I am an aspiring writer and dedicated mommy who hopes to leave the world a little better than I found it. Of course, from what I can tell, as long as I don't drop-kick the world into a giant vat of sewage, I will have accomplished that goal.
And for the third year in a row . . . I AM THE CHAMPION!!!!!! (This does not, however, let me off the hook for finishing my novel . . . so thank you in advance to all my friends and supporters who keep bothering me until it's truly and completely done.) But for now, I can finally take a deep breath, figure out which bills I need to pay, and maybe even take a day to tackle the dust bunnies and dishes that multiplied during the month of November.
I have sailed to new shores . . . made new discoveries (mostly centered around what hot caffeinated drinks I like best) and literally created an entire world in my head . . . though I'm not so sure I should be proud of that one . . .
And for tonight's yummy excerpt (it's almost midnigt . . . I'm allowed to use phrases like "yummy").
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“I’m sorry,” she said again, flushing and folding her hands in front of her. She tried to calm the soft fluttering of her heart, telling herself again that this was not Eden’s Brow, and she had done no wrong answering the door. “It is I who should apologize for the interruption, I think,” said the young man, running his hand through his short cropped hair. “But the Queen insisted that I report to you.” Emma’s breath caught in her throat. “The Queen?” she asked, eyes wide and startled. “Ah, yes. The Queen. It seems that Arin and the Empath to the Crown are not to return for two seven-days, and so the Queen thought it best I report to you.” Emma nervously clutched her hands together. “I’m sorry,” she said, catching herself and laughing. “And I’m sorry to be saying sorry so often. Oh, bother,” she muttered. “But none of this is making any sense to me. Who are you? And why would you report to me for work?” The young man looked stricken, then amused. “You honestly don’t know who I am?” he asked. Emma wracked her memory, trying to make the young man’s description match up with any of the servants she had seen. When that failed, she tried to match his description to those in the books she had read outlining Kethellan’s nobility, but still drew a blank. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For the fourth time.” “Prince Eglin.” “What?” “I’m Prince Eglin,” Eglin clarified. “The one Gwen stabbed?” Emma said, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “I know, I know . . .,” Eglin said with a grin. “You’re sorry. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re about as good at first impressions as your lady friend”
Naughty . . . definitely on the naughty list this year.
In a surprise move, my Chief of Justification cold-cocked my Chief of Common Sense (okay - not really . . . he actually led him into the back room where there was some sort of presentation that involved monthly payment charts and computer statistics) - and the long and short is . . . I got my new laptop.
I'm typing on my new laptop - and I'm not joking when I say it's literally a pleasure. It has a beautiful full-size keyboard with soft keystrokes, and I can barely concentrate on my actual Nano story because I keep getting lost in how it feels to type.
The good news . . . I LOVE my new laptop.
The bad news . . . I sprang for the $1,100 model in total disregard of my budget. (Chief of Justification: "That last statement is entirely untrue and should be stricken from the record, your honor. In fact, the budget was carefully considered and weighed in making the decision, and for a mere $5 extra a month, it made far more sense to get the computer that will last longer . . . and has an extended warranty.")
::sigh:: BUT I REGRET NOTHING!!!!!
Otherwise, I have 8,000 words to go - and a birthday party and a concert coming up tomorrow . . . so I best get back to putting the word count into my novel rather than my blog.
I finally managed to jump a small piece of writer's block that was littering the path on the way to Nano-winning goodness. I'm at roughly 42,200 words now - so breaking 50,000 by the end of the month should be simple - especially since I don't have work on Black Friday. HOORAY!!!!
Nano Nano Nano.
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"Got it," Feather said. "She understands. We can only give you a few seconds."
"A few seconds for what?" Trev asked, but then the griffins were in motion, a blur of speed and muscle. Feathers gold body met Cinder’s white and cinnamon with a meaty thud, and the two raked at each other viciously with their front paws, sending out a shower of multi-colored feathers.
Gwen circled warily, trying to find a way to separate the two fighting griffins, not realizing that her path put her closer to Trev than to the Lady Brianna.
Feather lowered one shoulder and rammed Cinder, trying to knock the smaller griffin off her feat. Cinder took the punishing hit, raking Feather’s haunch with one paw and drawing several lines of blood. Feather shrieked and whirled, his tail whipping into Gwen and sending her careening into Trev.
They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, hidden from Brianna’s sight by the bodies of the two wrestling griffins.
Gwen tried to speak, but Feather’s blow had knocked most of the breath out of her. “Look,” she gasped, ribcage heaving. She gulped hard, “look . . . to the ones . . . that are missing.” She dropped her head onto Trev’s chest, trying desperately to force more air into her burning lungs. “Stupid . . . birds,” she managed, just as the Lady Brianna rounded the corner and dropped to her knees in the sand. The Lady’s gaze lingered on Trev for a moment, but he merely shook his head and indicated Gwen. “I don’t think she took harm,” he said, “but she can’t talk and she’s having trouble breathing.”
“Can . . . too . . . talk,” Gwen wheezed. “Just . . . not . . . well.”
Of the race . . . I broke 39,000 this morning and am hoping to surpass 40,000 by the time I go to bed tonight. Which leaves an entire week to write 10,000 words, attend two birthday parties, deal with Thanksgiving and other family obligations, figure out which bills I forgot to pay, and start Christmas shopping! No problem! Did I mention the concert, movie night, and nano write-ins I still have to attend?
And yes, for those who are wondering, my caffeine intake for the past month has increased to an alarming degree. I may need to take December as caffeine detox. But not now . . . now . . . I have the finish line in my sights and I'm thundering over it!!!
Of course, I've also realized I probably have another 150-300 pages to go to finish out my novel - so your continued support and encouragement are highly appreciated. This is the year I will continue writing until my story is told! For all those eagerly awaiting the finished product, editing should only take another 3 years ::evil grin::.
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[One of my main characters, Cassia, is receiving instruction on how to saddle and ride a griffin.]
Trev adjusted the last buckle, gently pulling against it with his leg to make sure it would not slip. “Would you rather I not tell you?” he asked. “Which reminds me, when she first launches, you’ll be tempted to lean forward, but if you do, you’ll suffer a broken nose.”
Cassia stared at him. “What?” she said.
“Nose,” Trev repeated. “Broken.” He shook his head. “She’ll leap in the air,” he tried to explain, “and with the first down sweep of her wings, her body will rock forward and her head will come up – which means, if you are leaning forward, the back of her head will connect with your nose.”
“Oh,” Cassia said. “Thank you, I think.”
Trev sighed. “I finally remember to warn someone, and they don’t appreciate it.”
As the stablehands approached Cassia, the Triad dropped her head low, raising her neck feathers and beginning to let out an ominous hiss.
“Too many,” Trev said. “Try just one, so she can keep an eye on what he is doing.”
Most of the boys stepped back, nominating a young black-haired youth to continue strapping Cassia into the saddle. The Triad relaxed and allowed the boy close. “Let’s see,” the lad said, winking at Cassia. “These would be the three straps that run around your right leg at ankle knee and thigh.” He skillfully clipped the straps together, and Cassia was unnerved to find herself stuck to the saddle, unable to move. “And now for the other side,” the lad continued, moving slowly around the front of the griffin.
“You’re speaking for her benefit, aren’t you?” Cassia said.
“I learn quick, Miss,” the lad replied, flashing her a smile. “Working with griffins makes you a bit soft in the head. If wearing one red sock keeps the bird tractable, you find a merchant willing to knit you a dozen pairs.” Several of the stable hands nodded in agreement.
“I had to train a silver once,” one piped up, “wouldn’t let me ride him unless I laid down flat in the sand and let him walk over me first. He never stepped on me, but there were a few moments each day that I was in a cold sweat as I wondered what four hundred and fifty pounds coming down on me stomach would’ve felt like.”
The lad with black hair picked up another set of leather strips, easily looping them about Cassia’s waist. “These are the main supports,” he explained, “to keep you tied to the saddle.” He grabbed a few smaller straps and connected the main supports to small silver rings set around the saddles. “These are the minor supports,” he said. “They help keep the main supports sturdy and minimize tearing. The small straps work against the tension in the main support, which makes the whole saddle ten times stronger.” The lad stepped back. “There we go, Miss. You should be ready to fly.”
Cassia tried to adjust her seat and realized she was locked to the saddle. “And how do I get out quickly, if need be?” she asked nervously.
“You cut the straps with somewhat sharp,” the lad answered cheerfully. “I assume you’ve a dagger hidden somewhere?”
Cassia nodded.
“Then you’re all set.” The lad flashed her a grin.
“Are you ready?” Trev asked, his eyes dark. “Feather’s been itching to fly.”
Does anyone else have problems with spiders hanging out in their dirty dishes?
And for those who were holding their breath (count: 0) the great laptop debate has been resolved. The Chief of Finances talked to the Chief of Common Sense, and they came to an agreement that, as long as the computer was a decent price and functional for the purposes I need it for, who cares if it is overly powerful, upgradeable, able to make toast, etc.?
So I have settle on the Dell Mini 12! Woo Hoo!!!! (Not listed in my previous email because I had dismissed it as underpowered. In the end, the portability brought it back to the top).
so when I thought about purchasing a new laptop for Christmas, I was envisioning the new mini computers (in particular, the Dell Mini 9), but fotunately realized that my hands are too big for the keyboard and it would be nearly impossible to type comfortably. As I want this to be a portable writing computer, I figured that may be a minor set-back.
So after playing with a few other sizes, I think a 12" to 13" would be my ideal. The only problem is: they've done one of two things with every 12"-13" I could find. 1) They reduced the power and took away a lot of the features (not that the Mini 9 was all that powerful); or 2) they jacked the price up to around $1,000, which is about $400 more than I was looking to spend. Anyone who is not a computer nerd may want to skip the paragraph below. Anyone who is reading this who is a computer nerd . . . please weigh in! I'd love to hear your opinion.
I've located an HP 14" for $899 (still more than I wanted to spend) that has a 2 GHz Intel processor, 4 GB Memory, and 320 GB Hard-Drive. The only cons . . . still $200 over my original price, and larger than I really like.
But the 13" HP (same model, same features) is retailing at $1,100. Love the size, perfect power . . . way over budget. Not to mention . . . none of them seem to come loaded with Microsoft Word. They all have Microsoft Works (who uses MS Works?) - so I may need to budget for a software upgrade as well.
So, then enters the debate of whether I should go with a lesser brand and a less powerful computer (I was looking at the Mini 9 after all, which wasn't the most powerful thing on the market) . . . I found a Gateway with a 1.8 Intel processor, 3 GB Memory, and 250 GB Hard-Drive for $650 (and a pretty flower pattern to make it unique and off-set that it is a 15" - and therefore the biggest of the bunch) . . . but then I look at the $899 HP and wonder if I can justify NOT spending the extra $250 for a smaller, far more powerful unit with far more functionality. Which then leads my brain down the road of trying to justify the $1,100 unit . . . which I can't. I just can't. Darn it.
So if I look a little distracted, if I'm not noveling, I'm holding internal arguments with my Chief of Creative Justification and Chief of Finances (they're locked in a death throttle at this point). Not to mention the by-standers: Chief of Holiday Planning and Thanksgiving Family Events, Chief of Remembering Birthdays (I tried to fire him years ago for poor job performance - with no luck), Chief of Remembering Work Related Potlucks, and Chief of Early-Holiday-Shopping. I can't wait for all the Chiefs to get in an argument with my novel characters, which is bound to happen sooner or later as my brain bandwidth decreases. I'm sure it will be a riot.
No . . . seriously . . . a riot. Collateral damage and all.
See what happens when I procrastinate? If you haven't ever been to FetusMart, I recommend it. It's one of those strange little websites that is highly disturbing and unbearably cute all at once.
I have been a terrible slacker about updating my posts - and to all two people who check in on me . . . I'm sorry! Seriously, this nano is turning out to be the most difficult challenge of the year. If I look at my schedule more than two days in advance I suffer breathing problems - there are a startling number of birthday parties, nano events, concerts, movies, and other odd-ball events that I have agreed to attend. And Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is in there somewhere.
Unfortunately, I couldn't justify spending the money on airline tickets to go visit my family in Vegas this year - but while I thought that would mean less stress - it seems like everyone has seized on the opportunity of having me around, and doubled up the family commitments.
And then my laptop started dying. ::sniffles:: I love my little decrepit laptop, but it's finally reached a point where (1) when I plug it in, it turns on all by itself - no power button needed (it has no battery, but it was that way when I purchased it, so I won't add that to my list of complaints); (2) it does not play well with flashdrive software (even when I stop the process and eject the flash drive the way you are supposed to, it gives me a warning); (3) it always thinks it is 1980 (see no battery above) and it takes 15 minutes to set the clock and do other changes that enable me to surf the net; and finally (4) the screen is beginning to flicker and die (I HAVE A WITNESS!!!!). I was innocently typing along at the coffee shop, and a single white line cut across the screen. This was followed by two white lines, . . . then twenty . . . and my screen image faded out of existence.
I think this all boils down to - time to get a new laptop . . . and Christmas is around the corner. T. - of course - is not so sure I need a new laptop. (Maybe he is right, but I think I deserve one ::sigh::).
So now I am afraid to write my novel on my little laptop, because once the screen goes, it will be impossible to salvage any of the information . . . okay - not impossible - but highly inconvenient. I would rather keep it powered down and save the screen life for transferring files once I have my new 'puter.
Enough whining . . . . there may be hurdles . . . but I'm still planning on winning the race! Even if my laptop is whining like a jet engine when I cross the finish line!
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“I am making a muck of this explanation,” the Lady said, smiling ruefully, “but how do you sum up a person in so few words? I’ve known Commander Stavelin my entire life, but he was not a Commander to me. He was family. He was,” the Lady shook her head, at a loss for words, “souvenirs from far away lands, fascinating tales and inappropriate jests. He laughed far more often than he frowned, and he treated everyone he met, including children, with unstinting kindness.” Gwen felt her own throat begin to close as the Lady Arisa’s emotions swelled. Even without her empathic net, Gwen would have sensed the Lady’s distress. “And how do I reconcile that?” the Lady whispered, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “How do I take the image of everything I ever knew, wipe it clean, and replace it with a monstrosity?” Gwen was left speechless. “He told me a story once,” the Lady sniffled, “about a warlord far to the North. My uncle was surpassingly good with historical facts and figures, and while I could barely remember half of Peiceland’s history, it seemed he encompassed the world in his head.” She laughed, scrubbing gently at one cheek.“I had asked him why it seemed that he hated his position, and in turn, he told me the story of this Northern warlord, who set out to conquer a chunk of land three times the size of our small country with nothing but a small nomadic army. The warlord was a fierce fighter and clever. While he usually took a village through means of trickery, it was ultimately his ruthlessness that he became known for. After he conquered a village, he would line up all of the survivors in front of a horse carriage. And he would execute anyone - man, woman, or child - who was taller than the wheel.” The blood drained from Gwen’s face. “Dios,” she exclaimed. “To what purpose?” The Lady Arisa smiled. “That was the lesson,” she said. “My uncle waited patiently for me to guess, and I think I will do the same.” Gwen shuddered as she considered what drove the warlord’s thoughts. As quickly as an explanation came to mind, she would discard it, until the sheer number of reasons she could think of began to make her feel sick. The Lady Arisa nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. “It is terrible, isn’t it?” she said softly, “All the things we can think of. All the things we never thought we could think of.”
Every once in a while in a race, there is an unfortunate accident. An ankle twists. A foot catches. the runner doesn't clear a hurdle, but instead finds themselves inexplicably wrapped around the very obstacle they tried to clear - wondering why various parts of their body are suddenly blossoming in pain.
I spent all morning writing at the coffee shop . . . only to have my computer fail to save my work. Not that I didn't save. I saved every three seconds. But when I finally closed the document, the computer . . . ate my latest version.
I would say it burped . . . but it didn't even leave a temp file for me.
After crying for a while, I went home and reconstructed the missing pieces (probably to the betterment of the novel, in all honesty . . . but still). Now I'm paranoid. Now I'm not only saving my file to two separate locations - I'm also emailing it to myself for security.
On the bright side . . . I have a more exciting excerpt!
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The merchant girl shook her head. “I do not know the reasons you are truly here, no?” she said, “but I think it is to help us all – no matter what we believe, and I thank you.”
“I try,” Trev said, his lips twisting into a wry smile.
“My name is Melinda,” the girl said holding out her hand in the manner of a merchant sealing a deal, “and I am thinking that if you are in need of assistance, I owe you a great debt. If I hear anything of interest, I will be sure to relay it to you, no?”
Trev clasped her hand in his. “It is a great kindness,” he said, “though I can be difficult to find.”
Melinda looked over her shoulder at the honeybeer tent. “Is no problem. If you need to find me, simply ask at the honeybeer tent. The barkeep will know where I spread my blanket, no?” With a final half-bow, made awkward by the weight and shape of her rolled blanket, she vanished amidst the tents, the bright colors of her clothing and blanket swiftly becoming indistinguishable against the bright patchwork pattern of the Peiceland market.
Cassia stared at Trev with wonder. “You just stopped a riot,” she said softly. “With nothing but your words, you just stopped a disaster that could have ended with half the market in flames.”
Trev looked at her, startled.
“Do not think me a fool,” Cassia said acidly. “For even had you and I withheld from using our power, anger and alcohol have a way of ending in fire.”
“Then you finally understand what I am doing here” Trev asked, “and why I could not afford to spare even a day to see you safely to my school?”
“I do,” said Cassia, her expression filled with new respect. “And I want to help.”
My brain won't shut down. I wired it up with hot chocolate at 9:58 p.m. (I know, I know. But it seemed like a good idea to help me keep awake and get some writing done this evening. I just didn't consider the following six hours wherein I meant to oh . . . you know . . . sleep.) Otherwise, the novel is finally beginning to kick into gear. The first 10-15 pages are always the hardest for me - as I'm dusting off characters, trying to remember plot lines, and generally trying to crank the old writing engine into full gear while secretly I feel like I'm missing a few crucial parts that run the engine.
And thanks to M., I finally know where the Nano forum for Denver lives! HOORAY!!!!
I'm off to brush my teeth (I don't want to know what your mouth tastes like in the morning if your tongue still has chocolate fuzzies when you go to sleep) . . . and then I'm going to attempt to shut down all thought processes until tomorrow.
Ack! I'm already running behind, which is not a promising start. Then again, maybe I'm a stretch runner - lagging behind until the deadline - er goal - looms close, and then suddenly whipping myself into a type-o-matic frenzy. Fingers of fury dance over the keyboard, the sheer wave of power sending my Starbucks chai floating through the air, a small trail of heady foam suspended, Matrix-style . . . .
I just wasted roughly 50 words on this post . . . didn't I? ::grin::
Excerpt 1 for 2009: (Keep in mind I've only written six pages, so there were slim pickins' for an exciting excerpt)!
And a HUGE THANK YOU to all who are supporting me in my Nano Quest! Onwards to victory!!! This is the year I not only win Nano . . . but COMPLETE MY NOVEL!!!! (Free coffee will be appreciated well into December.)
Fenriod’s fury washed over Gwen in a wave of searing fire, so intense she almost thought her flesh should blister. His emotions battered against the glass wall, swelling like waves in a windstorm. But whatever form of control Fenriod had slammed into place held against the test of her impertinence.
Prince Naev stirred. “Please,” he said, his voice hoarse. “At the least, allow her to see. Enough damage has been done.”
Fenriod clenched both hands, but bowed his head in acquiescence. “As Naev wishes,” he said. “For I do not want to cause the Prince any further pain.”
Gwen stood and wiped the dirt from her gown. “Thank you,” she said. “You are gracious.”
“Grace and opportunity sometimes share the same bed.” Fenriod’s lips curved into a humorless smile. “And for all your passion in defending a horse, it may still be that the animal must be put down, out of kindness.”
