A hypothetical reality tv show based on writers. It’ll have everything– drama, tears, cutthroat competion!
Camera pans over a room of aspiring authors…doing, well, not much. Some type or scribble, a few in a slow methodical fashion but most in frantic bursts punctuated by staring, drinking
(no one is entirely sure of the various mugs’ contents), tearing their hair out, etc.
Close up of one author, video diary format. He seems to have been asked why he’s here.
“Well, I want to win, I want to get published. Nobody wants to go home just for having a bad day on your word count. I want to want to win. I mean, of course, we’re all here to win, it would be disingenuous to imply otherwise– and I’m sure the others and producing great work, in fact I was just bouncing ideas off of Megan yesterday and she let me read an excerpt of her novel, it’s really good stuff, I can’t wait to see it in print…”
The sound of the camera-person’s snoring begins to drown out the author.
Maybe I should hold off on pitching that.
(I’d like to claim sick and sleepless for this, but honestly I would probably still be amused by it were I healthy and well-caffinated. No accounting for taste, you know.)
(Or something– I admit, I don’t know my literary references as well as I ought.)
Several evenings with FreeMind and the tarot deck have resulted in a main character, a world (well, a culture), and roughly the first act of a plot. It seems this year’s going to run fantasy. I’m not sure if that’s because the deck I have is back-to-nature/pagan-themed, and that’s what it brought to mind, or if that’s just where I’m tending to go right now.
It’s funny: I read almost exclusively scifi, but write almost exclusively fantasy. I’ve got a YA futuristic series in planning, but it reads like fantasy in a lot of ways due to being fairly low-tech. I’ve been thinking about trying to branch out a little, maybe take a stab at mystery (hah, hah, I’m hilarious) or romance. I guess I’ve always felt like there’s too much in the way of strictures there, but considering how well this tarot experiment is going, I wonder if maybe that’s what I need. Goodness knows, when I’ve got a free reign on things it all peters out halfway through (or less- often I’m lucky to get a thousand words out of something).
We’ll see how it goes. Maybe after NaNo, I’ll do a serial novel on the blog. It would keep me writing, at least.
The towers waver in my vision. I blink, but the sweat still drips into my eyes. I know I’m close, I know that I must keep on, but my mouth is dry and my body aching. One step and another, I must keep going, I must.
Hmm. Thought I missed a day, but I posted twice yesterday. Strange. I suppose my sleepless nights are catching up to me…
(A haphazard translation of “arcane story”)
The first foray into 2012 NaNoWriMo has begun. I’ve entered every year but one since 2005, and never succeeded. I think my highest word-count was in the realm of 1500 or so.
I’m feeling burnt out, lately. I suppose that’s not an auspicious start to NaNo, or to a writing career. There’s the catch, though: if I want a writing career, I have to start writing. If I can only finish one thing, maybe I’ll be pushed to do more.
I’m doing something different for NaNo this year. The whole thing is going to be based off of Tarot cards. I purchased two decks this morning, one with cats (at the husband’s insistence and which was then appropriated by him to create D&D characters), and one called “The Wild Wood Tarot.” I like the imagery on it; very earthy, pagan, nature-based stuff.
Websites have been searched, NaNo boards trawled for ideas, purchased Tarot for Writers, plot begun. Only two months to go…
I curl into the terrycloth robe, the softest I’ve ever felt. I’m out of place, here, with these long-legged, fur-stripped women. I feel like an imposter. I want to move, scream, run. I want to shout, do you see me? Do you see that I am different? I cannot be made like you.
Her headphone disappear into dusky red curls, wrapped in ribbons of dark golden red. They’re the old kind, the big clunky things you don’t see much anymore, at least in these parts. I like it. Kind of a retro look, I guess, but it fits this anonymous girl somehow.
The branches flex in the wind, moving more gently than the brisk gusts would suggest. I wonder if they’re further away than I think, or bigger, or if I’m just dehydrated and exhausted and hallucinating. I wouldn’t be surprised. How long have I been out here, days? Maybe a week? I’m beyond recalling.
The room is still, like a breath held. Still not like absence, but with the feeling of something coming. Empty, curtains fluttering, the soft gray light of dawn seeping into every crack and crevice of the ancient floor.
Whether to go or stay. Whether to run or face the consequences of my actions.
It seems like such an easy choice. Any other day I would have run. I’ve done so in the past, every time.
This time… his eyes. I can’t get his eyes out of my head. Deep blue, and pleading.