Tales From NaNo, the End.

What, already??

I'll admit, none of my wordiness went into this blog for the past month. And I'll further admit that it was kind of nice to take a brief hiatus while I launched pell-mell into an insane amount of creativity.

The past month has been very busy, in very many ways. I'm making my very first pot of homemade turkey stock just today. I baked a few loaves of bread. I scrambled more than a few eggs. I've also started and finished several knitting projects, helped my dad make the pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving this year, and worked on not going crazy.

But NaNo was a big part of the month, obviously. 50,000 words is nothing to sniff at. And for the first time in my life I have a novel that is more than just a collection of writing exercises. It's the beginning--the seed, if you will--of an extraordinary opportunity to rewrite and mold until a novel possibly emerges. How wonderful!

Halfway through my novel, I experienced a character coup. My 20-something librarian main character told me very plainly that she wasn't going to do anything else in my story. Nothing. Standstill. It was awful. So I struck her with amnesia, had her wander off into the sunset, and took stock of my options.

In the end, I promoted my 60-year old supporting character to the spotlight. And BOY was she a heck of a lot more entertaining! I ended up naming the whole bloody novel after her! And though I have a million things to rewrite (including...all of part one?) and a million ends to tie up, at least now I know where I'm going. Because I went! And I conquered!

So here's to all of the NaNoers who embarked on such a foolhardy and fantastic mission, this month! It's been fun, and it's only the beginning.

And good news...the blog is probably officially revived, as of now. Because where else am I gonna shove all of the writing I need to do on a daily basis? ;D

Thanks for the patience. Hope a few of you are still with me!

-The GLS

Tales From NaNo, Part 1.

I know what you're thinking...why the HECK am I posting on my blog instead of tap-tap-tapping away at my NaNoWriMo novel?

Because, like the hare of racing legend, I am WAY ahead of my necessary wordcount and need to take a moment to breathe. Hopefully not too long a moment, otherwise the tortoise of my lazy brain will overtake me completely, and it will be too late.

Also, the NaNoWriMo servers are busy (not surprising, considering how many people are doubtless visiting it right now), so I can't comfort myself with forum-surfing and staring happily at my own displayed wordcount.

But I must say, I AM a little miffed...my dear electric tea kettle has a leak in the bottom. This makes it not only difficult to use, but an electrical hazard. So my supply of hot water at all hours of the night has been cut off. Want to know how to make me grumpy? Cut off my tea supply. That'll do it.

However, I shall prevail! I will vanquish NaNo like only the Gutsy Little Shit can! I will take it down to the ground! I will conquer!

Now, if you'll excuse me. I must plug in to my iPod, tune out of the world, and give my wordcount at least two hours of boost. See you on the other side...

-The GLS

PS: Congrats to all of you Americans who voted! Though I got my vote in a very short time before the ballot boxes closed, I am proud to say that my vote was present and accounted for. It's a hard-won right, people! Exercise it!

Go Do.

Oh, dear. I appear to be deep in thought, preparing for this year's NaNoWriMo novel. My notes are open, my character sketches are getting filled in, and names are tripping across my brain and out through my tongue.

Apologies.

I'll leave you with this loveliness.

...and I made homemade ginger cookies. But you can't have any.

Narf!

-The GLS

Anachronistic Love of Iron.

Oh, shoot.

Did you know...when you mix rolled oats, sugar, melted butter, honey, and vanilla all together, stick it in a jellyroll pan and bake it at 350 for 30 mins, it will become caramelized, oaty goodness?

I didn't either. But it's true. You should try it sometime.

Got back from camp a few hours ago and needed to bake something. Desperately. I've been on this kick about not using pre-packaged foods wherever possible, and instead of popping open cans of pre-made high-sodium soup for a quick dinner, I try actually MAKING a quick dinner from scratch. Tonight I made (and ate) the creamiest scrambled eggs you ever tasted (farmer's market eggs, no less) with a side of Irish cornmeal griddle bread and an apple. Not fancy, but MAN it tasted good. Especially because the griddle bread was made with my cast iron skillet. Love me some cast iron. I also made some more butter with the heavy cream left in the fridge and used the buttermilk from the butter-making process in my griddle bread. I feel like I need to sew my own dresses, hitch up the wagon so I can head into town, and marry someone who will bring me some freshly killed game to cook. This is getting outlandish.

(I may or may not have been born in the wrong century. But I digress.)

I made popcorn
My breath was visible
You told me you were tired.
Tired of helping.
Tired of being.
Tired of it.
Just tired.

I wanted to tell you
In my visible voice
That we all get tired.
Please don't stop.
Kids need someone like you.
They need you.

But I handed him a bag of popcorn instead,
And replied in a poem.

Camp is a very, VERY important thing. Kids need camp. But they need the attention and love of adults they know and trust even more. If you work with kids, consider yourself deeply blessed. We all need mentors to look up to. Childhood ain't as easy as it ought to be.

I know it's a weird way to end this post. But it's on my heart tonight. So there.

-The GLS

(My poem is addressed to a youth worker whose name I don't know. So it's a mostly true story.)

Distrust, Fireballs, and Green Apples.

Today...was a weird day.

Usually I find some sort of rhythm, even on cloudy days.

But today, no such rhythm existed. It was a strange, floaty kind of day.

It wasn't altogether pleasant. But it also wasn't terrible. I'm looking forward to some sun, later in the week. It might make things a little clearer-feeling.

But last I left my characters, they were eating green apples from a mysterious source and one of them was about to pull a gun on the other.

(That's how I roll.)

I'd hate to leave them floating like that, because I know how it feels. So I'm going to get back to them.

Goodnight.

-The GLS

You Better Run!

Tonight's soundtrack, "Dog Days" by Florence & The Machine. To make it better, watch the video as well. She's trippy in the best possible way. :)

I'm too lazy to go back and check, but I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this here before. As a writer, I have a REALLY hard time writing villains. I don't know why this is, although I think it has to do with being perhaps a bit too sympathetic. I honestly can't see anyone as irredeemable, and I never write villains that are self-servingly vile, because they don't seem realistic.

I mean, let's be honest...Adolf Hitler and his ilk are rare enough that we notice and remember forever.

My philosophy on villains can be pretty well summed up here.

Ah well. Perhaps that is tonight's writing assignment: a fantastic villain, redeemable or not. Let's get to it.

-The GLS

Stick Up For Yourself, Son.

There's something really, really big on my creative horizons.

I can just feel it.

It's there, lurking between the five potted herbs on my roof and the name Harkness Mushgrove III. It's weedling into thoughts of Confederate Army uniforms, subterranean civilizations, and needlessly complex linguistics. It's wrapped in a burlap hood, eating a plum sandwich, and galloping across the barren landscapes of my brain on a Gypsy Vanner mare.

Now, if only I could find a way to find it, tackle it to the ground, and tickle it until it submits to my authority.

Maybe I'll start by investigating my roof and see what turns up.

Ten bucks says it's fairies.

-The GLS

Pretzel M&Ms.

No, seriously. Pretzel M&Ms exist. And they're...worth 89 cents? I don't know. They weren't necessarily fantastic. How's that for a glowing review?

But HERE'S a glowing review: ABOUT SCHMIDT starring Jack Nicholson. Quirky, sad, stark, and wonderful. GREAT film. Not for everyone, but a very honest look at what a life well lived might look like. Scared of growing old? Might want to skip this one. It'll make you run screaming for the hills. Also: please do not view if you are frightened of the prospect of a nude Kathy Bates. I don't know about you, but that last idea almost frightened me out of giving the film a go. But it's okay. It's only for a half-second.

In other news, I just dragged my old camp journal out of mothballs. I figure it's about time to look it over. Two summers worth of camp memories are in it, and I thought maybe I'd add this summer too, even though I'm not at camp. No sense letting good paper go to waste! And just because I'm not at camp, doesn't mean I can't do a little journaling. We'll see how that goes.

You'll have to excuse me. I've got a lot of catching up to do, journaling wise...

-The GLS

Play Games, All Sorts.

Okay, so here's the thing. I'm a little frazzled, currently. I listened to a LOT of classic music on LP all day, because I went digging through my parents' old records. Seriously. There was Fleetwood Mac, Art Garfunkel, Johnny Cash, The Eagles, The Kinks, Lovin' Spoonful, and perhaps two or three more that I don't recall. Wow. Just, wow.

But it made studying go a lot easier.

I did ten or so odd pages of Study Guide for my Astronomy final on Wednesday. I still have two optional labs and who knows how much studying for Logic to do, but it's a start! And it took me all day. Who knew a non-comprehensive final could be so...comprehensive...?

To top it all off, I can't stop playing "Cath" by Death Cab for Cutie on my ukulele (it works surprisingly well!) and I'm just in an all-around jolly and weird mood. So please forgive.

I also feel another short story coming on...but I need a little help. I'm looking for famous male/female pairs from literary history. Not necessarily romantic, just famous. So far I have:

1. Mary Poppins & Bert
2. Scout & Jem Finch
3. Merlin & Nimue

...and that's it. I'm a little ashamed of myself.

Can you think of any?

I'd be most obliged.

And now, to go play "Cath" for the thirteenth time this evening. Please excuse me...

-The GLS

John Turturro says...

I very nearly forgot to write this, tonight...

So, things are ramping up in order to die back down. My finals are next Wednesday, which means a lot of studying and stress is in order, of course. This weekend is going to be a maze of papers and books and studying. Which is good. It keeps me on my toes.

But what did I do, today, during an hour at the daycare's naptime? Did I begin the study process? Did I read a chapter? Did I mark up a study guide?

Of course not. I wrote a short story!

A very brief excerpt, for your reading pleasure:

No one in Goldgreen knows what became of Flyting Oleanane, the grocer’s daughter. There have been many theories, of course, as theories more so than children are the offspring of small towns. And when Flyting Oleanane disappeared, two dozen theories were born to take her place, which in a gossip’s arithmetic may very well come out even.

Still untitled, but I felt like sharing.

-The GLS
PS: The title of the post? Don't ask. I just feel like I've seen a lot of films with him in them, lately...

Glow.

Around here (being the Pacific Northwest in these here United States of America), we have a little thing called rain. And though we all who are natives to this land have a love/hate relationship with rain, there are certain things we have come to expect about living in a place that remains so typically moist. Some things, it seems, are simply inevitable.

Head colds, for example.

Currently, my mum is a sufferer of the common cold, and when momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy (or so goes the adage...which could probably do with a few less double negatives, my opinion be known).

Because she specifically asked me, I decided to come out of retirement and once again take up the mantle of assassin...killer of colds. My uniform? A blue and green flowery apron. My weapons? A medium-sized saucepan and a bamboo spoon. My ammunition? Garlic, chicken broth, cayenne pepper, more garlic, black pepper, a pinch of salt, olive oil, and more garlic.

Yes, indeed, it's Garlic Soup time, again.

Seriously, guys. When you have a cold, drop me a line. I'll either send you the recipe or (if you live close enough) a vat of soup in the mail (messy, but worth it?).

Heck, when I'm living in a place big enough to accomodate it, I'll just run an infirmary around winter/late spring. Come on over for garlic soup, toast, and Frasier reruns.

Frankly, right now I'm just trying to decide if I should light my kerosene lamp. Pretty, of course. Illuminating, certainly. Stinky? Yes, sadly.

To end, a brief excerpt from one of my short stories. You're welcome.

And if you looked to the sidewalk between these two buildings, you would find a garden. A splash of colors and faces, wings and jewels and waves and creatures that no human eye has ever seen. You would find abysses of darkness and clouds upon high, lofty towers of light in a distant welkin no angel has ever lived in. Fields of flowers that no breeze can move, silken arms of women no man’s finger could ever caress. Palaces of azure seeming to loom into the alley, though they never leave the ground. Beaches of pearls, dogs chasing rolling crowns, and a pair of lions so real you might take a step or two backward. There, in the place between old and new, would you find dreamscapes and rolling plains from an imagination that fills in the spaces in space itself.
-Excerpt from "The Courtship of the Blue-Eyed Widow"

A cheery goodnight...

-The GLS

Playing Games With the Faces.

First of all, it's kind of amazing how much I'm noticing that summer is definitely in the air. It was kind of fun giving the kids at the daycare hugs today and smelling sunscreen...one of those smells that just SCREAMS summertime.

Second, I saw an odd sight today driving to evening class. Two quite normal-looking college girls walking with a be-costumed chicken and frog. The chicken was riding a very small bike, and the frog was riding a skateboard. And I knew I was a Seattleite when all I could think was, "I love Ballard."

Thirdly, I wrote another short story last night entitled "The Man in the Gabardine Suit". Simon & Garfunkel fans may notice and appreciate the reference. Yes, he IS a spy, and his bowtie really IS a camera, and I'm on a roll with these short stories. They're poignant and sweet and fun and SHORT.

It's kind of amazing to me that I've been trying and trying and TRYING to write a novel since I was in elementary school, and always feeling the sting of failure. And then I discovered that you can grab the same emotion--and almost more--in bite-sized chunks of fun and freewheeling writing.

Kind of like blogging. Hmmm...

Here's to Lord Dunsany, for introducing me to the fantasy short story. Here's to the manufacturers of sunscreen, the smell of summer.

And here's to the chicken and the frog. Long live Ballard.

-The GLS

This and That...

Musical Interlude: "Look At Miss Ohio" by Gillian Welch. Fantastic little tune. I love Gillian Welch's voice. She's folksy through and through. :)

Well, it was an interesting day.

It started out...kind of awful, in a good way? I had one of those conversations with my mom that define one of the reasons I love her: she's painfully honest with me, even when I don't feel like hearing it. She let me know some things that she had noticed about me and my moods lately, and she was right, but it didn't make hearing it any easier.

So I've spent a lot of time today thinking over ways that I could be proactive about improving my life/health/general well-being, but since they're pretty personal I won't share them in detail here. Suffice to say, I've got a lot to consider.

However, it was overall quite a good day, because I found out I got 98% on my freakin' Logic test! Maybe I can graduate after all...!

Also, I'll admit to flubbing on my no-Facebook week for a few precious moments this evening, but only because I wanted to see pictures of my dear friend Indefish's FIRST NEPHEW who was born today!! D'awww, he's so cute. I don't feel bad about flubbing at all, really.

Last night, as a result of my sudden burst of inspiration, I wrote two short stories! These would be my first completed short stories on my own steam (in other words, that weren't due for a grade). Granted, they sound very like Lord Dunsany, but you tend to write what you read, so...yeah. They're called "Mr. Factid's Vanity" and "The Woman Who Ate a Mudpie". Catchy, yeah? Hopefully there will be lots more where those came from.

As part of my new plans for improved well-being, I am going to bed a whole hour and a half earlier than I normally do.

Is anyone else excited for summer? Me, oh me!

-The GLS

When Inspiration Strikes...

I must answer its call, methinks.

In other words, I'm feeling like I need to write something. Write what? I dunno. Something. We'll see where it goes.

(By the way...Day 3 of no Facebook and I'm still going strong! Very exciting...but it'll be kind of nice to check it again...I'm starting to get antsy...)

Anyway, have a lovely evening, all.

-The GLS
(PS: In case you're wondering, that Astronomy test I did all of the crazy studying for? Yeah...100% score, baby!!!! YES!!!)

For the Love of Dunsany...

"And then next day there came a message in plain Morse from an unknown station, a message followed by Terner's initials, A.V.T.: several stations got it and many private sets, and no one knew where it came from: and Jorkens got it on Terner's own set, that he had kept for him all those weeks, fixed at a certain wave-length that Terner had given him, and with the stop out night and day. It said: 'Victory. Victory. Victory.'"
(Excerpt from "The Slugly Beast" by Lord Dunsany.)

In case you're wondering: yes. I did just give away the absolute ending of one of Dunsany's short stories. Take that. But it's still worth a read even if I DID just give it away. You know how things out of context sound pretty normal (or even boring), but IN context can give you the happy shivers? I promise, if you ever read "The Slugly Beast", the quoted paragraph above will give you an amazing amount of delight, even to the point of smiling and chuckling openly in the empty staffroom on your 15-minute break. (Hypothetically speaking, of course.)

Seriously, I think I'm having a literary love affair with Edward Plunkett. It's getting a little ridiculous how much he satisfies my intellectual needs. (Could this train of thought get any creepier?) He always knows how to twist the story just-so. Not overly much. No deus ex machina for Dunsany. Just a fable well-told, and sentences that make no sense suddenly coming alive with hilarious meaning.

Like this one...

"'The difficulty,' said Jorkens, 'was getting enough ducks.'" ("The Escape from the Valley)

I mean, how could you resist that?

I think I'd like to write a few short stories, like Dunsany did. I liked short story writing. Maybe that'll be my next project...

-The GLS

Hollywood & Bad Special Effects

Couldn't think of a better title, as I just watched a movie that I can place firmly in the "I want that 98 minutes of my life back" category.

"The Black Hole" by Disney from 1979 is...aptly titled. And that's all I'm going to say, because my parents and I almost wet ourselves we were laughing so hard. And not in a good way. I can handle badness...but this was bad.

Nuff said.

In another intrepid adventure, I am about to embark on Script Frenzy 2010!! It's going to be interesting. I don't think I'll get too far tonight, because I'm starting a little late (thanks, homework!). But I'll keep you posted on my progress. At least I have an idea and two main characters. From there...Hollywood!

-The GLS

Comedy & Tragedy

You know how it goes. Sometimes things just hit you. And you weren't expecting them to, and you did a really good job of not letting them...but then they do.

You know how it goes.

About five or six years ago, my grandma (I called her Nana) was diagnosed with dementia/Alzheimer's. I was too young to really "get it", even when she was placed in a fantastically loving and caring senior community/assisted living center near our house. I never really understood the change that was happening inside of her mind, and I didn't really know how to cope. So I kind of ignored it, being a high-schooler and therefore a little less mature about these things. Though really, I don't think anyone really matures in this way. Sometimes things are always scary or unusual, no matter how old you are.

This morning at 6:00am--after five or six years of struggle and decline--my Nana passed away.

It's a weird feeling, too. Because I know it's better that she's no longer with us, especially since she had been completely nonresponsive for three or so years. I haven't had a real conversation with her in a very long time--since before she was diagnosed--so in my mind, she was already gone. But now she really is.

It hit me like a stack of bricks about ten minutes ago. Took me all day for that to happen. And it's not so much that her passing was sudden, or that it was so difficult on me personally, or that I have millions of pink-edged memories of the two of us together (because frankly, I don't...she wasn't the pink-edged type). No, it's the fact that she's gone. Something has changed. Even when she was half-here, half-not, I got used to that being the status quo. And now the status quo has changed again. For good.

I don't really know why I'm saying all of this here. This isn't really the place for it, come to think of it. But I think I need to see my own words in front of me in order to understand what I'm thinking and feeling.

Phew. What a day.

But life's all about contrasts, isn't it? Nana couldn't have picked a prettier day. It was beautiful and sunny for part of the day, at least. The view from my route home was breathtaking. Work was good, today. School was good, today. I'm stuck in the middle of an interminable knitting project, but that will soon pass as well, and when it's done I'll be able to enjoy it.

Give and take, eh?

In the spirit of contrasts, I also entered my first poetry contest, today. The Wergle Flomp poetry contest, which awards a cash prize to the best humorous poems. It was just a shot in the dark, but I thought it might be a fun thing to do, today. Give me a little something to smile about.

But then again...life in itself is something to smile about, isn't it?

God is good.

-The GLS

Villains & Clouseau

I realized that certain of my tagging categories were a little thin, so I decided to do something gutsy in the area of films.

Tonight I watched a movie--without any reviews or suggestions--called "A Shot in the Dark", which is actually the second Peter Sellers Pink Panther movie. It was made in the mid-60's and it's Peter Sellers in all of his goofy, slapstick, ridiculous glory.

Be forewarned of a few things: First, the Pink Panther doesn't actually have anything to do with the movie. It's just that Sellers plays Inspector Clouseau, so they kept the franchise intact. In fact, you don't even have to see the first one in order to appreciate this one. They have nothing to do with each other except Clouseau.

Second, don't watch if you're offended by 60's sensibilities. And by this I mean moments of bad humor (bad as in not funny), sexist attitudes, affairs between pretty much everyone, and weird plots that seem pointless and stupid. Oh, and nudists. But it's 60's film censorship, so you don't see a thing.

However, a lot of Peter Sellers' slapstick really is very funny, and it's a goofy mystery movie so you can't be too tough on it. It's perfect for a popcorn movie, doesn't require any thought and all you need is to sit back and witness the ridiculous.

As far as the noveling goes, things are speeding along nicely. I'm trying something new with this novel, which is actually taking time to craft suitably creepy and realistic villains. I tend to make my villains SO grey that they really aren't villains at all, and therefore my novels end up with no conflict. Having empathetic villains is different than having ambiguous ones. I've realized that I'm allergic to conflict. So I'm trying to fix that.

I actually had to write a section of my novel in the daylight, today, because it was creepier than I normally write and I kept freaking myself out last night when I tried to write it. Pathetic? Yeah, probably. Does it mean I'm doing better with villains? I hope so!

Current Word Count: 9,730

-The GLS

Singsong & Architecture

I am currently looking through one of three ENORMOUS books I got from the library about fancy shmancy architecture. It's for my novel, you see, the beginning of which is set in a very large house. I'm staring at pictures of early American mansions, the mind is running wild, and this brings me to a very interesting point (well...interesting to me, anyway).

In my humble opinion, anyone who wants to write fantasy (specifically...but I'm sure other genres as well) needs to do ONE THING very well. Not record their dreams, not plan out their plots, not even read voraciously.

They must RESEARCH.

Hold on, GLS! Research in a fantasy novel? Isn't the point of a fantasy novel that you don't NEED to research because you're making it all up?

I ask you...how could I POSSIBLY create a good description of the palatial mansion I'm trying to write about if I don't know anything about houses in the era I'm thinking of? Not only that, but what happens if I've done no planning and I miss out on all of the fantastic possibilities that research affords me: detailed photos of what houses looked like in the old days, color schemes, floorplans, rooms I didn't know existed, patterns...etc.

Besides the practical, it's also very inspiring to fill your head with these pictures and the colors. The colors!

Truly, one of the best parts about writing is the problem-solving. It's the figuring out connections and making them work for you. And research plays a huge part in that.

In other news, I have done another gutsy thing! After a few weeks of hemming and hawing over it, I signed up for a one-time Irish Folksinging class coming up in mid March at a local folk music store. Sure, it's going to be a little awkward...but I really am interested in Irish folksinging, and so I thought this would be a good introduction to see if I like it!

I love Fridays. I love that it was a good, wholesome, solid Friday. But now, it is time to bring that Friday to a close.

-The GLS

More Literariness & Telepathy

Yeah, it's another "writings" post. Sorry, I'm a little attached to my new novel at the moment. It's still the honeymoon stage.

Inspiration is a funny thing. I was sitting here watching "Frasier" episodes (which are oddly inspiring...probably the brilliance and tightness of the writing makes a difference), and suddenly I had a random flash of an idea for my novel involving telepathy.

Understand, I don't like the concept of adding telepathy to every fantasy novel that rears its head. I think telepathy is often an easy way out, and sometimes it adds a dimension that doesn't need to be there. Typically I just ignore the whole idea, and my fantasy novels often don't include "magic" for the same reason. Magic gets boring to write about, and it's not necessary to have magic in order for something to be fantasy. By definition, fantasy is whatever the heck you want it to be. Swords and sorcery be darned.

However, in the spirit of writing a whimsical subgenre western I started entertaining the thought of this telepathy thing, and pretty soon I had concocted a new character, a hilarious spin on the old "telepathy" theme, and a way to write about something I don't usually write about and enjoy it. It ALSO solved a random problem I was having with moving some characters forward further down the line of my plot.

I guess my point in all of this is that random flashes are a fact of life. They don't happen extraordinarily often, but when they do they're gold. They should not be easily tossed aside, both in writing and in anything else. Sometimes we get random bolts of inspiration and instead of distrusting them or throwing them away because they involve ideas we're not comfortable with, maybe we should embrace them...at least long enough to see if they have any merit at all. If they truly don't work, write 'em down and put 'em on the back burner. But you never know when it might mean more than you thought possible.

Sometimes the gutsy thing is to entertain the dumb/annoying/weird/uncomfortable ideas for a change.

New Novel Word Count: 4,512

-The GLS