Day Two Progress Report

Well, my earlier powers of prognostication were wrong and I was able (barely) to generate the absolute bare minimum of writing required to make par for day two. It exhausted me and, after doing so, I required a long and fitful rest filled with more visitations (maybe I should see a doctor about that) and strong urge to tell the world to sincerely fuck off and slumber for the rest of my remaining days.

Alas! I was called once again to play master chef and, with tears in my eyes, I dragged myself out of a not-quite-dead-yet state to wrangle up some grub for the resident monsters.

While I am proud of my commitment to the cause to write a truncated day’s worth of writing (about half of what is required and a third of what I wrote yesterday), I am loath to note that my creativity has left like a wet fart out of my brain cavity and left me with just cantankerous dwellings on life in general.

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It’s the thought that counts

Eesh. What a day… No, no more words added to the murdered word pile after my last post. I was too busy contemplating next steps.

I sat down and put my fingers to the keyboard to add another 2000 words to the dead word pile and realized that I wasn’t quite sure how I wanted to proceed. The problem? Action scene.

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Poor Planning; The Son of NaNo

There’s nothing like deciding you need to have an actual plan for an upcoming novel the night before you commence writing said novel. You know, something more than a few bullet points and something that at least whiffs of a plot outline.

Have I mentioned that I am no good at being a planner? That, at the very best, I am a planster (half-assed plot, write by the seat of your pants)? I think I mentioned I was more a gardener than an architect. So it goes.

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NaNoWriMo countdown

By the time this post goes live, there will be less than twelve hours by my time zone before NaNoWriMo begins.

I’ll be honest. I’ll either blow 50k words out of the water and peg something significantly higher as I try to avoid news of all the frustrating things going on in my own neck of the woods between coronavirus denialism, shenanigans by politicians and their lawyers in an attempt to pervert the outcome of an election and disenfranchise millions, the election itself, the rise of the white supremists from their foul moldering places, trying to keep my family safe from sickness when the numbers are skyrocketing for coronavirus cases, etc.

Or, all of these distractions will prove to be too much and I’ll barely eek out 20k words.

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Plethora of Prose Peevishness

When I write, I do it Hemingway style. Sans alcohol, perhaps, but I still try to write as if I am drunk, then go back later and edit if it seems worth doing so. Actually, Hemingway never said to “Write drunk, edit sober”, though the internet loves to attribute that advice to him.

But let’s not get off on a tangent of chasing particulars.

I do think there is some hidden wisdom in the phrase, however, but you you have parse it out a bit to find the grains of truth.

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