Or is that "Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, It's off to write we go..."
It's November which means that it's NOT the month of Turkeys or of Veterans or even those pesky election thingies. Certainly not the month of three birthdays for my family.
No, November here in the Wombativerse means one thing:
NANO.
Or NaNoWriMo.
Or National Novel Writing Month.
And I don't get it.
I know. That'll surprise a bunch of you since I'm putting out two books a year and working on others in between because I write pretty quickly. But this whole pressure-driven, take-over-your-life kind of writing? *shakes head.
I'm not a big one for Write or Die either. *ducks as Jamie flings a bonesaw and the koala looks aghast.
But dot dot dot
I do find you all incredibly amazing to even attempt this, let alone win at it. I mean, I'm writing full time now (until the day job hires me back!), so I know what it's like to do that kind of bulk writing. I have to work other things around my family, real life, household chores, etc., and know that when I'm under deadline everything falls by the wayside. That's for a week. Two at the most. But a whole month? Wow.
I'm too competitive - I'd HAVE to win at the damn thing, and that would just make our lives a living hell. However, I'm loving that you all are doing it because your manic pace comes through in your comments here on the thread and the speed with which we go through them. Y'all are giving me quite the good chuckles these days. Kind of like the silly humor on Mork and Mindy (you knew I'd somehow tie them into this, right?)
So carry on my Wombat Friends (cue the music), they'll be piece (s of chocolate and lime wedges) when you are done. (You'll) lay your weary fingers down and type no more.
(I have no idea why I just channeled that song - maybe your wombattiness is rubbing off on this non-NaNo-er.)
Vive les Wombats!
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Comments: 311
YOu at home?
I have friends of Roland's in California sending stuff to my house. I need to see which florist handles FTD deliveries and set up a place on the patio so they can leave the flora there. I'm thinking one of the florist in Houston, 14 miles away, does FTD. I don't think the floral shop in Licking does.
Sia, you totally deserve and need some "you" time. Still sending hugs and prayers in your direction.
Rather than writing, I've been wrangling stuff to decorate my space (I don't function well in beige spaces). The desk I ordered-the one that was two inches two small--they gave me a discount on it if I'd keep it and not ship it back. It was a good enough discount that I agreed--it will be transported north and put in my loft, so I can finally stop working on the kitchen table.
In the meantime, I found another desk at World Market yesterday, 60" x 28", bigger than I planned, but wonderful. It's black, which will go nicely with the red walls (if I ever get more than the paint sample on the wall--right now it looks sort of like a crime scene, with random red splotches). Then I had to have a valance for the window (black and white and red floral--very nice). I should have an actual bookcase by day's end.
OK, back to the Nano. I'm in the middle of the black moment. Yeah, that wanted written FIRST. Sigh. No clue what happens in the FIRST 300 pages. I think southern living has fried my brains, although it's FINALLY cooled off today. It's a perfect 77, only 48% humidity, and with 20-30 MPH winds, we have a lovely breeze.
Yes. I'm winning. For probably the next five minutes anyway... Still, we have to savor our victories where we get them.
So, if you'd like to help keep the savoring going, please go to Barbara Vey's blog post and pick your 3 favorite books of 2009. Erica & Reel would appreciate your votes. And they promise NOT to sic Vinny on you if you don't vote for them. :)
Nano gives me a clenched stomach. Add the family being here and I'm defeated before I start. "Grandma, I want to play."
"Where's your dad?"
"I want to play with you." Huge, round brown eyes stare into my face.
"I'm working."
"But Grandma..."
Defeat is eminent.
Sia, you have a nice time at the manicurist. Some you time is most certainly in order.
It sounds as if I may get some alone time today too. WhoYah!
DD just called downstairs for clean clothes for the baby. Apparently he wet himself, his blanket and his mother. hehe She wasn't amused. Poor dear. When I laughed she got mad, to which I said, "Hey, he peed on me too!" LOL
Need bigger advances, please. M'kay, thanks.
ANOTHER shooter!
I expect to see a few more copycat incidents before it's over. Just sad.
Babies are cute, but work. It's a good thing they're as cute as they are.
Seems to me I read that violent crimes are down in the US in the past ten years. Might be wrong.
But it seems pretty clear to me that we have more violent crime in the States than in other countries of comparable wealth. My two cents worth of cheap psychologizing is that our tradition of "You can succeed if you work hard enough," "Anyone can get rich," and a piece of that which has mutated into a sort of sense of entitlement, that you should get to have what you want just because you want it -- this sometimes smacks into the reality that life isn't fair, that you can work really hard and not succeed, and, er, that you can't always get what you want...and sometimes the results are ugly.
Plus you have subcultures where violence is an accepted/expected way to deal with insult. There's that whole theory about the "Cavalier" culture in the South -- honor, a martial tradition, and the relationship to greater violent crime. In my neighborhood, we just had a homicide not more than three blocks from me -- gang related, or so they say. 3:30 in the afternoon. Broad daylight. Guy goes and shoots another guy dead.
The Biggest Loser (which I think is nearly best show on television) was so good too. Riding my bike up Cheyenne Mountain today was so much more enjoyable thanks to the inspiration garnered from the BL contestants that hit those mile stones each week.
I wandered along after you took off, so, Hiya! I've heard rumors about you, but until recently you were just a unicorn. Nice to meet you.
It's like a ghost town. I was just reading some of the comments from my Wombat post way back when and sooo many comments are removed from lost Wombats that it's hard to even tell what was going on. It's wild.
Very jealous of your mountain bike ride, Ty. I took a very flat walk today, as per usual. I actually purposely set up my route so I can walk the hill on my side of town. It has a grade of about 0.2%, I think.
Being publically schizophrenic feels weird.....
One truth stood out forever.
Without love, there is nothing.
- Adina Pelle, Ghost Words and other Echoes...
Fine, go ahead, you win.
I Nanoed (is that a word?) this afternoon and plan on re-Nanoing again tonight, which is equivalent to a Nano-Nano. (Isn't it?)
Hate these shootings.
Or maybe "Neener, neener, nano?"
Have I mentioned that I hate moving?
This time I actually might have left it somewhere, though. That would be a step up.
Pat, just start writing. Write, "The bear went over the mountain" over and over if you have to. But write SOMETHING. Trust me on this.
Guess it's the Tide that does them in. ;)
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play makes JACK a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Jack a DULL boy.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull BOY.
Dull Boy - Mudvayne
And yeah, I now have this song stuck in my head. Especially the lyrics "Feel like a clown without my funny nose."
MUDVAYNE!!! Rock on!
Let's see if I can find any of mine that's fit enough for sharing. Yeah, yeah, I know Nano's supposed to be about speed not polish, but pride, ya know.
O where, o where has my little phone gone? O where, o where can it be?
oh yeah, I don't have your number. details, details.
Upstairs neighbor? Practicing the Appassionata at the same time -- hesitantly over some parts, too fast over the parts she knew.
Now doing the jumping thing two hours early. Must have a date.
Hubs, bless his heart, said, "Of course the paranormal author would figure that out right away." :)
Not as good as the Scarlet Pimpernel with Leslie Howard, but pretty good.
Just think, next year there will be a whole bunch more Wombat entries!
Without further ado, I bring you the someday-to-be bestseller, Abbott and Costelnik
Lola dusted her nacho crumbs off the bobbleheads. The stadium crowd roared and she rushed from the concession area to see the action on the field.
A crowd had gathered at the entrance of the stands and the man in front of her blocked her view. She stood on tiptoes to see over him, but only caught a glimpse of the field. Lola’s five foot one inch height wasn’t accommodating in crowds as it was, and this man had a good foot on her.
She tapped his substantial shoulder. “Who’s on first?”
“Molina,” he said without turning to her.
“Who’s at bat?”
“Casper Bailey.” He shifted slightly to the right and gave Lola a better view.
“Come on, come on!” Lola cheered. If anyone could be counted on to give the Yankees the lead, it was the team’s star rookie.
The crack of a bat brought the crowd to their feet.
The ball was going. Going. Gone.
“Yeah!” Lola shouted.
The man turned. “Wow!”
Lola’s mouth watered and she whispered, “Wow.” His green eyes sparkled in celebration. Thick, sandy-colored hair curled against his neck. The angles of his face were so fine she wished she had her camera to capture their perfection.
“Go Yanks!” His high-five caught her by surprise. The box of nachos in her hand hit his chest and cheese splotched onto his T-shirt.
“Oh, my god,” she said as she tried to wipe off the glob. “I’m sorry.” Instead of removing the cheese, she’d only succeeded in spreading it to his sleeve.
He gave her a crooked smile. A smile that said sexy in thirty-seven languages. “It’s okay.”
Mesmerized by the glimpse of dimples in his cheeks, Lola absentmindedly sucked the cheese goop off her fingers. As her face heated with awareness, his smile grew and the dimples proved their extraordinary depth.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Follow me out to the concourse and I’ll give you a new T-shirt.”
“Pardon me?”
“Over here.” She led him to her vendor table. “We’re selling them.”
“We?” he asked as they approached the abandoned station.
“Well, looks like I’m the only one selling them at the moment.” Lola looked right and left. Sandy had flitted off again. It was a wonder no one ran off with half the merchandise. “This one’s on me, though, of course.” Lola fingered through a folded stack of Yankee shirts and her gaze drifted down his body to judge his size. The man was phenomenal. Everywhere. Flustered, she pushed her dark hair behind her ears. “I’d guess you’re a large.”
“Yes,” he said. “But I don’t want you to get in trouble for giving me a shirt.”
“Oh, it won’t. It’s my family’s business.” She pointed to the Costelnik and Company sign. “I’m Lola.”
He smiled and pointed to himself. “Abbott, and I appreciate the shirt. Normally, I wouldn’t care about what I was wearing, but today’s a special occasion.”
“What kind of special occasion?” She handed him the shirt just as Sandy slithered back to the table.
“Watch the scoreboard during the seventh-inning stretch. You’ll see.”
“Okay, I—“
“Hi.” Sandy interrupted and gave Abbott a flirtatious smile. “Bet you’ll look good in that shirt, but I bet you’d look even better without a shirt at all.”
Lola’s couldn’t believe Sandy could be so blatant, but when humor danced in Abbott’s eyes, Lola wished she would have thought to say it.
“You’ll let me know, I’m sure.” Abbott smiled. Though Sandy had made the provocative comment, Abbott winked at Lola before he stripped off the old shirt.
“Meeeow,” Sandy said in appreciation.
Lola wanted to scream, I saw him first! Instead, she said nothing as Abbott pulled the new shirt over his head.
“How’s it look?” he asked.
As if Sandy was seriously contemplating his question, she made a show of tilting her head back and forth in a cutesy fashion.
Bobblehead. Lola gritted her teeth.
“You looked much better without it.” Sandy fluffed her blonde hair with her fingertips.
Too much hair dye had to have penetrated her brain.
Lola finally found her voice. “It looks nice. The darker color blue suits you.”
Oh, lord. The darker color blue suits you. Had she really said that? It sounded like something a grandmother would say. First thing in the morning, Lola was going blonde. Ever since Sandy had gone blonde, she’d no doubt had more fun.
“Thanks, ladies,” Abbott said.
“Anytime. And anything.” Sandy’s voice purred with suggestiveness.
“Nice meeting you,” he said and walked away.
He was hardly out of hearing range when Sandy tugged on Lola’s arm. “Do you realize who that was?”
“No. Who?” Lola asked.
“Abbott Harp. As in Richard Harp’s younger brother.”
“No!” Lola said. Richard Harp was Casper Bailey’s agent. Lola had been trying for months to talk to him about approaching Bailey for an endorsement. He’d be perfect as the face and voice behind the video game her friend George had developed. George’s game was nothing short of genius, but without the backing of a big-named star, Lola’s uncle Stewart—CEO of the company—refused to put the game on the market . Lola had left seventeen messages for Richard Harp, and he’d yet to return her calls. Richard kept tight reigns on his rookie sensation. And Lola wanted to be the one to break those reigns to show Uncle Stewart she could do more than sell bobbleheads.
“What’d he mean about you watching the seventh-inning stretch?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t know. Said it was a special occasion.”
“It’s now.”
“Oh, it is?” Lola pouted as a throng of customers approached their table.
“Go ahead,” Sandy said. “I’ll take care of them.”
Lola might have been touched by Sandy’s generosity if she hadn’t have seen the group was comprised of good-looking men.
Lola made her way to the stands and searched left and right, not sure what she was supposed to be looking for. Finally, her gaze landed on the scoreboard. Oh, no! Abbott—larger than life on the jumbotron—was down on one knee in front of a blonde woman with the body of a supermodel and the face of an angel. Another blonde; one he was proposing to on the scoreboard at Yankee Stadium. That was his special occasion.
The crowd cheered as he held out the diamond ring. His lips were easy to read. “Will you marry me?”
The woman stood from her seat, and so Lola wouldn’t have to watch her throw her arms around his neck, she squeezed her eyes shut. It would be bad enough to hear the crowd clapping when the woman accepted.
Lola waited, but instead of cheers, she heard moans and a scattering of boos. And then laughter.
“What a loser,” a man in the stands said. “Big-shot proposal and she says ‘no.’ He hooted with laughter. “Tell me he doesn’t look like a jackass.”
Lola opened her eyes and looked at the jumbotron. The screen still held Abbott’s image. His proposee was nowhere to be seen. He tossed the ring from hand to hand. His expression was more neutral than Lola could have imagined for a man humiliated in front of a crowd of forty-five thousand.
Lola winced when she saw the price tag atttached to his shirt dangling down his arm. She hadn’t thought to remove it.
The darker blue really did suit him, though.
So what happens????!!!!
Meanwhile, the woman who turned down his proposal is murdered after the game, during the time he was with Sandy. Now Abbott thinks Lola--who he really pissed off--is his alibi, too.
Hilarity and trouble ensues. Or one hopes anyway.
Today was a total wash. I did nothing of value and then took a nap. Contented grin. Sloth gets a bad rap.
You are most certainly welcome Jamie. You are much better off waiting the 15 or so years to be a grandma than to have one of your own. Psst, they get big and mouthy. The body fluids don't bother me too much, which is why I thought her reaction to being wet on was so funny.
Pat, I'm working on stuff. Not my stuff at the moment, all the same it's writing related.
There was an email from my SiL, who's doing chemotherapy. She's in the hospital with the flu. When my stoopid cell phone charges I have to call her. She's been doing so well and only has one treatment left. Crap!
Ty, a true wombat shines through every time. I showed up just as you slipped out and let me say, they missed you. Now where has Ann been hiding?
I told DD she could go to her guy's show tonight and we'd watch the kids. The girl needs some time unattached to one or the other child. We've got milk banked in the freezer and a bottle he'll take from me. Wish me luck, I'm going in without a safety harness.
Jamie, I truly do not understand where you find all those words! If words were leaves, I could just go rake some up. Speaking of which, I posted an article here on gather, but you don' t have to go read it. I just needed to post something in this comment box.
Raking the Leaves of My Mind
"It is the tragedy of the world that no onew knows what he doesn't know--and the less a man knows, the more sure he is that he knows everything." Joyce Cary
I guess the last person left alive won't have to remember to turn off the lights.
Feeling guilty about the catnap she’d had during the work day, Lola continued working long after George and the other staff left for the day. The one disadvantage about living upstairs was Lola had trouble judging the appropriate time for her work day to end. She hoped her fortitude was noticed by Uncle Stewart.
Startled to hear the sharp ring of the switchboard phone at this time of night, Lola jumped to answer it and nearly lost her footing in her three inch heels. Lola hadn’t many vices, but shoes were a habit she never even tried to give up.
“Costlenik and Company,” she answered, inspecting the stilettos for scuff marks.
“Lola. Can you believe it? We had a murderer in our midst!”
“What are you talking about, George?”
“You haven’t seen the news? The woman Abbott Harp proposed to last night was found murdered.”
“Murdered? Oh my god!”
“I know,” George said. “I get chills each time I think of him standing next to me as calm as could be.”
“Well, do they know for sure it was him?”
“They didn’t say yet, but, come on, who had a bigger motive than him?”
“No one, I guess.” A chill raced up Lola’s arm.
“What is it he wanted to talk to you about anyway?” George asked.
“He didn’t. Really he was looking for Sandy.” And a ring. Lola grinded her teeth remembering his cold accusations.
“Sandy? For what?”
“I…um—I’m not sure.” Lola wasn’t about to explain it all to George.
“Well, you stay away from him,” George said.
“Oh, that’s something you don’t have to worry about.” She had no intention of giving Abbott Harp a second thought.
“Okay,” George said. “Jenna just rang the dinner bell, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lola heard the ring. “Literally? She really has a dinner bell?”
“No. Figure of speech, “ he said and hung up.
Lola looked around her, still hearing the slight ding of a bell. It was the little gold bell above the door that rang when a customer entered. She turned to the door, saw a shadowy figure and let out a scream.
She tried to run, but was grabbed from behind. She screamed again and he smashed his hand over her mouth.
“Don’t scream, please.”
Lola’s heart beat frantically. Heated breaths touched the top of her head.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” His grip around her waist loosened.
She turned and kicked the intruder in the shin.
He clutched his leg and roared in pain.
Breathing hard, Lola balled her hand into a fist and aimed for his face. Her fist stopped mid air. “Abbott!”
“Yes. ” He said and rubbed his shin. His face contorted with pain. “What’d you do that for?”
“Because I thought you were… “ The words stuck in her throat...a murderer.
“But I said I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“Why would you just walk in on someone like that?” Lola looked at him with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“I can explain,” he said and clutched the side of the file cabinet.
His eyes--such a warm green color the first time she’d seen him—now looked weary and dim. His face looked chalky, too. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. But mind if I sit down?”
”No, I guess not.“ His eyes rolled back. “Abbott?”
“I don’t feel so g…” He hit the floor with a thump.
“Oh my god.” Lola knelt beside him. He was passed out cold. “Abbott. Abbott, wake up.”
He came to with a jerk and clutched the side of his face. “Why’d you punch me?”
“I didn’t punch you!” Lola got to her feet. “You passed out. Your face hit the side of the filing cabinet on the way down.”
“Passed out?” He sat up. “Haven’t done that since junior prom.”
“Why’d you pass out then?”
“Too much liquor. Not enough sleep.” He grimaced. “Same as now.”
A knot swelled beneath his jaw. Lola held out her hand to him. “Let’s go upstairs and get you an icepack.”
He gripped her hand and rose to his feet. She was relieved his hand felt solid and warm in hers.
She led him upstairs and into her kitchen.
She went to her bathroom for the icepack, and when she returned he was sitting in the chair, staring vacantly ahead. He really wasn’t well.
“When was the last time you ate? ” she asked.
“I had a burger. No, wait. I never did eat it.” He jumped from the chair. “Did I turn the burner off? I can’t remember if I turned it off. I remember the burger smoking. Then, I…I don’t remember what I did. What more could go wrong today?” He paced, the ice bag that was supposed to be on his jaw pressed against his forehead. “What if the place is burning down right now? I’ll be out of a home. Oh, no! It’s a duplex. Charlie will be out of a home, too. Maybe I turned it off, though. Maybe I even ate the burger. Smell my breath.” He paced to her side and blew a puff of air into her face. “Does it smell like burger?”
Lola stared at him in stunned fascination. He was clearly deranged and close to
hyperventilating.
His pace quickened. “Do you think I should call the fire department and tell them my place might be on fire? I--”
“What I think is you should sit down and calm down.” Lola never witnessed someone go off the deep end before; thought it only happened in movies, not real life.
He looked at her with pleading eyes. “Should I?”
“Yes!”
His voice faded into a shocky whisper. “Okay.”
She looked up into his lost eyes and compassion flooded her heart. She grabbed him by
the arm and guided him to the chair. He remained upright and she reached up and pressed on his shoulders. “Sit and be quiet.” She couldn’t think straight from all his frantic motion. She pulled his hand holding the ice bag back to his jaw.
Drained from the frantic show of energy, he slumped into the chair. And did as he was told. He stayed quiet while Lola made them soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.
She put the plate in front of him and opened the refrigerator. “Milk?”
“Yes. Please.”
They stayed quiet while they ate, and when she saw a bit of color return to his face, she finally asked, “Abbott, what are you doing here?”
“I need you, Lola,” he said. “I need you more than anyone I’ve ever needed in