corpse stumbled forward, hands out and mouth open, and Jared slashed in a downward arc, screaming as he did so. The machete cut deeply into George’s skull. The body dropped and Jared yanked the blade free again. Black blood and gray matter poured through the hole.

He stood panting heavily and watched the other two zombies stumbling toward him. His ankle throbbed and he was shaking from the adrenaline. The first zombie came within reach and his hand tightened on the machete’s handle.

Cassie owes me big time, he thought as aimed carefully and beheaded the first zombie and then the second. And if she’s so keen on spending time with Mr. Insurance Agent, then she can just bring him along. Wiping his blade on the grass, he suddenly stopped and grinned. He’ll be good for some added insurance.