And standing in for your local moderator …

We went to the Tattered Cover Write-In today.  After yesterday’s barely token addition, I kicked out 3,000 words, huzzah!

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I told her. “People will talk.”

She had a large purse tucked under her arm, which she pulled out and opened. “I don’t plan on being here long. Here is the file you requested.” It was all wrapped up in a large envelope.

“Thanks. Um, my mother taught me it’s impolite to address a lady by her last name, and I can’t quite call you by your, ah, title. Not here. Loose lips sink ships, right? Plus there’s that nasty contractual clause you imposed on me.”

She paused a moment, before finally saying, “Adele.”

“Adele. A name to conjure by.”

“Oh, please.”

“Beats ‘Hey You,’ doesn’t it?”

Also, our local moderator was at the 24-Hour Write-In, wherever that was being done.  Since that was a bit beyond the pale for myself, I took on the role of stand-in, bringing candy and some toys to hand out (bouncing eyeballs, for folks who needed another point of view to shake up their story).  Fun.

Another day, another couple thousand words

Actually, only 1742 words today, but I finished up a chapter.  Woo-hoo!

I wondered what his spirit thought now.

That depended, of course, on what he had been, what his role in the Court was. If he was a mortal servant, his ghost walked the tiled halls of one of the heavens, or perhaps one of the hells. If he was one of the spirit creatures of that realm, though, he would, at most, be scattered, helpless for some time, until the purpose of his being was so missed that he coalesced about it.

Sometimes, or so I learned, that never happened. The world moved on, the Celestial Court with it. One might be recalled by one’s intimates, but even that memory would fade, as would the records that such a spirit had ever existed.

Only the dragons remembered.

I liked that bit.

I still have a very nebulous sense of what the Celestial Court is like.  In a way that helps, because Chrys’ understanding of it is incomplete as well.  And each time I circle around to it, I learn a little bit more.

Meanwhile, tomorrow is Friday, and I have to work all day, and my night will be filled with Deathly Hallows … so no idea when or how much I’ll be able to add.

Yes, it’s already the 18th, and I’m still all “wait, I’m done writing today … and I have to write more tomorrow?!”

On being a creature of habit

According to this calendar, all my tasks are done by late 2012 ..

My ability and willpower to get my NaNoWriMo writing done seems to vary a lot during the week.  In fact, it’s particularly strong on …

Saturday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday

… and pretty piss-poor on …

Sunday, Monday, Friday

There’s a reason for this.

Tuesday and Thursday we have karate. I bring my netbook to the rec center with Katherine, and while she’s doing the Karate Kid routine, I’m writing.  It’s an available time, regularly recurring, and so I’ve set the hour or so aside for that.  (I usually have to work another hour when I get home, but that’s okay.)

Wednesday is the NaNo Write-In at Panera Bread in Lone Tree.  6 pm we show up, I grab some soup and a baguette and a coffee, and I start to write.  Two hours, in a lounge area, set aside on a regular basis.  No worries.

Saturday is the NaNo Write-In at the Tattered Cover in Highlands Ranch.  3 pm we show up, I grab a coffee, sit on a couch or a wing-back chair with the others, and I start to write.  Two hours, hanging out, set aside on a regular basis.  No worries.

You probably see what I’m driving at.

There's always something else important to do.

I will not universalize this, because I know that in so many things I am an oddball.  But it seems clear to me that one way that I do things, successfully, is by making a habit of setting a time to do them.  I need, and therefore set up, the structure, both in time and space.  At time X I will be in place Y and do some writing.

And when that doesn’t happen — when it’s sort of, “I’m done with work, I have the afternoon, or maybe tonight, to get some writing done” … it is much less likely to happen.  There’s always something to do, something I’d rather do, something I’ve gotta do.

I’m a creature of habit.  I can fight against that, or I can use it.  Which is what I’ve done here, leveraging Tuesday/Thursday karate and the Wednesday/Saturday Write-Ins to set that time aside.

The challenge, of course, is what happens after NaNoWriMo is over — when both the external pressure to hit a word count, the sense of a time-constrained mad dash, and some of that habitual infrastructure all go away.  If I want to keep writing, at some scale …

… what will I do then?

(I do know the answer, or what the answer should be.  The question is, will I do it?)

Breaking 30K (and 3.5K, respectively)

I hit the 30K mark this evening (and beyond). We were at the Lone Tree Panera Write-In again, which makes for a nice dinner-and-a-show-of-writing.

As a general observation (or for my own future benchmarking), I average about 1,000 words an hour. That includes some light in-stream research (I try not to do too much of that, but spending a minute on a Google search that lets me do something write fills me with happiness).

The down side to that is that it means I’m burning about 2 hours a day doing NaNoWriMo. Which impacts Margie more than a bit (if nothing else than in the domestic stuff I’m unable to get done).  She’s been a real trooper about it, very supportive, but I do realize that it’s not just skittles and beer on her part.

I’ve been trying to build a good playlist of music to listen to whilst writing Donne & Donne.  I’ve pulled together some WWII / Big Band music, as well as some Film Noir and “Crime Jazz” bits.  I have some on order, too.  I’m (finally) making use of Margie’s iPod.

I’ve been making notes of things that I need to later go back to and add in, as narrative “color.”  For example, cigarettes.  Roger doesn’t smoke (bit of backstory there), so Chrys doesn’t, but in 1951 that makes them a minority.  Smoking makes for some great “business” to write in.  As Robert Parker put in his Spenser novel, The Judas Goat:

I hadn’t smoked in ten or twelve years, but I wished then I’d had a cigarette that I could have taken a final drag on and flipped still burning into the river as I turned and walked away. Not smoking gains in the area of lung cancer, but it loses badly in the realm of dramatic gestures.

Hmmmm.  Occurs to me I’ve been reading a lot of Nero Wolfe centered around 1951, but I could do worse than to pull in some Spenser, esp. the early novels.

Hats are another thing I need to be sure I remember.  Hell, jacket and ties …

Something I’ve, ironically, had problems remembering to include are some of the Donne magical bits.  Roger doesn’t show anything unusual until mid-chapter 3, and some of the things about San Francisco that I wanted to include as backdrop just haven’t come up.  Something for the first revision pass.

I’m doing pretty well right now.  I was having more problems at 20K than at 30K. I have the next several scenes mapped out at a very high level, which is somewhat comforting. Things flowed tonight pretty well.

The shifting between first person perspectives between chapters is actually going okay.  I’m slowly working into Chrys’ voice (I’m sure that will be something to further massage during the next revision). Margie noted it took a bit to realize the changes, which means it’s not clear enough.  I’ve started “cheating” by noting the character at the chapter change (hey, if Andre Norton could do it, so can I), but it’s a sign that I don’t have distinct enough voices between Roger and Chrys to make it pretty obvious.

“Excuse me,” I said.

She turned to me, her eyes flicking up and down with weary insolence.. “Sorry, lady, not how I swing. Cost you extra.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re so choosy, then?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t say no.” She named a price. I shuddered, wondering how many tricks she had to turn at that, or less, to satisfy her master.

I reached into my purse and handed her a five dollar bill. “I’m actually looking for some information.”

She snagged the bill in two fingers, tucked it down her front. “Time’s time.”

Aside from the reference to “lady,” I’m not sure there’s anything there that makes it clear who the perspective resides with.  Something to work on.

Katherine, meanwhile, busted through the 3500 word mark tonight.  While what she’s writing needs a fair amount of polish, there’s some great stuff there.  It’s “Percy Jackson” fan-fic, but it’s more a matter of being in the same universe and locales than of being the same characters or anything.  I’m really proud of the job she’s been doing.

Slogging through the words

I came up short on word count for NaNoWriMo yesterday, hence the Yellow Square of Shame in the calendar. I mostly made up for it today, though, clocking in almost 2200 words. That puts me at 55%, and fairly happy.

I’ve actually begun to figure out chunks of the mystery involved, which is a relief. I know whodunnit, why, and some interesting paths that may get us there.

“I’m not sure I want you going back to that place.”

She gave me that look she gives me. “I am in less danger than you, beloved. I can handle myself.”

“Doesn’t make me happy about it.”

“I can think of places I would rather be as well. But that’s an occupational hazard in our line of work.”

I chuckled. “Maybe next life we should come back as tropical island inspectors.”

“Deal,” she said, a small smile on her face. “But next time, my name goes on the cards first.”

“Ha!” I gave her a kiss, looked at her. “You be careful.”

“You, too.”

“Back at the office at Noon, we can grab a bite and compare notes.” She nodded. Then she turned and left.

I hated when she did that. Though the view was pretty nice.

Kitten had been slacking a bit this week, too, but knuckled down with Margie while I was at karate, generating some 600 words (out of the 5,000 she has as a goal). She’s about 2/3 of the way there, which is remarkable.

Half-way there

And, at 25,849, that’s 2500 words for the day, and over half-way to the 50K mark. Huzzah!

I took a few deep breaths, then straightened my coat. “– but leave my wife out of it.” I glanced back at Chrys. “Sorry about that, honey.”

She smiled. “Not at all, Roger. Your gallantry is most appreciated.”

See why I love her? Of course, she could have handled the mook with one hand tied behind her back. But she liked it that I was willing to bruise my knuckles on her behalf.

Of course, I could have pulled a gun. But pulling a gun ups the ante. Place like this, a few punches is expected. Shooting someone draws attention, and usually means someone trying to get even.

I opened the door, and motioned Chrys in. She smiled, and walked in, pausing but a moment to give a wicked kick to the bouncer’s face.

Wherein working ahead pays off, word-count-wise

I’ve been a slug the past few days.

Thursday, I was just plain short of word count, enough so to earn a yellow (short of the 1,667). No particular excuses — the exchanges I was writing about just weren’t amenable to blasting through at high speed.

Friday … I was just bushed. Wiped. Fatigued. I took a nap for two hours on the couch in the family room, with everyone else around, and even when I woke up I was just not in a Writing Way.  So my score was a fat red zero.

But because I had been doing 2,000 as my daily target, not 1,667, I actually had some slack.  And, in fact, was all set for my get-to-50K word target today before I ever wrote anything.  Though, instead, I pounded through 2K words again at the Tattered Cover Write-In.

So, I’m back on track and a little ahead … but I’m going to try not to let that get me feeling like I can slack off.  It’s good to know that I’m building a bit of a pad in case shit happens.  Which seems more likely as the month wears on.

And now a little word from Chrys on why she can’t provide infodumps (more than she already does).

“Two things to consider — first, that the rules are not as straightforward, as clear-cut, as you might be seeking. The Celestial Court is an amalgam of all the influences that have come upon it. On one level, it is unchanging, eternal, on the other it is a reflection of all that has changed in China over the millennia. The native spirits of early China, the influence of Daoist thought, and Buddhist after that, and Confucius …”

“Sounds kind of crazy.”

“It is. Yet if you speak with some from the Court, they are not aware of the change, even though they have ‘lived’ through it. All is as it always has been. The trappings may change, other elements may come into focus, but the innermost nature seemingly remains constant, timeless.”

“Does it?”

“That is the second thing to consider. I was in the Court, but not of it. I lived there less than two decades, and only saw portions of it. My perspective is too short to be certain of anything.”

Kitten’s work slacked off a bit in pace with mine, but she got some good writing in today, and is still comfortably ahead of the curve.

Twenty Thousand Words Under the Bridge

I broke the 20K mark today, adding another 2,000-odd words to story. Huzzah!  Dinner, fortune cookies, and verbal fencing with someone you do not want to screw with unless you have to.

I’m not completely happy with what I’ve done with Chrys in this section (well, in the dinner). I plan to do better in succeeding sections.

We went to Panera for the WedNite Write-In, which was fun.  A bit more coming and going of folks than at the Tattered Cover, and no Word Sprints tonight, but we managed to hit our numbers just fine.

Fong was silent for a long moment. Roger had a smile on his face, some small triumph I didn’t understand but could recognize.

Then Fong laughed, a deep rumble that made the china left on the table rattle and chime. “Very good. Very … good. You are clever enough, then. Your mate has … chosen well.”

“Uh …” Roger glanced at me. “That’s what she seems to think, anyway, and I don’t plan on doing anything to make her change her mind.” He cleared his throat. “But you haven’t answered the question.”

“Do not confuse … cleverness with license, small one, or … impudence with wisdom. You ask a questions … whose answer you do not merit.”

Kay is just under 2500 words, which would be her half-way point.  Huzzah!

NaNoWriMo, Day 9

Kitten, well ahead of her game, took the evening off.  I, batting attention deficit due to K’s watching Return of the King (one disc worth), desperately sought to hit my numbers.

I did, largely through flashbacking of Roger and Chrys’ courtship, through Chrys’ eyes. Though there was time for some domestic discussion.

“Anything else I should know?”

“You know how you feel about Uncle Chu?”

“A great guy to have beer with as long as he’s not interested in rending me into many small and well-chewed pieces?”

“Yes. Uncle Chu would feel the same about Inspector Fong. But without the great guy to have beer with part.”

“Swell.”

Margie, meanwhile, was catching up on what I’d written (she’s the only one with access so far).  It’s an odd feeling, writing, knowing that someone is reading immediately behind you.

She seems to be enjoying it.  No accounting for tastes.

Write-Ins, right on

Doyce blogs about NaNoWriMo Write-Ins — and, in particular, the one Kay and I were at last Saturday at the Tattered Cover.

I showed up about an hour after it’d gotten started at the local bookstore (Tattered Cover), snagged a frozen latte, and walked over to the circle of couches and comfy chairs where our particular nerd herd tends to assemble.

Good turn out. Lots of folks, most of whom I didn’t recognize.

No one looked up.

I mean it: no one. Hands on the keyboards, butts in the chairs, eyes on the screen, tappity tap.

Damn, I thought. I found a chair, pulled out the writing machine, and got to it.

I’ve been doing two sets of Write-Ins so far this year — the Saturday afternoon ones at the Tattered Cover, and the Wednesday night ones at the Panera in Lone Tree. (It may be premature of me to say I’ve been “doing” these, of course, since it’s been, what, a whole week? But work with me.)

I did NaNoWriMo back in 2001 and 2002, and never did anything with anyone except my own circle of friends.  Last year, when I got back into the routine, the thought of going someplace and hanging with a bunch of people who were (a) strangers, and (b) probably much more dedicated and experienced writers than me, was just not on my radar.  Introversion + strangers + personal creative activities = I will go hole up in my closet and type now.

But Doyce (I believe it was) convinced me I should check out the Write-In crowd at the Tattered Cover in Highlands Ranch, so about midway through the month I wandered in there, not sure what I was getting into, but figuring, what the hell, the worst they can do is laugh at me and mock me and poke me with sharp sticks and drive me crying out into the parking lot where I’ll get hit by a car and die and then they’ll feel sorry!

Ahem.

Anyway …

It’s kind of a cool thing.

People sit. And write.  And, yes, occasionally chit-chat.  Sometimes about their story. Sometimes about a problem (even as trivial as, “What would be a good name for a _____?”). Sometimes about nothing in particular.  And the local moderator maybe brings snacks. Or tchotchkes.

And people write, and sometimes there’s a “word war” or a “word sprint” or a “how many words can you type in the next 20 minutes let’s find out go!”

To me, one of the nice things about the Write-Ins is that it’s making an appointment to write. I know I will be in place X and writing for 3 hours (or 2, or however long I can make it).  In some ways, it relieves me of much of the NaNoStress of the rest of the day (“Haven’t written yet.  Nope, haven’t written yet. Dagnabbit, shouldn’t be doing that because I haven’t written yet”) since I know there will be that block of time when I write.

The Panera meeting (singular, thus far) was also nice. There was a bit more chit-chat, but everyone who wanted to write was able to get their writing done.  Plus, a nice place to drop by for supper.

At least in the Write-Ins I’ve been in, the group has been warm, welcoming, and supportive.  It’s not necessarily for everyone, but it’s working well for me.