And I will love it, and squeeze it, and call it My Debut Novel

Those of you who know me (basically pretty much anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis) may know that I am, for the second time in my life, participating in the annual 30-days-of-madness that is the NaNoWriMo experience.

I got involved for the first time back in 2006, when I was working full time and contemplating a future career as a librarian (which I am still contemplating, by the way--I'm just contemplating with an MLS in-hand nowadays).

I took on the challenge of writing 50,000 words in 30 days (it works out to an entirely doable 1,667 words per day, which is roughly 6 pages (give or take, depending on how much dialogue you put in versus dense descriptive passages) of double-spaced text in a word processing document.

Not bad, and as I mentioned, totally doable. However, I avoided getting involved in 2007, and the November of 2008 was possibly the most intense semester I had while getting my Master's degree. So you'll understand why I didn't feel that any textual creation that was not directly linked to how to create a storytelling kit out of felt and rhymes about monkeys was going to be beneficial to me.

And I got all 'A's that semester, as I recall. So the novel-that-might-have-been was sacrificed on the alter of the GPA gods.

But.

This year I am free from (almost) all constraints. I have no job. (Which is still making me tremble with terror every time I remember that loan repayment is steadily marching toward me, but I manage to avoid the remembrance as much as possible.) Well, I have no job aside from some writing work I'm doing for my bro-in-law (thanks, nameless B-in-L!). But it's not such intense work that I can't take the time (particularly during my peak writing hours from about midnight to 2 or 3am) to pound out a few pages of novel every day.

So I'm doing it again. That's what I'm saying. (In an admittedly (and typical) roundabout and pointless fashion.)

And I'm rather wholly excited at this point. The first day, I wasn't sure I would even start the thing, although I had an idea that I had worked out a few weeks in advance.

The second day, I despised what I had written (aside from the first two pages--those were pretty good) the way an advanced alien culture despises war-torn Earthlings in science fiction plots.

The third day, and the fourth, and fifth and now sixth, I have found that what I'm writing has some good bits. Some honest-to-goodness fine bits of prose, mishmashed together of course with a bunch of really crappy prose. But there are, nonetheless, pieces to be proud of. And the writing of the thing gets easier every time I sit down.

I even find myself thinking about the plot on the toilet. Surely that is the sign of a dedicated novelist!

So last night, I discovered that the fine folks at CreateSpace have donated their resources to the foolhardy souls who undertake the NaNoWriMo challenge. They have offered to, for free, print up a proof copy of the finished book of all NaNoWriMo winners (who sign up for an account, of course, and put together a pdf file of the finished (or pseudo-finished?) novel).

Which just. Blew my mind a little.

So, I can not only write a fabulous, earth-shatteringly, (cliche-ridden) amazing first novel, but I can also get a copy of it. Printed. To hold. In my hands. And lend to relatives who will read the first chapter and kindly suggest that I look harder for a librarian job. And try to sell to others on Amazon.com.

I know it's self-publishing. I know it would not really make me a for-real published author. But, oh, my dear soul. There is something so appealing about the thought of holding my own book in my hands.

So much so, that I think I'll finish this year's NaNoWriMo too. 40,000 words to go, baby.

Multihairticulture

I had a dream last night that I had multicolored hair. And I'm not just talking about the kind that's peroxide-blond at the tips and mahogany and/or steel gray at the roots.

No. I'm talking about the kind that's Bubblicious pink on the left, lemon yogurt yellow in the middle, and ICEE blue raspberry on the right.

And you know what? I looked fabulous with bright blue hair. Seriously. I thought to myself in my dream (in italics, as thoughts go), I should get my hair colored blue all over. That would look awfully nice.

So, I'm pretty sure I'll do that. I wonder if it would finally make my primary kids think I'm cool.

Okay. These are just cool.

Humans love novelty. And having a good time. Even if it means performing tasks we normally consider onerous.

Observe:

The Bottle Bank Arcade Machine:


The Piano Staircase:


And The World's Deepest Bin:


Thanks to Auntie for the original link!

And thanks to the volks at Volkswagen for the awesome creativity.

Eureka!

I've had a breakthrough.

A brainy, genius, overwhelmingly intelligent bit of an idea that will, I am sure, solve all of my problems.

Or. Well, not.

But it's not a bad idea. And I'm pretty darn sure it'll work for me.

It all started with last night, when I had an in-depth conversation with my lovely sis, in which she encouraged me to tackle the things about my life that are bothering me (like, say, sleeping in until an hour or so before late-night TV starts). She's a good older sis, folks.

Anyway--the problem was that I tend to be resistant to talks like that. Or suggestions like that. As in: picture a mule the size of a dumpster truck, who is leaning against its lead rope and also sitting in mud up to its haunches. That is me.

So I had to figure out a way to trick my mule-self into actually doing something productive. And I came up with this visualization that just CLICKED, man.

Here it is (to-do list items have been altered to protect the not-so-innocent, i.e. me):


Okay. Awesome, right?!? (Er, you should be able to click the image to get a bigger version so you can read what I wrote & stuff.)

So, this is my Shelf o' Priorities, or stuff I feel I want to improve or accomplish. It can be as specific as a task I want to do (such as getting a dog) or a general self-improvement goal, such as smiling at more babies. The size roughly translates to how important I think something is. Items on the lower shelf are ones I feel prepared to deal with/tackle right now (thus they are more accessible). The items on the upper shelf are things I know I want to improve or do, but don't feel quite ready to deal with yet. The cloudy thing is an overarching goal that I want to work on continually while doing everything else.

This visualization seems like an especially good tool for me, simply because I tend to feel overwhelmed awfully quickly when I start an internal list of all the things I want to change about myself. I get so overwhelmed, in fact, that I pretty much can't do anything except lie on my bed with a cold compress and think of better days. Or possibly play video games.

But this way, I can keep track of things I want to do or change without feeling like I have to do everything right now. For instance, I know I'll want to stop playing with stuffed animals sometime in the future, but right now I'm going to let it stay on the shelf. It's still there so I won't forget about it, but I don't have to take it down until I'm fully ready.

Also, I'm only allowed to take maybe two or three things off the shelf at a time, tops.

Once I've got some of the bottom items under control, I'll move stuff from the top shelf onto the lower shelf, making room for other goals on top, or ideas for future improvement.

Anyway. This was kind of a breakthrough for me, so I wanted to share. In case it might help any of you.

Oooh! Maybe I should put up a square that says, "Become Motivational Speaker." Yeah. I'm pretty sure that's a goal I could live with.

Leaking

I seem to be having trouble with water lately.

I spill it, inhale it, and otherwise do things with it that were not ever meant to be done by a human being. Ever.

Like that time when, using the convenient in-door dispenser on our refrigerator, I held my cup in long enough to do a scale model recreation of Yosemite Falls, soaking my hand, my shirt, and temporarily resurrecting Lake Bonneville.

Or when I attempted to swallow a bit of that saliva that accumulates in the mouth (come on now--let's not pretend that gross things don't exist, or that you don't do them) and decided to inhale rather than wisely blocking the passage to my windpipe (kind of like when you breathe in right before biting into a donut covered in powdered sugar and wind up curled up on the floor having spasms for half an hour) thus possibly resulting in the cough I've had for the past two weeks.

Or just now, when, bringing my cup (a different cup, for we have many) to my lips, instead of pouring fresh quaffs of delightfully chill'd water into my parch'd throat, I instead poured said delightfully freezing water down my front, resulting in a sodden mess, from which I was somehow able to squeeze more liquid than had actually been contained in my cup at the time of spillage. (The laws of physics do not apply in situations like these.)

I know I am not the world's most graceful person. I do not do graceful things like ballet dancing (although my niece somehow seems to have The Gift for it), or moving through a room like a whisper from a butterfly, or balancing stacks of books on my head (instead I read them, people). But I still cannot quite believe how clumsy I seem to be.

And how very, VERY dangerous water has become.

My lack of a job is starting to interfere with my night life.

Some of you may be shocked when you read this entry, namely because I did not indulge in Pirate Speak during the writing of it. Or at least not much. Arr.

But try to rein in your discontent for a moment. I wish to write of a matter of vital importance.

I am sleeping really weird(ly?) lately.

Not that my dreams are odd, or rather are no more odd than usual, but my sleeping schedule seems to be slipping further and further away from the norm (as defined by what normal people do during normal hours of the day, as opposed to what imaginary people like me do).

For instance, take yesterday. I woke up at 11am. As in eleven o'clock in the morning. I ate breakfast while my parents had lunch. And then I played video games. (So much for job hunting.) And then I went to bed at 4am this morning. And woke up about five minutes before noon today.

For a while after a moved home, I was still on Eastern Time. On early-rising ET, even. When I lived just outside of Boston, I would frequently get up at 6am so I could get ready and out the door and on the (unpredictable) T and arrive at work on time and have the library all nice and open when patrons started showing up.

So, just to point this out to you, I would frequently get up at the exact same time that I went to bed this morning. So, basically the slippage has now shifted me ahead the amount of one entire sleep schedule.

Not cool, me peeps. Not cool. Especially because when I start sleeping this late, my dreams get really lucid and. Disturbing. Like ex-boyfriends visiting a woman in a prison and killing her with fishing tackle and leaving her for her little boy to find. Oh, and same dream: day-old soft-serve ice cream cones that have somehow retained their shape, but are room-temperature and stale.

So, no more domestic (in-prison?) violence in my dreams, please. No more stale ice cream cones. I needs to get me a job. Pronto.

Nothin' to see...

It's nearly 2 o'clock in the morning. And I'm sitting here at my desk ("my" being a metaphorical term standing in for the phrase "my parents'") catching up on my Google Reader feed and ruminating on the latest episode of Lost I've gotten to (post-popularity-ly).

And peeps, I'm staring down the barrel of a gun that has a terrible message written on it. "You're, well, you're kind of dull," it says, etched in its metal sides. Which is a kind of difficult thing to read, since I'm staring down the barrel and all, and the sides are at an oblique angle to my field of vision.

Also, that is a really awful metaphor.

I wish there were things I could write about. But right now, my life consists mainly of filling in the same information into numerous application forms for jobs I will never receive replies from, watching Lost online, catching up on all the years of video gaming I never got as a child, and (when life demands it) doing laundry.

I think the blogging spirit consists of two main parts. First, one needs a topic. Second, one must have a desire to share said topic. And I haven't had much of either lately.

But, ne'er fear. I'm sure something will come along sometime (in its vague sort of way) and I'll be somewhat more inclined to spout somesuch stuffs.

In the meantime, I'll try to think of stuff to share.

Like crazy dreams of flying around a crowded shopping mall. Or my adventures in cookie-making. Or my belief that my mother and I may be recovering from swine flu.

See? Even the dull (and yikes--really whiny) occasionally have things to talk about. Sort of.