WriMo Readiness
In preparation for the start of NaNoWriMo tomorrow, I’ve totally immersed myself in the mystery genre. I’m reading Murder Off Mike, listening to Tears of the Giraffe. and last night we watched a Death in the Clouds, a film adaptation of one of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poroit mysteries. My intent is to internalize the pacing and style of these cosy mysteries, i.e. mysteries in which there is either no murder or the murder takes place out of sight of the reader. I’ve long been a fan of mysteries, but I’m definitely paying attention differently now that I’m planning to write a mystery.
I’m also reading No Plot? No Problem by Chris Baty, the guy who started NaNoWriMo in 1999 with 29 friends. That first year, only 6 people finished or won as WriMos are declared to have done when they complete the 50,000 words in 30 days. The book is hysterically tongue-in-cheek as it guides a potential WriMo in making light of this event while also taking it seriously. In other words, Baty knows you have to be crazy to start and you have to stay crazy to finish. He offers numerous ideas to make it through in good spirit. Here is a random sampling of his suggestions:
- Drink lots of coffee and eat a lot of non-greasy, non-crumbly snacks that won’t mess up your computer keyboard;
- Brag about signing up for NaNoWriMo to everyone you know so that they will ask how it’s going. Nothing makes it more difficult to back down than having boasted to friends and loved ones;
- Too much planning has a way of stopping novel writing altogether. Allow yourself to begin thinking about your novel no more than one week before the start of NaNoWriMo but don’t write anything until the start date, except perhaps the title and main character’s name and a one sentence summary of your idea.
- Aim for exuberant imperfection.
- Create a noveling headquarters away from home, e.g. coffeeshops, libraries, bars, cheap motels, where you will discover a wealth of interesting looking strangers and overhear snippets of conversation that make excellent fodder for one’s imagination.
- Find inspiration in other weird places, like reading the daily horoscopes, clicking the “random” button on Live Journal, reading spam email, or looking for names in textbook indexes.
I’m simply humming with anticipation. However, because I’ve read Baty’s book, I know the excitement dies after the first week and a storm rolls in. The novelty of the event fades and . . .
No, I’m not going there yet. I’m want to enjoy the frenetic energy building inside of me that will send me exploding into NaNo-land tomorrow morning .
ph
Ashley and I began talking religion shortly after she found the Lord at age 11 or 12. She was curious about how I had gone from Catholic to Buddhist, and early on asked questions like, “Did I believe in God?” and “Did I worship Buddha?” We talked about the history of the world religions, and we went to church together when she visited Sonora, attending both the Chapel in the Pines and Unity Church. When she first moved in with Cindy and me, she was surprised to find that we had rearranged our house so she could have a room of her own. She said, “I thought I was going to be living with Buddha.” She was referring to the pictures of Buddha that had once hung on the walls in the room we gave to her. When she sat at our table, we held hands and she joined us in saying the Buddhist meal time blessing. Religion was central in Ashley’s life, and while deeply committed to and grounded in her faith as a Christian, she wanted to know about all religions. I loved this about her, and I was excited to have her close at hand. Talking to her helped me to clarify my personal views about my spiritual practice and to understand the intricacies and development of her love for God.
Before we left for Hawaii in August, Ashley and I traded books. I gave her Nine Parts of Desire by Geraldine Brooks and she gave me The Faith Club by Ranya Idliby, Suzanne Oliver, and Priscilla Warner. I started reading The Faith Club on the airplane. Ranya Idliby, a Muslim living in New York City, initiated the project that evolved into this book shortly after 9/11 when she was trying to answer her children’s questions about Islam, God, and death. Ranya had an idea to write a children’s book about the commonalities of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. She enlisted the help of her co-authors Suzanne (an Episcopalian) and Priscilla (a Jew). As the women embarked upon the project, they found that they had to sort through their own issues, including deep seated stereotypes and misunderstandings about one another’s faiths. The book records their journey through many difficult conversations toward a truly satisfying interfaith friendship. The women were deeply changed by the spiritual reflection and evolution that was required to build and sustain their friendship.
I finished this book the day before Ashley’s funeral. I miss her so much. I miss the way we headed right into discussing intensely personal spiritual matters. I miss our Faith Club.
Today is my youngest child’s 30th birthday. In our family, we have a birthday tradition of telling a story about the person, a warm or fun memory. I’m going to tell the longish tale of Raleigh’s birth. Each birth story is special in its own way and Raleigh’s is particularly fun because it connects in pertuity with another family event—the wedding of my brother Andy to Connie.
My due date was October 16 which happened to be when Raymond would be finishing his season on the carnival circuit in Raleigh, North Carolina, which the was biggest and most lucrative show of the year. That meant he would not likely be present for the birth which meant that I needed to find someone who could serve as my birth coach. Since Connie was a living in the Twain Harte house at the time, she was the logical choice, and she warmly accepted my request to serve.
In September, we went to Lamaze classes and every evening practiced relaxation and breathing exercises in preparation for the birth which would take place in my doctor’s office. I wanted a home birth, but at the time there were no local midwives and the next best thing was this doctor who had built a birth chair in his office and was delivering babies there.
Earlier in the summer when Connie and Andy began planning their wedding, they asked if I thought the baby would be here by October 29. “Absolutely,” I said. “There’s no doubt.” But I was wrong. Though I started having consistent but irregular contractions on the due date, the baby was still not here by October 28. Raymond, however, was home by then, having arrived on the 27th. A lot other people were filling the house as well, guests who were coming for the wedding.
I was big and uncomfortable. The baby was pinching a nerve that rendered my left leg numb and was also causing numbness in three fingers of my left hand. I could not make it down the long hall from the front to the back of the house without help, and I couldn’t stand for more than a few minutes. I was also sad because I didn’t see how I could make it to the wedding which was to take place in a meadow in Bear Valley, nor would Connie be there to help me. Raymond, of course, was experienced and had excelled at helping me with the early stages of labor for our first two children, but he had never been present for a delivery. Connie and I had practiced techniques for transition and delivery and I couldn’t wrap my mind around her not being with me.
About 11pm on the 28th, I was fairly certain I was in early labor. The house was a hive of activity with extra people and wedding preparations. By 1pm, it seemed like everyone had gone to sleep except me and Raymond. He was staying up with me to see if the labor was going anywhere. While he worked on a shelf over a little desk in the dining room, I watched TV. At about 2am, I took a shower, thinking it might relax me so I could sleep. It was not a successful endeavor because I couldn’t stand up very well. By 3am the contractions had picked up and I’d lost my mucous plug. We called the doctor who told us to come in. Now the question was should we wake Connie? We decided, YES! We should give her the option. She didn’t hesitate. She was dressed in a flash, and so was Andy who came along to take pictures.
I remember driving down the Twain Harte grade on that clear, beautiful night and seeing the lights of Modesto and Stockton. We arrived at the doctor’s office about 4:30am and he said with a teasing chuckling that we needed to have this baby by 6:30am because he had a date to go rock climbing with friends in Yosemite and had to leave about that time.
Raleigh Drew Harrelson complied by being born at 6:25am on October 29, 1977. He was welcomed by his dad, his uncle, and his soon-to-be-aunt. The pictures Andy took tell how awed we each were by his arrival, forever captured in our expressions–a mix of joy and astonishment. He was a big boy, 9 pounds 3 ounces, and cried for the first half hour he was in the world. He’s been big and loquacious ever since.
Six hours later, Connie and Andy were getting married in a meadow, the doctor was climbing in Yosemite, and I was lying on our king-sized bed, nursing my newborn and crying because he was so gorgeous and I was missing the wedding.
Happy Birthday Ra.
Happy Anniversary Connie & Andy.
ph
No blog entry yesterday. I was out of the house early to pick up Huck & Nell. The annual turkey slaughter was taking place at their house, and I’d asked to take part in the event. Having read The Omnivore’s Dilemma, I thought I should have at least one experience with killing food that I eat, but I was told the greatest need was child care. The kids have witnessed a slaughter before, so it wasn’t an issue of them not “seeing” the kill, but more the fact that they are young enough to be in need of regular attention when Culley, Andrea, and the team needed to focus on slaughtering 11 turkeys and prepping them for freezing and sausage-making. So the kids and I headed out at 8:30 for the library park, followed by meeting Ra’s family at Standard for several soccer games. (All 4 of his kids play soccer.) I returned Huck & Nell to their house with perfect timing just as the last swipe of cleaning was taking place in the kitchen and the banjo, guitar, and madolin were tuning up for a little blue grass celebratory music.
After a quick nap at home, Cindy and I headed to a Fall-0-Weenie party and a lovely evening with friends. I love the way the women at these parties move from friend to friend getting a hug and a kiss and catching up on each other’s lives. It’s a fluid dance accompanied by the music of women’s voices and laughter and it makes for a delicious feeling deep in my chest.
Throughout the day, however, thoughts of NaNoWriMo and my novel hovered and darted in my consciousness. I have a title, a list of characters, and a rough sketch of the plot. The title is: Memo Goes Missing. It’s going to be a mystery about a maverick high school English teacher (Sigrid Sandstrom) who solves the mystery of a missing teen with the help of her 7th period class of remedial students. I also have a new appreciation of fiction writers and how their imaginations can get totally carried away with the people they are writing about. That’s happening to me. I’m actually seeing these people on the streets of Sonora, at the park and the soccer field.
At the same time, I’ve already had one serious crisis of faith: WHO SIGNED ME UP FOR THIS THING?? I don’t have a clue how to write a novel, especially a mystery novel which takes a certain kind of mind–one that can toss a whole slew of puzzle pieces across the pages in a suspenseful fashion that leads to a meaningful conclusion. I don’t know how do that SO this is a huge waste of time.
Such was my thinking Friday night when we took a break to watch the movie Akeelah and the Bee. What a sweet movie. There is an inspirational quote in the movie (attirbuted to “A Course in Miracles”) that worked for Akeelah and also worked to revive my confidence in this adventure:
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we’re liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
Thanks to this quote and the film’s portrayal of a girl who accomplishes her dream with the help of family, neighbors, teachers and friends, I’m back on track–ready to launch myself into NaNo-land come November 1, and I’ve actually managed to attract two dear friends to come along for the ride. For the next month, Annie and Arlyn and I will be writing our hearts out.
Help us keep the faith with your best wishes and encouragement.
ph
I’ve decided to do the NaNoWriMo. If you’ve never heard of this event before, here is how the website describes it:
“National Writing Month is a seat-of-your-pants approach to writing a novel. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175 page (50,000 word) novel by November 30.”
Why do I want to the do this? Here are the reasons in no particular order:
- Every fall when writers start gearing up for this event, I think about signing up. I’ve always had excuses to not do so, the biggest being “work,” but now I’m retired and that excuse has fizzled. As my dear Cindy pointed out when I began thinking about signing up this fall, “If this is something you want to do, why would you wait? You never know what life will bring next year.” I countered with, “You’re supposed to be talking me out of this madness.” To which she responded, “If I try to talk you out of it, you will be even more determined to do it. If I encourage you, you have to argue with yourself.” How did she get so smart??
- My writing life needs a boost. Blogging everyday has been a great motivator. Just think how much momentum I’ll get out of having to complete the requiste 1667 words a day. That will really push my edges and those who have done NaNoWriMo say that the focus on output rather than quality eliminates the internal editor and lowers one’s standards of excellence. The result is taking more risks and leaps of faith.
- I have a competitive streak and this thing is set up like a competition. You can simply watch your own word count mounting each day or you can set yourself up to watch how you compare to other writer’s progress. In 2006, 79,000 people started and 13,000 finished. I can already feel the urge to be among the finishers.
- I work well under pressure. Thirty days to write 50,000 words is humongous pressure.
- What do I have to lose? Maybe a little sleep. I’ll probably start drinking coffee again (but I don’t have to). I may miss a few social engagements. I’ll probably drive Cindy nuts by being totally distracted. My bottom, lower back, and wrists will surely ache from sitting in front of the computer. But in a month it will all be over, and I will have WON the competition. Anyone who finishes is considered a winner.
I’M GOING TO DO IT!
What you can do to help:
Hold me accountable. Whenever you see me, ask me how it’s going with NaNoWriMo. Ask me how many words I’ve written all together or how many of written that day. Ask me if I’m eating well and exercising. Invite me for a walk. Accept my excuses when I decline social invitations. Tell me to drink plenty of water. Send me encouraging email messages or write comments here. (I intend to blog about my progress.) Don’t tell me I’m crazy. (I know that.) Tell me I’m courageous, brave, and creative.
It all starts on November 1. Stay tuned,
ph
Bypass clippers work with a scissor action in which a thin, sharp blade slides closely past a thicker but also sharp blade. They make clean, close cuts. A dead wood lopper makes an anvil cut, i.e. a sharpened blade cuts against a broad, flat blade. You can use the anvil cut loppers for larger or multiple branches, and they work beautifully when cutting dead wood. The bypass clippers just tear a dead branch or won’t cut through it at all. I can’t believe I didn’t know the difference between these tools before yesterday.
The pruning lady had a lovely morning, cleaning up lilac bushes, pear trees, and messy baby oaks while listening to M. Ramotswe solve her client’s problems with mannerly grace.
ph
Cindy would like readers to know that I asked her to TELL me when I have bad breath or B.O. and she adds that I had very sweet breath yesterday 🙂
ph
We watched another film, Stone Reader, from the list of movies every writer should watch. Actually, I watched it while Cindy dozed. It was definitely slow and while not entirely pointless, the action meandered through several seasons with a lot of shots of flowers and trees and sky, beautiful scenes that are tangental to the point of the film.
I suppose the argument can be made that these lovely shots along with a number of driving-down-the-road-scenes serve to note the passing of time in the Mark Moskowitz’s quest. Muskowitz, the filmaker, is trying to locate the author of a book written in 1972 which he read 25 years after it had been published and fell in love with. He wants to read more books by the guy. However, Dow Mossman, author of this book Stones for Summer, has only written one book, and Muskowitz is determined to find out why. As you can see, this is a fairly weak notion upon which to build a 2hr and 8min film.
However, I think that the most serious flaws in this film have to do with the fact that filmaker is coming from a totally masculine perspective:
- Muskowitz has an abruptness that boarders on rudeness as he interviews people he is hoping will help him with his search. I suppose it is difficult for documentarians to capture a crisp interview, especially when many of the interviewees are older men who ramble and don’t speak clearly. But I’m certain a woman could have done it with considerably more finesse the Muskowitz managed.
- There are many shots of shelves in Muskowitz’s library as well as shelves in public and school libraries and piles of books on tables and in boxes. Almost all of the books are by men. The only women writers who appear are Harper Lee, Sylvia Plath, and Virginia Woolf. Doesn’t this guy read anything of note by women? What about Joan Didion, Annie Dillard, Willa Cather, Louise Erdrich, Nadine Gordimer, or Margaret Atwood to name a few. How can Muskowitz call himself a consummate reader when these notable writers don’t live on his shelves or appear in his film? (I might add that I have read many of the male writers I saw in his library: Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Joseph Heller, John Updike, Melville, Kundera, and Chiam Potok.)
- Muskowitz visits the Iowa Writer’s workshop and talks with Frank Conroy among other male teachers, all of whom discuss the hard-nosed, heavily critical approach to developing writers that was in vogue back when this writer Dow Mossman was in the program. We also hear from one of Mossman’s teachers who says it was he who “guided” the young writer through the writing of his first (and only) novel. The man admits that the writing of the book “broke” Mossman.
- Shortly after the book was finished Mossman was hospitalized with a mental breakdown and spent the next 19 years working as a welder. When Muskowitz finds Mossman, he says that it took him 9 years to recover from the stress of writing the book. According to the men interviewed in this film, many writers have only one book in them. HMMMM . . . I wonder if the “guidance” they receive as budding writers has anything to do with this?
This movie did little to support the wildly wonderful experience I know as a writer and reader. I know the publishing industry is brutal and competitive (I have my pile of rejections letters), but I’ve been been touched gently and sublimely by women writers, teachers, and editors who have shown me there is a larger, more generous and more inspiring side to being a writer and reader than Muskowitz offered in this film.
Sadly, most of the professional reviewers (primarily men) gave this film two thumbs up.
ph
Some days I learn things. . . like yesterday.
Yoga Lessons:
- with each transition there are feelings (indirect quote but you get the idea)
- ugai breathing needs to be louder than the chatter in one’s brain
Financial Lessons:
- over-extended credit is a conundrum that takes imagination and baby steps to rectify;
- once in a life-time is enough times to fall into the credit hole (It’s too embarrassing to be almost 60 and learning a lesson taught in the Game of Life that I played when I was 10)
Aging Lessons
- as the body ages, its chemistry changes, affecting perspiration and breath (These days, I frequently have B.O. and bad breath and a housemate who kindly tells me so)
I think I’ll sit on the couch all day. I don’t feel like learning anything new today.
ph
We spent the weekend with Cindy’s family, celebrating three birthdays: two nephews and her mom. Saturday evening we took a trip to the Indian Casino to mark the 21st birthday of one nephew. Imagine the scene, especially on a weekend: a gazillion slot machines flashing colorful lights and singing electronic cadences that signal near wins and encourage more play. The card tables are full, the buffet is overflowing with American and ethnic food, and a light cloud of cigarette smoke floats overhead. It’s a high, high energy place.
I usually last about an hour on the slots, playing poker games beside Cindy who often coaches me while also playing her own game, e.g. she sees a possible flush or straight that I’ve failed to notice. It blows me away that she can click rapidly away on her own machine and still keep an eye on my game. She does the same thing when we play Bingo; she watches her 10 or so cards and mine at the same time, pointing to a B11 or G53 that I’ve missed.
When I tire of playing or lose the $40 that I’ve alloted myself, then I find a table in the coffee shop. I order a cup of tea and pull out a pile of books, magazines, and notebooks and settle in for a few hours of study while she continues to play, moving from machine to machine looking for the one that feels like a winner and will offer up that royal flush she hungers after. It’s an odd date, I know, but one we’ve engaged in for 8 years. I’ve done some superior studying/writing in casinos, and she periodically finds that golden winner of a machine and takes home some extra cash.
We’re the odd couple for sure.
ph
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