Writing

Writing exercise: Christian and his hair

A bit of spontaneous writing where Christian (circa Road Closed, when he is 20 years old) talks about his hair and puberty (925 words):

Christian talks about his hair, puberty and jetting blood

What would you think if I told you I’m a redhead? Would you think I have a fiery temper? That I’m a passionate lover?

I’m pretty mellow most of the time. The rest of the time I’m usually asleep. As for being a passionate lover, I kiss like a St. Bernard. Yeah, it’s gross. Usually because I’ve been drinking. I’m the St. Bernard in that Bugs Bunny cartoon that helps himself to the keg around his neck.

Regarding other redhead myths, I’m also not a witch, and the question of whether or not I have a soul remains to be determined. I probably won’t be able to answer that one, at least not without scaring the crap out of you when I return from the spirit realm with a really convincing response.

Puberty arrived shortly after I turned 14 and a couple of things happened, as you probably know from that talk your mom and dad avoided having that you later heard on the street. The first was the growth spurt. I went from kid height to slightly taller than my father in what felt like a span of a few weeks. I swear I could actively hear my bones popping and stretching.

And the hair. Oh god, the hair. It was like I caught a hair grenade just as it exploded. Hair on my chest, hair down yonder–so much and so fast that I almost wanted to ask about it, wondering if it was normal. But who do you talk to about something that? A priest at confession, maybe, but my family didn’t go to church. Besides, it wasn’t a sin, it was just weird.

The facial hair was the biggest surprise. We’ve all seen those high school photos where the guys are sporting wispy My First Mustaches. They look ridiculous, all of them. I didn’t have one of those. I woke up one morning and had five o’ clock shadow, as if someone had pressed it onto the lower half of my face and neck while I slept. It was so thick it might have been applied with a paint brush. By the end of each day I had enough stubble to strike a match on. I hated it. Worst of all, while the rest of my hair was a brilliant red, the facial hair was jet black. I was two-tone. It looked ridiculous. I looked ridiculous.

I taught myself to shave by using my dad’s Gillette razor. He also had a straight razor I’d seen him use once or twice but the one time I picked it up I got the strongest, strangest premonition that involved me staggering around the bathroom, painting the room with the blood jetting from my neck. I cut myself plenty with the Gillette because I had no idea what I was doing, I was just desperate to get rid of the two-tone, because it was entirely too mock-worthy and as we all know, schoolkids are not kindly creatures.

After a particularly bad week of nicks that left my face and neck covered with dabs of toilet paper, I made a trip to the local pharmacy and furtively headed past the shelves of condoms and lubricants to the hair coloring section. I grabbed a box and for a moment considered lifting it. I have one of those YES I JUST COMMITTED A CRIME COME AND SEARCH ME faces, though, so I shuffled to the checkout at the back of the store to pay for the goods.

“Is that for your mother?” the checkout girl asked. She was about 18 but I didn’t recognize her. She was in high school, I was in middle school. We orbited in different galaxies.

I lifted my head, wondering why I didn’t think of that, and was about to proclaim, “Oh god yes! Of course it’s for my mother!” and then she really looked at me and I watched her eyes go from my (red) hair to my face to the box of hair color, back to my face, and then rather too quickly to the till to ring through the purchase.

Dammit.

The worst part is I made a complete botch-up of the dye job. I read the instructions, it didn’t matter. I was sober. Again, it made no difference. I had plenty of shadow but not really enough hair. My attempt left the bottom of my face looking diseased. I shaved off the stubble and scoured the dye that had stained through to the skin with some pumice soap my mom had but never used. It made me smell nice, but left my face looking raw and terrible.

The next day at school was the first time I got mocked for my looks. Of course.

I learned to accept my two-tone hair, but I never learned to like it. I shave religiously now–I say a prayer before each shave that goes something like, “Please God make all of my facial hair fall out and never come back” and then I quickly take it back because I’d probably lose my eyebrows and look like a freak. Also I use an electric razor. Much less nicking and clean-up is easier. For a time I took the shaver with me everywhere, like a companion, and I’d just spontaneously whip it out and make sure that five o’ clock shadow never got past 10 a.m.

I brought it with me to college but one day I forgot it at the apartment, couldn’t find it when I returned, and now I’m apparently growing a beard.

Writing exercise: A Walk in the Snow (Part 1)

I vowed to write at least 250 words of fiction every day this year, so here’s the first attempt. I tried scouring some writing prompt sites but they left me feeling despair, so I just mulled things over, remembered how much I hate snow and the results are below (352 words).

This is the first part of what could be a scene, a story or a big budget Hollywood production. I can’t say when I’ll write Part 2. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not. It’s a surprise.

A Walk in the Snow, Part 1

It is very quiet in the snow.

That’s how I hear the person walking behind me. I stop and a moment later the person stops. It is silent again.

I am walking down a service road that’s about two kilometers long. Its main function is to provide access to railway workers and park staff, but there’s little vehicle traffic on it most days. Tonight it’s covered in virgin snow and I’m up to my knees in the stuff after an early winter blast. My breath frosts in front of me, a steamy cloud that drifts up into a clear, dark sky and disappears.

I’m about halfway down the road, heading toward South Street, the main road that runs through my neighborhood. I live a few blocks east of South. I like telling people that, then watch their faces as they try to process it.

It’s bright enough to make my way without a flashlight. There is no artificial light here, just the stars dotting the black above and the snow shimmering around me.

I became aware of the footsteps–more the sound of someone pushing their way through the snow, really–a few minutes earlier. Twice I’ve tested by stopping and the person following has also stopped. It’s hard to escape the sensation that I am prey being stalked. The snow is just deep enough to make a quick escape impossible. The closest things to weapons I carry are my house keys and smartphone. I keep my breathing calm, knowing this person is probably close enough to see the puffs. Don’t show signs of panic. I gaze up at the sky, as if I’m looking for a constellation. Casual. Curious. Inconspicuous.

Maybe.

I resume walking and count one thousand one, one thousand two. The footsteps resume behind me, shushing through the snow. It will take at least fifteen minutes to reach South Street, where the road is plowed, the sidewalks shoveled and regular traffic passes by. It seems very far away. I strain to hear cars but it’s late and all I hear are my steps and the ones mirrored behind me.

(to be continued)

NaNoWriMo 2017, Day 30: LOL

Yep, with today being the last day of the month, it’s time to summarize my National Novel Writing Month effort this year and LOL is a pretty good summary.

I wrote 2557 words a few days in…for a different novel. Then my keyboard was stilled as I was overwhelmed by events, ennui, personal drama and The Rains (I read today that this November is the fourth-wettest since they started keeping records. The forecast is for sun to return next month. Then probably blizzards for the next three months).

In all, my effort was so minimal it’s difficult to feel disappointed. It’s like scolding yourself for how you placed in a race you never actually participated in.

Apart from this blog, my writing in general has stalled, which is not good. I’ll be returning to The Other 11 Months writing group on Sunday and seeing how it goes there, but if I am to write more I need to do it more often than just on Sundays. It’s not like writing is a religious experience for me.

But perhaps I should pray to the spirit of Harlan Ellison. Except he’s still alive and would tell me to stop writing nonsense on a blog and start writing a ripping good yarn by grabbing legal pad and fountain pen.

Tomorrow I’ll unveil my newest and bestest writing plan.

NaNoWriMo 2017: A loud deflating sound

There are two weeks left before the end of the month. As of today to be on track with my NaNoWriMo novel progress, I would need to have written:

26,672 words

As of today, I have actually written:

2,557 words

This gives me a word deficit of:

24,115 words

In order to successfully complete NaNoWriMo 2017, I would need to increase my daily input of words from 1,667 words to:

3,388 words

This is actually not an impossible goal. It would require several hours of intense writing every day, though putting in extra time during the remaining four weekend days would help offset that a bit.

The reality is that’s not going to happen. NaNoWriMo has often been the tonic to cure my writing blahs but this year–even with the regular writing group I’ve been going to–it just hasn’t happened. November has been a busy and stressful month, I’ve exercised less, eaten more, and I now seem to have some kind of official fall/winter sinusitis thing going which is making me seriously consider one of those horrible “nasal irrigation” devices because thirty seconds of shoving this weird thing up my nose in exchange for being able to breathe normally has real appeal.

I’d prefer to just be able to breathe normally.

I’m still hoping to kickstart my writing before the end of the month, but I know the only secret is to just make myself do it and the fact that I haven’t is maybe underlining the fact that I just don’t care enough anymore. Maybe all the future holds is blog ramblings and funny cat pictures.

I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing.

NaNoWriMo Day 4 and 5: Signs of life

On Day 4 of NaNoWriMo I wrote zero words, going 0-4 for the first four days and leaving me with a deficit of 6,668 words–a positively devilish amount to catch up on (ho ho).

My plan today was to go to the usual write-in at Waves in sunny downtown New Westminster (where during the other 11 months of the year it’s known as, well, The Other 11 Months) and do a good bit of catching up by reviving my unfinished 2013 novel, Start of the World (definitely a working title).

Good news: I did indeed write, putting together 2557 words. This gives me a deficit after five days of 5778 words. If you divide that over the remaining 25 days, I would need to write an additional 231 words per day, which seems pretty easy when looked at this way. So I should be good as long as I keep up a slightly above average pace from here on out.

But here’s the surprise twist: I didn’t work on Start of the World. Instead, I continued work on my 2014 NaNo novel, Road Closed. I added 50,000 words to the current word count total, bringing it to 120,242 words, then started back on it.

I’m not sure if this is the right thing to do, a good thing to do or something else. It is clearly a thing to do because I’m doing it. Tomorrow I’ll decide if I want to keep doing it. I’m not sure there’s 50,000 more words in this novel but you never know. I could channel my inner Stephen King and just not leave out anything at all, writing a kind of complete and uncut edition right from the start. Smothering my inner editor with a pillow. Not killing my darlings, but nurturing them and encouraging them to procreate. And other assorted weird analogies.

Anyway, it was nice to write again.

We had twelve people in attendance, but the table (which mysteriously moves every week) only seats eight, so multiple people had to sit on the floor. I’m betting some of them will arrive earlier next week to indulge in the luxury of writing while sitting in a chair.

NaNoWriMo 2017, Day 3: Still wordless in New Westminster

I still haven’t written anything but the weekend beckons and it’s my chance to get the proverbial ball rolling on this year’s novel attempt. One might say actually getting some words down at this point would be novel, ho ho.

I kind of wish weekends were three days long, though. It would help. Also helping would be if the goal of NaNoWriMo was, say, 10,000 words. I could churn that out in desperation on the final weekend if I had to.

Not that I’ll need to, mind you. No sir. This weekend (the first weekend) I’m going to catch up on word count (from zero to greater than zero) then keep flying through to victory by the end of the month.

Yep!

NaNoWriMo 2017 Day 2: Word count still zero!

Yes, another day of non-writing. Hooray.

But I’ve settled on an alternate plan, which is to rewrite my failed 2013 novel, which had the awkward working title of Start of the World. I’ll spend time tomorrow mulling and then tomorrow evening I’m going to start writing. I have some ideas.

I can’t say I’m confident in how this will turn out, but I am genuinely interested in tackling this particular unfinished project again, so I have that in my favor.

Also, while I’m not yet changing the description of the novel, I am probably not going to keep the title of Cosmic Tingles. That might work better…elsewhere.

NaNoWriMo 2017 Day 1: Zero words!

It’s just after 10 p.m. as I type these words and my story progress stands at zero. I have written nothing. The previous two sentences are two more than I’ve written for my NaNoWriMo 2017 project.

If the evening ends with me writing nothing–and that seems rather likely at this point–I will need to double my effort to 3,334 words tomorrow to stay on track. Am I already doomed? Perhaps.

But perhaps not. Maybe in desperation I will find inspiration. Maybe I’ll dig out some old unfinished work and pick up where I left off, the words gushing forth like blood from a skewered artery.

It’s funny how something that only happens once a year can sneak up on you. Or how when you try to think of ideas your brain just seizes up and refuses to even offer up anything, even objectively terrible stuff.

But I will ponder tonight, evaluate my back-up plan and make a decision tomorrow on how to proceed.

NaNoWriMo 2017: The absence of planning once again pays off

Pays off in the sense that I have no idea what I’m doing. Which isn’t much of a payoff. The irony is I just finished a book a few weeks ago (Story Genius) that specifically lays out, in great detail, how to plan out a novel.

For NaNoWriMo 2017 I have made it as far as the “I think I may write a novel” stage.

I have gotten no further.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve set up Scrivener again so I’m ready to go with that if need be. But as far as what I’ll write…no clue. My success rate when going in and latching onto some plot device at the last minute is not terribly good. It is more terribly terrible. This means my effort will likely crash and burn.

Perhaps, though, something fantastic will come to me in a dream tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or maybe the first night of NaNo. After that it probably won’t matter.

Maybe for the eve of NaNoWriMo (tomorrow) I’ll try to inspire myself with another patented* list of lovingly handmade writing prompts.

* reasonably certain you can’t patent these

NaNoWriMo 2017 brainstorm session #1

In which I try my old technique of coming up with the title first and the story second. Since this is brainstorming and I rarely control my impulse to be silly this is not terribly likely to yield useful results, but stranger and more horrible things have happened.

  • Cosmic Tingles (this was actually suggested as the new title for my novel Road Closed, suggested by a co-worker; I just really want to use it somewhere)
  • Hatful of Hats
  • The Biomechanical Keyboard
  • Lost in Thought Experiment
  • 50,000 Words in 50,000 Days
  • The Girl Who Could Write Better Novel Titles Than Me
  • The Swiffer Sniffer
  • Belly Rub
  • Haunted Hot Dog Stand
  • A Crick in Time
  • Umbrella Universe
  • Write, Monkey
  • Try Turning It On and Off
  • I Should Be in Bed

NaNoWriMo 2017 starts in two weeks and my plan is lacking a plan

National Novel Writing Month starts in two weeks and my current plan is non-existent. I’m still not entirely sure I’m going to participate.

This is probably not how best-selling novels are born.

Maybe I wouldn’t know how to handle the fame of being a best-selling author and it’s all for the best, anyway.

Or maybe I just need to come up with a title with the word “girl” in it. Current novels break down like this:

  • Self-published paranormal romances on amazon: 22%
  • The usual big names whose ebooks are always curiously priced higher than the paper versions: 31%
  • Books with “girl” in the title: 36%
  • Everything else: 11%

Most of the good novel titles featuring “girl” have already been used, since there are millions of these books out there, enough to form a new continent if stitched together and waterproofed.

But here’s a few from my five-second brainstorming session:

  • The Girl Who Wrote Novels About Girls
  • The Girl With the Word Girl on the Book Cover
  • The Girl Who Dated a Squirrel
  • The Girl Girl Girl Girl Girl

The important thing is I’m still trying to come up with something, even if inspiration has not only left me, it’s departed to another dimension.

Maybe I could write a novel about other dimensions. No, wait, I tried that last year and failed. 🙁

Maybe I’ll come up with more cockamamie ideas tomorrow as The Rains sweep through the area and the only choices are brainstorming or to stare out the window and despair. Yes, that’s it. Tomorrow will be a grand day of brainstorms! And real storms.