Thirty days hath November and lookee here, November is upon us! Time once again to hit the keyboards and tap out a mere 50,000 words in the quest to finish a novel within the eleventh month’s thirty days.
National Novel Writing Month — NaNo (www.nanowrimmo.org) — is stressful, difficult, liberating, mostly gleeful, and decidedly onerous fun. Once it grabs hold, it doesn’t let go until you’ve completed that fifty-thousand-and-one-th word.
Really, it’s a raven on your shoulder, squawking away, repetitively, relentlessly, screaming, “NaNo more!” until you’ve finished your approximately 1,667 words for the day.
It’s exactly like Poe envisioned.
Join us in the movement to throw verbage to the wind! Layer the planet with your written voice, force it up to the ozone, liberate the writer in you and regurgitate your thoughts onto the page. Or keyboard. Or android notebook. Whatever.
Well, wait. Wait until November first.
THEN go and write…
My favoritest author, Pat Conroy, is writing a young adult novel.
I’ll let that sink in a minute. Do your Happy Dance, I’ll do mine.
Okay. Yes, it’s true Mr. Conroy is working as we chat, hopefully, on this work for the youth of today.
Here’s the thing: when given the chance to use one word, Mr. Conroy employs twenty. Why be brief when the opportunity for loquacity comes available? Especially when you have the ability to write someone into a location to smell the sea air, hear the gulls scream, taste lobster, as only Mr. Conroy can.
The beauty of the teen book, according to the kids I see everyday here in the library, is the jump-at-it, get-to-the-story-iveness, of the genre. I’m intrigued and eager to see if Mr. Conroy does that, if he eschews the narrative for the dialogue, if he moves the plot along to get to the meat yet pepper it to taste with his own seasoned flourish.
Of course all this time I’ve been ushering the youth toward “The Lords of Discipline” because I already thought of it as a young adult read. (Is that wrong?)
In fact, one year I gave copies of it to high school graduates.
And if the young library patrons think less of “Lords”, that its heft is too much of a tome, then I guide them gently to “The Water is Wide”, a thinner, non-fiction volume painted with laughs and angst and utter disbelief with a joy finish.
I. Can’t. WAIT for another of his works.
I don’t WANT to wait. I want to read it NOW. I’ll inhale it, I know, in a sitting, and cry because it’s over.
A release date can’t be found on Google, but Conroy is partnering with CIS, Communities in Schools, an organization that promotes at-risk student education and lifelong learning. Any donation comes with a chance to be named as a character in the upcoming novel. www.cischarleston.org.
Let the prayers begin: “Please make Pat Conroy write faster so I can read all the things running across his brain.”
I pack my lunch every day and I’m terrible at it.
I shove whatever detritus remains after packing food for the Bubs into my handy dandy nylon, insulated, velcro closure lunch sack and call it “yummy”.
For some reason, though, each and every day I open that sack expecting something different than what I myself put into the bag.
I’m showing my age, but I loved John Hughes films. How could I not love Jake in “Sixteen Candles”, or Ferris Bueller? And I loved all six of the ruffians in “The Breakfast Club”, but I especially loved Claire’s lunch.
I’ll wait if you want to Youtube the scene…
Now, when Claire pulled out sushi and a ceramic bottle of soy sauce along with chopsticks, I wanted her lunch.
Each and every day I shuffle through the month-old granola bar, the fold-over baggie of wheat bread, the bag of pistachios — okay, I’ll keep the pistachios; those things are heaven — searching diligently for my California roll and order of edamame.
No such luck.
Thus, I need a Fairy to flutter in when I’m not looking, remove the crap, and round out a nutritional noon hour with a healthy option to string cheese of questionable origin — really, I have no idea where it came from … or when … — and a handful of Puffins, a puffed wheat, processed cereal that, while delicious, lacks something in the satiety department.
Today I’m working on Day Four of leftover bean soup that I loved on Day One.
Really, Ms Fairy, I’m not looking. I left the bag right over there between the dirty microwave and the latest round of library donations. Feel free to rummage through the junk — take a copy of “The DaVinci Code” or “Twilight”; we have eighty of each — but please leave something edible and wholesome.
Oh, and please, don’t touch the York peppermint patty. It’s the only thing I truly need to get through a day.
And coffee with cream.
Posted in New Days
Tagged blech, lunch