Month: December 2017

My One Takeaway From NaNoWriMo #MondayBlog

NaNo winner banner

Another NaNoWriMo is behind me.

Did I learn anything? Were there any takeaways?

Oh, sure. Planning is good. Plotting can be a friend… even to a pantser like me.

Maybe only character-driven writers will understand this, but all the planning and prepping in the world still guarantees you nothing.

I was plodding right along, words flowing like a cool stream, when all of a sudden, my beloved protagonist looks around with the malevolent grin of a serial killer and dumps a plot twist in my lap. (We’re still not speaking.)

Okaaaay. Now what?

I went with it.

The scene I was writing looked nothing like the one I sketched out six weeks ago. But, hey. Words were flowing… from somewhere, so I kept writingβ€”and making notes.

I gave a cursory glance to my journal every morning, wondering if the completed scene would resemble what I’d planned in any way.

It didn’t.

But, I stayed with it, because that is the point of NaNoWriMo. Get the words out of your head and on paper…fifty-thousand of them at least.

I reached the halfway mark and wondered if Hemingway ever struggled like this. Then I realized he drank… and a glass of wine doesn’t sound bad. But should I drink it or give it to my protagonist?

Nah. I’m still not happy with her… the wine is mine.

After one glass of Sweet Red, I understand why Hemingway drank!

It gets you out of your own way. The wall of doubt and fountain of inhibitions fall and you write like you’re on fire.

Or maybe that was just me.

No, I’m not advocating drinking while writing. Our liver is our friend and unlike plots, we can’t get a new one with every manuscript.

But, a writer writes because they have to. It is a deep-seeded need that can only be fulfilled by putting words on paper. Anything else is unacceptable.

If you get hit with a dose of writer’s block, get out of your way. The characters didn’t change and the words remain the same. The problem is you.

Remember why you write.

Remember the freedom you feel.

Remember the sense of accomplishment you feel regardless of if it’s five, five hundred, or five-thousand words you leave on the paper.

It took me a couple of years to “get it” but the NaNoWriMo rule of no editing makes perfect sense. It makes me get out of my own way to just write. Of course, by doing so, I’m also giving my characters free reign, but that’s a completely different blog post.

I’ve spent the first three days of December making notes and moving things around in my MS, however, I’m putting it away until after the holidays. But sometime in January, I’ll have to decipher all those red squiggly lines and double blue lines, and wonder if I was typing in alien code.

And there may or may not be wine involved, because… Hemingway.

 

The Park #WritingChallenge

Scissors

52-Week Writing Challenge: Week 48

NaNoWriMo is over, but the writing continues. This is another excerpt of my WIP, Sacrificial Daughter, currently at 62K. This is part of a memory Ana has which led to major changes in her life and changed its direction.

Analeigh exited Dot’s Five & Dime clutching the bag which held her new spiral notebooks and pencils. She headed for home, eager to get to the solitude of her bedroom and add to her story Sadia, the Beloved African Princess.

Excited, Ana planned the wedding scene between Sadia and mighty warrior, Manu Owon, in her mind. She didn’t hear the group of girls approaching her from behind until they surrounded her.

Macy Burford and Judy Lake each gripped one of Ana’s elbows, pulling her along at a brisk pace.

β€œWhat are you doing? Let go of me!” Ana pulled and tugged to break free, but stopped when she felt Macy’s nails dig into her skin through the thin jacket she wore.

β€œAww, calm down, Analeigh. We only want to hang out with you,” Judy cooed.

β€œNo, you don’t. We’re not friends. Let go!” Ana stopped, trying to wrench herself free, but a sharp jab to her left shoulder caught her off guard. She turned her head to find Angela Feltner glaring at her. Next to Angela stood Corinne Beeman, her eyes filled with sympathy and fear.

Macy jerked Ana forward. β€œC’mon. We don’t have much time.

β€œWhere are we going? Macy, what do you want from me? Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

The taller girl scoffed and responded through gritted teeth.

β€œI don’t give a damn who you tell. No one will believe the town whore’s bastard daughter.”

Ana accepted what her mother was long ago. She could do nothing to change it. But being reminded of her anonymous father stung.

β€œMacy, just let me go. Judy, please. I have to get home before dark.”

Angela giggled. β€œWhy is that, Analeigh? Do you have to help your mama service her men? Is that it, Analeigh? You raising your dress and spreading your legs for a long line of men every night?”

β€œYou’re disgusting!”

Angela clipped Ana’s shoulder with a balled fist.

β€œDon’t call me disgusting… that’s your mama, not mine-”

β€œAnd what she does has nothing to do with me.”

Despite the late afternoon’s cool breeze, perspiration trickled the length of Ana’s back, fueled not by fear but anger.

Where were they taking her? What did they want? What gave them the right to control her?

The group reached the corner and turned right on Mt. Pleasant Boulevard.

β€œShut your mouth and keep moving.”

Jaywalking, they crossed the desolate side street.

Ana realized they were heading straight for the back entrance of Symphony Park.

β€œWhy are we going to the park? C’mon, you guys, let me go. Please?”

β€œWe want to spend time with our friend, pretty Analeigh Sellers. We want to know how you always have the answers and get all those A’s. You doing special favors for teachers after school, Analeigh?” Macy smirked, marring her plain features even more.

Once the group was through the gate, Macy shoved Ana to the ground.

Ana threw her hands out and caught herself, her mouth mere inches away from the dirty, cracked cement. Pain shot through her wrist and heightened her anger.

β€œWhat the hell do you want?”

Macy leaned toward her. β€œIf I had my way, you’d die, Analeigh. You and your slut of a mother make me sick.”

The crazed look in Macy’s eyes confused Ana, but anger won out. She kicked her leg out, catching Macy in the shin. Ana rolled to the right, missing the hard stomp of Angela’s booted foot.

Ana jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain of her injured wrist.

β€œWhy do you hate me? What did I do to you? None of you even know me.”

β€œPretty Analeigh. Smart Analeigh,” Angela mimicked. β€œYou’re a whore’s daughter, which makes you a whore. But the boys and teachers think you’re so wonderful.”

Ana shook her head, her eyes full of sadness.

β€œYou’re wrong. No one thinks I’m wonderful.”

β€œIt doesn’t matter,” Macy bellowed. β€œNone of it matters.”

All eyes were on Macy as she pulled a large pair of silver-plated scissors from her bag.

β€œYou need a haircut, Analeigh.”

 

Β©Felicia Denise 2017