Yes, I could still win NaNoWriMo this year, with just four days left. Let me use this handy computer calculator to see what my daily word count would need to be to pull off the feat:
12,500 words per day.
This is due to having written no words at all this month.
On the one hand, there is a perverse sort of temptation in trying the impossible to see how far I’d get (my guess is maybe 10,000+ words, though the last day is a Saturday, which would lend itself to binging, were I so inclined). On the other hand, the only thing of value I’d get would be to simply exercise the ol’ writing muscles.
Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Words are words, after all. Not to be confused with “Deeds, not words,” the credo adopted by Ace Hunter and his elite group of freedom fighters as featured in the all-time classic Megaforce, of course.
But on the third imaginary hand, if I was going to do something like that, it would probably be a better use of time to revisit one of my existing stories, or work on something new that wouldn’t be subjected to NaNoWriMo’s hellbent-for-metal approach of write now, edit later (maybe never, after looking over what the NaNo method produced).
Realistically, I’m probably not going to writer much over the next four days, but life is full of surprises and one of those surprises could be me writing stuff over the next four days. Who doesn’t love a surprise, except for maybe someone with a heart condition standing next to a giant fireworks display, not knowing it was about to suddenly explode?
And all through the condo I was breathing a sigh of relief over not taking part this year.
Honestly, I’m looking forward to having a bunch of free time for other stuff in November. There may be a cure for my writing ills, but the last few years suggest to me that the cure is not National Novel Writing Month.
It feels a bit weird sitting out for the first time in ten years (!), but it also feels right. And nice.
Now to maybe write something without the pressure of 1,667 words per day…
December is a strange month. You are forced to listen to Christmas music in every store you go to, the days are short so it feel like it’s dark all the time, everything is directed toward the end of the month and Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve. People take stock, buy presents, make resolutions. It’s a time to reflect, even though you can do that any time you’d like.
It’s also a bad time to lose weight because people are constantly plying you with sugary, fat-filled goodies. The short days, colder temperatures and general sogginess also discourage one from going out and exercising (hence the resolutions). In general, there is a sense of winding down, of biding time until the calendar flips over to the next year.
For me, it has always been a terrible time to write, for most of the things mentioned above. It’s like the spark that makes me write–a fragile thing most of the time–gets snuffed out all but good until the new year. It’s an excuse, really, just like any other. But it’s also very consistent.
This is a roundabout way of saying I have not yet picked up on my unfinished NaNoWriMo 2018 project. I think about it, I nibble at its edges, but I never fully commit to actually working on it again. And I even have an exciting scene next–a car crash! The only thing better would be a car chase. And dragons. But still, I balk.
I’ll work harder to get moving. If I can start even a modest amount of momentum this month, that will help all the more going into the new year. Excelsior, and all that.
But as mentioned in my previous NaNo post, I am still working on the novel and in a way I think it will be easier and the writing may be better without the pressure of the daily word count of NaNoWriMo hovering over everything I put down.
It is, then, both a time of regret–50,000 words would have been nice–but also a time of some hope, in that the writing will continue.
I’ll report back in a month to see how the current 22,222 word count has changed. (I make no predictions.)
For a few days I had quite a head of steam and I felt I would actually hit 50,000 by month’s end. Now, with four days to go, I am at 22,222 words (yes, kind of weird), which is not quite half. While it is theoretically possible I could write enough in the next four days to pass the virtual finish line–at a pace of 6,944 words per day–it is rather unlikely.
But that’s okay. Why? A list!
Unlike so many other times, I have an outline. If I get stuck on a particular scene, I still know where the story is going
I’m invested in the story and will see it through, regardless of the arbitrary November 30th deadline
Without the deadline I may actually produce a higher quality first draft, as I’ll put a smidgen more thought and care into the writing instead of just trying to blaze through as quickly as possible
On the downside, I missed a day or two due to other issues coming up (I won’t make excuses–I still could have written something on those days) and it did exactly what I feared, derailing my momentum.
On the upside, I have started writing again, though not quite at the same feverish pace as before. I’ve also done my first real writing through voice dictation. My setup is as follows:
Dictation software: Dragon Professional Individual v. 15
Writing software: iA Write (Windows version). I chose this because it’s very lightweight.
Microphone: Blue Yeti, which I have previously described as big and heavy enough to murder an elephant with
The dictation was surprisingly accurate and as they say, no typos, though it sometimes get things wrong. For example, I wanted it to write:
But instead it wrote:
It’s a natural assumption on the program’s part, and easy to catch and fix when editing. I’m wondering now if some of the weirder errors I’ve seen in some books are due to voice dictation best-guesses getting missed.
The most difficult thing I’ve found so far is not remembering to speak punctuation out loud. I got used to that pretty quickly. Instead, it’s actually speaking your writing aloud. When I’m typing I’m moving slowly enough that my fingers never get ahead of my brain. With dictation I find it’s so easy to speak out sentence after sentence that I sometimes find myself pausing to figure out where to go next.
I’m going to try more transcribing from voice dictation from the phone again soon, too. I like the idea of being untethered, as I often think out loud and almost always do it while walking around, whether it’s pacing back and forth around the condo or just strolling down a path where I don’t have to be concerned that the crows might think I’m a lunatic babbling to himself.
I’m at a pivotal and exciting point in the story, but I’m unsure how to proceed, as there are a few options. I should just skip ahead and write later scenes, but I have a strong preference for writing the story in chronological order when possible. I don’t know if I’m concerned I’ll confuse myself, have too much of a mess to stitch together or what, but I should probably get over it.
In the meantime, here’s to 7,000 words per day! (Ho ho.)
Finally past that horrible flu thing (with only a bit of a lingering glass-edged throat to endure), I have resumed writing my novel. In the last two days I’ve managed a weirdly precise 6,800 words. I don’t even need a calculator like I normally do to know that’s 3,400 words per day or double the daily average required. I’m at a total of 14,725 words, where I should be at 23,000+, but it’s not as bad as it looks, because I now require a pace of just over 2,000 words per day to finish by November 30, something I don’t see as a problem unless I get the flu again or are hit by a blimp.
I haven’t committed to a dictation session yet and will probably hold off until the weekend, where if it backfires horribly, I will still have time to fall back to the more conventional hunt-and-peck method.
Anyway, it’s nice to be writing again, and it’s nice to see that even after long dry spells I can still find and slip into the groove.
I came down with the flu right as this year’s NaNoWriMo started and the effect was predictable: I didn’t write.
Now, I have written, even if you don’t count the existing words from the third version of Weirdsmith I’m using (now with the working title of The Journal), but most days I have lacked either the physical energy, the mental energy or both. And this has been one of those horrible, lingering flu bugs, with that feeling of tiredness being the most persistent symptom (others have ranged from light fever, loss of appetite, head and lung congestion, pressure headaches, and the always fun dry, hacking cough).
Normally this would be a disaster. We are at November 11th and with a daily word count of 1,667 to keep on pace, I would need to be at 18,337 words. Instead I am at 7,925 words.
To finish on time I would need to write an average of 2,214 words per day, a boost of about 547 words above the regular pace. This is actually doable, so there’s no need to panic.
More to that point, I have now finished my voice dictation setup and my coughing has settled down enough that I should be able to do it fairly reliably. I am curious to see how this can boost my word count (and how accurate the results are. Initial testing was pretty good, with a few lapses, though I’m not sure yet if it was me being mush-mouthed or Dragon being weird or some combination thereof).
I’m also going to pick up a digital voice recorder and use that during walks to also get in more “writing” time.
The hardest part in resuming actually has nothing to do with the way I am feeling, but that I had left the story off at a rather dull point–something that may be expunged in a revision–so I need to look past that and dive back in to the “good” stuff.
Onward I go. I will report as warranted, through tears of joy or despair.
I am starting the month with the flu, which is sub-optimal for my health and for National Novel Writing Month, which began yesterday.
Last night I attempted to write after revising the earlier work I’d done on what is now going by the bland working title of The Journal, but by 9 o’ clock I had written nothing, had no energy, then went to bed, where I burned up and had literal fever dreams.
Today–or tonight, to be more precise, I have a little more energy and a new thermometer confirmed I only have a mild fever, but I am still lacking the energy to really put out words. Tomorrow’s weather is The Rains, so I’m thinking I’ll have a good go then, especially if I’m over the hump of this latest beating to my health that is the year 2018. Not that I’m complaining! It’s been, uh, interesting. Yes. Interesting. Grist for the mill, fodder for my writing. Or something.
Anyway, on with November and the official start of the two month Christmas blitz. Ho ho ho.
When all through the house…er, condo…not a creature was stirring, except me, making sure I’m actually ready.
As I mentioned on Broken Forum, I’ve got most stuff set up:
Story with actual plot outline
Daily word tracker
Updated laptop with writing apps installed
Note I said writing apps. That’s because I’m still flipping between using WriteMonkey or FocusWriter. Both are installed on any machine I’ll use and both save to text format, so there’s no issue if I switch from one to the other, or even back and forth. At this point I’m leaning toward FocusWriter because it’s been more recently updated and has fewer options to distract me.
Now to find out if I’m looking back on 50,000 words in a month’s time or a puddle of tears over what might have been.
As referenced in this post, I did in fact spend some time mulling over version #3 of Weirdsmith and came up with enough to think it might work with a little more fleshing out. I chatted with Nic because it’s always helpful to bounce ideas off someone else and came away with what is an actual outline. I just have to move it from my head to somewhere that I (and others) can read it.
Here it is in broad strokes:
William Smith has a decent but not great job. He yearns to become a successful writer but is plagued by writer’s block and lots of self-doubt
He is also single and working to rectify this, too
He meets a guy through a dating app and they begin dating
Eventually they begin a committed relationship, though William is still frustrated with his writing and not thrilled with work
William gets into a head-on collision that leaves him badly injured and in a coma for several weeks; the occupant of the other vehicle is killed
During the coma William has a lot of weird dreams and also sees things that he later feels are more like premonitions than dreams, though he can’t say why. These largely revolve around a book of some kind.
William faces a long period of recovery, with a lot of physical therapy, plus survivor guilt to work through. His partner provides support, reminding him he was not at fault in the accident.
After he has mostly recovered, William finds his writing is no better off. “So much for the artist having to suffer,” he muses.
A woman comes to him one day with a book in hand. She introduces herself as the sister of the other driver killed in the car accident. The book is an unwritten journal. She explain that her brother, like William, was also a writer, and also struggled to get the words down. He had purchased the journal to help record his thoughts, his inspiration and the sister believes that by passing it to William it will help keep her brother’s spirit and his work alive.
William thinks this is a little creepy and weird, but takes the journal. He tucks it away in a drawer, never intending to use it.
He continues to be plagued by nightmares and is frustrated by his ongoing inability to write. He takes out the journal, thinks about writing in it, then decides instead to throw it away, thinking it bad luck.
The next day the book is back on the nightstand. His partner denies any knowledge of it. William leaves it in the drawer again.
Eventually William feels a strange tug toward the journal and writes in it for the first time. He isn’t writing fiction, just his thoughts, so it comes easier.
A day or so after writing in the journal, he picks it up again only to find a few cryptic words have been added after his entry. He ponders asking his partner, but ultimately rules him out, as the words are essentially meaningless.
William continues to write in the journal and after each entry, more writing appears. He eventually shows his partner, who offers no explanation. They check the security of their condo and there are some tense nights as William–already plagued by bad dreams–believes he hears an intruder entering their home.
The entries in the journal become more coherent and William realizes someone–or something–is trying to communicate with him. He attempts to reply back.
The communication begins in earnest. It seems the person or entity wants to help William with his writing and offers him advice and tips, some of which seem rather dubious or even ill-advised.
As this happens, William begins to see what are at first subtle changes in his personality. His partner picks up on this but at first says nothing, thinking he is suffering mental (or physical) trauma from the accident.
Eventually this change in behavior begins to generate friction in the relationship.
His partner puts together some clues that lead him to believe that somehow the man killed in the car accident is somehow communicating with William through the journal. He takes this to William, who finds the idea ludicrous, something “I wouldn’t put in a novel because no one would find it believable.” The tension in the relationship grows.
Putting together more clues, the partner comes to the conclusion that the sister of the brother has given the journal to William in the hope that her dead brother’s spirit can be transferred from the journal into William, allowing him to live again. The partner, without William’s knowledge, confronts the sister. Rather than denying it, the sister admits to it, says it was wrong and agrees to stop. The partner leaves, thinking it all went a little too easily. This is accurate as she was lying all over the place about stopping.
A short time later, the partner is nearly run down by a car. A coincidence or something more?
The partner takes what he has done to William, but William, already acting increasingly belligerent and odd, rejects the whole thing as absurd. The partner is torn. On the one hand, he wants desperately to help William, but also feels very much that he is getting pushed away hard. He decides to give it a little more time.
They end up in an argument, with William saying and doing things so strange that his partner gives him an ultimatum to either work with him to do something or he’s leaving. William tells him to leave.
The partner goes back to the sister, who claims again that she hasn’t done anything and has no idea what could be happening. He tells her it doesn’t matter, they’ve split up, anyway, and that William is now on his own. She barely suppresses her glee at this news.
The partner goes back to William to try again to convince him to get rid of the journal before it’s too late. To his surprise, William agrees. He gets a large butcher knife, which strikes the partner as rather odd, but watches as William tries to stab the journal. The knife keeps deflecting. The partner asks if he can try and the same thing happens, the blade keeps skating off the cover. William tries tearing out the pages, but they remain firmly attached. He then gets a lighter and tries to burn one of the pages, but it fails to ignite.
The partner wonders if it’s already too late, but he still sees enough of William to think it isn’t, and that the efforts to destroy the journal were genuine. He attempts a reconciliation and William tells him that they can no longer be a couple, he’s no longer attracted to him. The partner retreats, hurt and unsure how to continue.
At this point the communication from the dead writer is nearly complete. He tells William to finish writing in the journal, to complete the task and let him fully assume control. William balks and tries to get rid of the journal again, tossing it off a bridge into a rapidly flowing river.
The next day the journal is back, good as new. William fears he is losing his mind as his personality continues to change. He calls his partner for help and he returns, albeit with some hesitation as he is unsure how much William is in control at this point.
They agree that the best and perhaps only way William can defeat the dead writer is by not destroying the journal, but rather by tapping into his own writing skills to effectively pen a different ending.
William and his partner sit at the kitchen table with the journal. William fights hard against the dead writer assuming control, but he begins to write in the journal. At first his words have no effect. His partner offers to try writing instead and is violently repelled, but unhurt.
William tries again and suddenly grips the arm of his partner. His partner feels not only uneasy, but also not quite right–the dead writer is trying to transfer from William to him. With his free hand, William continues to write and his other hand eventually loosens its grip.
William seems more himself and the two tentatively believe that it is over, they have pushed back against the dead writer. They agree that rather than destroying the journal, it is actually safer to keep it. William puts it away in a drawer again.
They both go to work the next day, but when they get home, the journal is gone from the drawer. The partner suspects the sister has taken it and says they should go to her. William is reluctant and the partner pretends to relent, fully intending to confront her on his own.
He does this and she doesn’t deny that she took it, then says they can have it back if they wish. She promises not to take it again or interfere in any way with them again. The partner smells a trap, but there is little he can do but take the journal and leave.
Upon bringing the journal back, it becomes apparent that the sister has somehow infused it with more dark magic and William is drawn to write again in response to the pleading of the now-fading dead writer. His partner tries to pull him away, but William fends him off. William begins to write a scene and suddenly the book is blasted off the table, flying against a wall and sliding to the floor. He seems wholly himself now.
They worry that the sister may try again and debate on trying to destroy the journal. for now, they decide to keep it, thinking the window for the dead writer to transfer has either run out or is very close to doing so.
I’m not sure if I’ve captured everything from the discussion we had, but it’s certainly enough to start with, and it has a middle and and end and all the things you expect in a story. I’m not sure how exciting writing in a journal will be, but hey, you never know.
I’ll find out in three days. Well, I guess I’ll really find out in 33 days.
Also, I know this version won’t be called Weirdsmith, but on other title immediately occurs to me. Titles are easy, though. Writing is hard.
I can’t say why, exactly, but I’ve been unable to outline any of my finalist story ideas. I’ve thought about them and had some ideas, but nothing that could be applied to an outline in any useful way. When I try to think of how to outline one of the ideas, I experience this strange sort of blanking where my brain simply comes up with nothing and I eventually end up looking at kittens on the internet. It can be maddening because it feels like the harder I try to push against the blanking, the more resolute it becomes.
I’m not sure how to get past this, but I am soliciting the help of others instead of just flailing on my own. If nothing else, I’ll at least have company while I flail.
Also, I have absolutely no evidence to back this up, but it feels like NaNoWriMo itself is at a low ebb this year, with lower participation and enthusiasm. This has no actual bearing on my specific issue, but it makes me feel slightly better to think a general malaise is plaguing the entire thing. Actually, it doesn’t make me feel better, it makes me feel a little depressed.
But there are still 10 days to go before November 1st, so I remain cautiously hopeful that I can still pull this off. If not, there are still plenty of kittens out there.