Is it possible?
Is it possible to rise above all the extraneous parts of your life and participate in NaNoWriMo?
I lost my husband to Stage Four Lung Cancer on August 11, 2017.
It has been a life changing experience, yet I feel that I can do NaNoWriMo this November.
Why? Because I feel that I have grown as a writer. I can do this.
I will write with more passion and more feeling than I have done before.
It is a challenge, but it can be done.
I have not yet planned out an outline. I will do that before November 1st.
I will succeed, because I have met the word count for many years before this.
I will do it!
Are you with me?
As a writer, do you feel the path to success is yours?
Join me, and we will succeed together!
NaNoWriMo name is faerieblu
With NaNoWriMo fast approaching, and no idea what I will write about, the muse having left me while I mourn my late husband, I have decided to add to this blog.
Here is a tip for writing when you are stuck for an idea.
This is something that has worked for me in the past.
Find a photo, or a scene from your window, or a passage from a book – it’s alright to do that, because you aren’t going to plagiarize (at least I hope not!).
Let’s work with the photo suggestion.
Above is a photo of balloons.
There are people in each one of those balloons.
Pick one of the balloons at random.
Who is riding in the balloon?
How did they end up in that balloon?
Is there anything the people in the balloon have to say?
Who do they wish to say it to? Another person in the balloon? Someone on the ground, waiting for them? Someone who is not nearby?
Why do they want to say that?
What happened to make them feel the way they feel?
Is the balloon going to land safely?
If not, why not?
If yes, then what happens next?
Okay, this is the longest piece I’ve written since my husband passed away.
Cherish those around you.
I will be back again, soon.
In the meantime, those who are planning to participate in NaNoWriMo, get ready. It’s always a great ride!
I am not writing yet. There are a few – a very few – things yet to be done, in taking care of the estate. Then, oh then! I will foray into NaNoWriMo this November (I hope) with renewed energy and dedication.
I have no story line simmering on the back burner. I have no thought of What to Write.
But I think that it will come to me, soon.
Bear with me a little while yet, and I will begin to write again, because it is necessary.
I have plans to participate in NaNoWriMo again this year. It’s been a difficult year so far, and writing has somewhat fallen by the wayside as I deal with grief and loss.
Still, life does go on, and that means writing. I have no idea at the moment what I shall write in November. No clue. But I am sure inspiration will arrive before then.
As a writer, do you have plans to do NaNo?
Some writers swear by the “pantser” method which means no plan, no outline, and only a small idea to begin to write.
The “planner” on the other hand prefers a near complete outline of story, with characters drawn clearly and a good idea of the story and how it will proceed.
I tend to be a “pantser” although last year I did work with a rough outline.
Writers, let’s do this together, no matter which method you use.
It isn’t long until NaNo begins.
I have been busy again this past week, with phone calls to be made and arrangements for switching accounts to my name.
I gathered all of my late husband’s clothing together, folded them neatly and packed them. Then my son and I took them all to the Salvation Army.
I didn’t cry.
Someone, I hope, will find the warm shirts, the pants and socks to be of use. Someone, I like to think, that needs them and can’t afford to buy new.
This is now me, a new widow, learning to be single again.
I love the photo above of the northern lights. Have you been lucky enough to see them for yourself? If not, it is truly a spectacular sight. I have been fortunate to see them many times.
The lights appear often during bitter cold nights, when it is too cold to venture outside, but somehow I always do go out. There is something about the sky that draws me to it and I don’t mind the cold.
My bit of wisdom for this week.
Be sure to have an up to date will, a power of attorney and a personal directive. This is important to help those left behind.
Many years ago, when I was a child, my mother and I watched a movie (or perhaps it was a short drama program) on television. The story was about a woman who loved a man from afar. She existed on the edges of his life, witnessing the important events of his life, but she was never introduced to him and never did she have a relationship with him, except for in her own mind. At the end of the show, she died, an old woman. In her last hours, the man read a letter she had written to him, but when he arrived at her home she had died. As the credits rolled, the screen showed “The Beginning” instead of the expected “The End.”
I have been thinking lately how things do indeed come to an end, whether we expect them to or not, and that endings are sometimes filled with dismay, but may also be filled with hope for the future or even dread of what may come next.
All of this is leading up to something, I promise.
When one reads a short story or a novel, the ending should be memorable. That’s not to say that we, as writers, must kill our characters or make them suffer at the end. The end, though, should resolve our characters’ dilemmas and problems. I love a happy ending, but I rarely write them, at least so far. My characters won’t have it! Not yet. It well may be that as I develop as a writer, these unruly persons will fall into line and agree to become happy at last. I can only hope. There. I have ended with an upbeat note!
So….what does everyone think of this idea? A blog post that is “written” by a character from the author’s writing. I think it’s a great suggestion. (Thanks Facebook pages).
Character from a novel in progress:
I hate the way my former schoolmate has got famous. Okay, so not famous like across the country famous. But popular, let’s say, in my hometown. She’s got Followers for godsakes. On Facebook. She has a band, a country and oldies rock band. And she’s the lead female singer. She’s the only female in the band. Like she’s always wanted the attention and now she’s soaking it up, while I work in an automotive shop as the general clerk and gofer.
If I was less sure of myself, I’d probably be jealous. I’m not though. Jealous I mean. I am proud of the way I got out of my depression, when I was bullied in high school and got enough confidence to find a job where I have to meet the public every day.
We ran into each other one day, and that meeting made me stop and think. I wanted to improve myself so that she won’t ever be able to feel all superior again. I will do it. I’ll lose weight and fix my hair and buy new clothes and then I’ll feel better about myself.
Let the changes begin!
Mr. Heavyfoot busied himself with the telescope until the doorbell rang. It was the police officer who had been there the last time.
Mrs. Heavyfoot noted the frown on the police officer’s face as she entered the room.
“I need to speak to your husband,” she said.
Mrs. Heavyfoot said, “He’s just out on the balcony. I’ll get him.”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll come to him.” Having said that, the officer strode across the room and stepped onto the balcony.
Mr. Heavyfoot was caught.
The officer told him, “There have been complaints of your invading the neighbors’ privacy, with your telescope.”
“Oh, my,” said Mr. Heavyfoot. There wasn’t much else for him to say.
Mrs. Heavyfoot listened and watched these goings on, with a sad heart. She was disappointed in her husband and she felt a fool for not noticing his behavior.
The officer read him his rights, and handcuffed him. He was taken away, much to the consternation of his wife.
He was home again by the next day. He had to pay a fine, and was prohibited from spying on the neighbors.
As Mrs. Heavyfoot confronted him about his snooping, she sobbed and refused to let him comfort her.
“You are the cause of my upset,” was all she would say to him.
Mr. Heavyfoot hung his head and apologized, but it didn’t help.
“I want us to go home. Back to the homestead,” she said. After the visit from the neighbors Mrs. Heavyfoot had felt out of place and she realized now that her true home was in the bush. Her heart belonged to the wild.
Mr. Heavyfoot was already walking towards the balcony, where the telescope was, and he said over his shoulder, “No, I want to stay here.”
Mrs. Heavyfoot picked up the heavy lamp that sat on the coffee table. She struck Mr. Heavyfoot with its base.
He dropped to the floor. She hit him again, and then once more, just because she could.
Having done that, she muttered over his body, “You won’t be looking at that woman again.”
There were blood spatters on her hands and on her shirt. She wiped her fingerprints from the lamp, and cleaned herself up.
She packed her things. She took the telescope as an afterthought. She took a cab to the service station where the tractor was stored. She settled up with Ernie Watts and piled her belongings in the wagon. She drove to town and picked up some supplies. The town gossip, Alex Handle, was in the store. He asked where Mr. Heavyfoot was and Mrs. Heavyfoot told him that her husband had stayed in the city.
“So you’re back and he’s not?”
“Looks that way,” said Mrs. Heavyfoot shortly. Then she went out to the tractor and drove to the homestead.
She would be happy, she thought, without her spying spouse. And best of all, she could stomp around the old wooden shack as much as she wished, with no one to complain. That was freedom. That was joy.
Of course, she was the prime suspect in the death of Mr. Heavyfoot. and the local sheriff arrived to question her soon after she got home. He was a kindly old man, and he didn’t care to delve too deeply into her actions prior to coming back to the homestead. He wrote a report, suggesting that Mr. Heavyfoot was dead due to an altercation with some unknown person, and that was that. In the city, the police had other matters to attend to, since there was a gang war going on. That took precedence over the death of Mr. Heavyfoot.
Mrs. Heavyfoot sold the apartment to a couple who planned to rent it out through AirBnB. She got a nice tidy sum that would supply her needs for a very long while.
And so, Mrs. Heavyfoot got away with it. At night, she would sometimes go outside, bundled in her coat and look up at the stars. For here, unlike in the city, she could see them. She rather liked the telescope for star gazing.
Mr. Enders, from the next homestead over, had been coming for dinner for a time, and he helped her with some of the heavy work. She thought that he might be husband material. On the whole, her life was good.
NaNoWriMo is coming along great. I’m at 32,022 words today.
It isn’t always easy finding the time or the incentive to write. I’ve had several interruptions when I’ve had to leave my house, as it is still being shown by realtors. There is one “deal” in process, but it ends late Thursday the 17th if they don’t have financing in place by then.
There are other people interested in the house, so that is good. I do hate the idea of moving in winter, but oh well.
Back to writing: I added some extra scenes and some extra chapters into my work in progress. The story was coming to an end far too fast to reach a word count of over 50,000.
By adding these extras, I was able to think of more “what if?” situations, which in turn gave me more to write.
I’ve also killed off two people already. Not my main character, though. I think I am going to send her to prison for a while.