Tag Archives: fiction

NaNoWriMo Eve

Real Spirit of NaNoWriMo

 

My word, our heroine has done it again. A whole year has gone by and it’s suddenly NaNo Eve!

I planned all along to do NaNoWriMo. I do it every year – it’s a given I’ll participate. I have my spreadsheet ready for tracking my progress and a general outline of what I want to write. I’m neither pantser (anymore) nor planner, but rather a hybrid. I feel both approaches have merit, especially when it comes to NaNo.

If you read this blog when I regularly updated it, you’ll already be aware of my NaNo Curse. It gets me every year. Something unexpected comes along and I have to navigate my way around or through it in order to survive and win NaNo. Sometimes, like in 2016, it just doesn’t work out for me. (That was the year both my son and I were in the hospital for a while.) I’m anxious as I write this, wondering what form the NaNo Curse will take this year. Will I get past it? Tune in and fine out, dear Reader.

My personal goal every year is to meet the point I want to reach before Thanksgiving. This year, Thanksgiving is rather early, the 22nd. It’s going to be a challenge considering I’m out of the habit of writing daily. My hope is that this year’s NaNo puts me in BICHOK mode daily once again. I miss writing with all of you.

So lots of anxiety and hopes wrapped up in my approach to NaNoWriMo 2018. I’m as ready as I’m going to be, barring picking up some creature comfort supplies today. How about you?  Are you ready?

NaNo is all about challenging one’s self, so bring it on!

The Real Spirit of #NaNoWriMo

 

 

Here we go into the dreaded Week Three of NaNoWriMo. Are you still with us? Are you gung-ho? Yes? Fantastic! No? That’s okay. Our heroine is here to tell you it’s not too late.

The 50k is not the be-all-and-end-all of NaNo. No, my friends, the whole purpose of NaNo is to get you writing. Write what you can when you can at your own pace. JUST. WRITE. Simple as that. Sure, there’s a number goal set for supposedly winning NaNo. It’s the carrot on the stick for many if not most of the participants. But maybe you just don’t need that carrot and can enjoy the carousel ride without the brass ring.

Take into account your studies/work/family and set your own goal. Maybe it’s a word count, in total, per week, or per day. Maybe it’s an amount of time spent writing per week or per day. They can be small. Just make them reasonable for your own life and lifestyle. Don’t forget to pat yourself on the back when you are able to reach that goal. In the same vein, don’t be afraid to adjust the goal to suit your life as needed.

Pick up that file, that notebook, those post-it notes. Take a deep breath. And just write.

Remember, that’s enough. You’re writing. You’re not an aspiring writer, you are a Writer. And that, my friends, is the Real Spirit of NaNoWriMo. You are already a winner.

Write on!

Fall Cleaning

 

Blog Fall Cleaning

 

Nice to see you again. It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it? I’m afraid politics has been a shock to our heroine’s system, stopping me from being able to do many of the things I love. I’ve been in ostrich mode for a little while, though. Keeping my head in the sand (only to some extent) has allowed me to reclaim some of my energy.

It’s that time of year when an old writer’s mind turns to NaNoWriMo. As such, it’s only right to blow dust off the keyboard and get ready to give the blog its annual fall cleaning. Oh, I know, most people do spring cleanings. I’ve always done mine in the fall, from household to blog. There’s something magical about Autumn, when the air turns crisp along with the changing leaves that skitter and scuttle about as little eddies of breeze waft through.

I had once again hoped to have a collection of my spookier stories together and up on Amazon in time for October’s Halloween / Samhain season, but it is already mid-September. I think that ship has sailed, but I raise my fist to my rallying cry, “Next year, by the gods!”

Can you think of any themes in my flash fiction which might lend themselves to a collection? I’m probably going to dive into the uncomfortable position of reading through my blog and trying not to edit everything to shreds as I explore that topic.

In the meantime, it’s the mop, bucket, duster, and vacuum for you, Girl Meets Words! It’s almost time for NaNo, my friends.

 

 

 

#FlashFic: Benton House

The Benton House by JC Rosen

She crept along the hallway in dappled light, dawn peeking through drapes. A sound ahead made her freeze, her bravery faltering. She had to keep going. If she didn’t, they might catch her. Big brother Jackie had told her to keep going and “don’t look back, Ellie, not for anything.” Her little hands turned to fists.

It had been a long night. Super scary, being alone in the dark, old house. The wind didn’t help. It made the building creak. Its fingers dashed chills all over her little body. Scrawny, even though she was seven, and stubborn to go with it, Mama said.

Her brothers each spent a night in the Benton House. The twins teased her until she was angry enough to show them she was as brave as they were. Braver! They were ten years old when they did it. She ignored their spooky stories of cold places and whispers. Secretly, she curled up in her room with a pillow afterward, when she was alone. She was scared all right, but she wouldn’t show it to them.

Only Jackie, her oldest brother, understood. He held her hand and told her she didn’t have to do it. It was spooky in the abandoned house, he said. When he saw her jaw set, he stroked her hair. His eyes looked sad. That’s when he took her hand and told her not to look back. He told her a lot that afternoon. Nearly changed her mind, but she gulped and held her ground. At least the twins weren’t there to hear or see. Bobby and Thom were only twelve. All they knew was how to make fun of her.

The night was darker than Ellie ever saw. There were chills even when the wind wasn’t shaking the house. Weird noises, too. The worst was the whispery sound, like voices too quiet to hear right. Ellie thought she heard “girl” a few times. It was probably the wind, though, wasn’t it? Jackie snuck her a flashlight and told her to save the batteries. She only turned it on when she got really scared. Its beam swung around her closet hiding place, scouring the walls and corners. Nothing there. Breathe nice and slow, like Jackie said. It helped.

The darkness under the door seemed to reach for her. When it turned gray with the coming dawn, she shed silent tears. Easing from the closet, she saw a dingy, harmless room. Light filtered half-heartedly through tattered curtains. She tried to laugh. It came out as a cough, her body shaking. All she had to do was get out of the house.

The sound ahead in the hallway made her freeze, her tummy tingling. Keep going, she told herself firmly. Jackie said keep going. She swung her fists at her side as she marched down the stairs and through the living room. Ellie ran when the front door was in sight. It fought back when she tried to open it. She almost panicked, but the hinges groaned open. Trembling, knees rubbery, she flew through and down the steps of the porch. Ellie turned and looked at the Benton House. It had so terrorized her. In the half-light of sunrise, it looked old, sad and saggy.

Ellie, over here, be quick.” Jackie held out his hand over the fence edging the property. Ellie smiled smugly and strutted through the yard. She did it! Bobby and Thom might stop teasing her. At least for a while.

She reached for the gate. It didn’t budge. She tried pushing and pulling. Jackie ran over and grabbed the gate. He leaned against it hard. A quiet scream built in her throat. It died as a cold finger caressed the back of her neck. “No, Ellie! Climb over, keep moving!” Jackie pushed and pulled frantically. Ellie knew it was already too late.

Invisible hands grabbed hold and dragged her away from her horrified brother. Ellie heard the whispering voices clearly. “A girl child! We’ve waited so long. Welcome, welcome.” The voices soothed away her fear. The farther away they lifted her, the more peaceful she felt.

They took her high above the yard. Below, Jackie yanked open the gate. He gathered up a small, limp girl. Curiosity made Ellie hover, watching as he shook his head and cried. Boredom came. She swirled through a window. Her new family waited.

FlashFic: The Deading

 

A flash by JC Rosen

 

The secret to successfully being dead is to remember what it was like to be alive. Does that sound too simple? Until you’re dead, you can’t understand the big deal. Moving to the other side of the veil makes it harder to stay like a human.

I don’t know many dead people. Those I met convinced me I’m not missing anything. Lots showed me what I didn’t want to do. Being with them made me understand how to have a good life after death. What a tired saying that is. “Life after death.” There must be some other way to put it. There’s “living,” maybe there should be “deading.”

I’m rambling. I rambled a lot when I was living. I do it more now that I’m dead. Now that I’m deading. There’s so much time to fill, you see. Think of all the busy things the living do. They eat, there’s school or work, they sleep. These take up time. These help the living stay tethered to time. These are things that were stripped from me when I died. So much time to fill and no tether to time anymore. It’s easy to lose track.

Losing track of time is worse than idle hands. To say it’s the Devil’s workshop is only a figure of speech, so relax. Losing track means time passes without notice and all the familiar things blur away. The dead lose their sense of self. Just like the living, the deading get depressed, angry, confused.  They start acting stupid, brushing at the veil between the dimensions. Pushing themselves on the living. Terrifying them. It’s hard to come back from that and be all humanlike again.

The veil is gauzy thin. I watch the other world through it. I fantasize I have a tether to time. Familiar people, places and events remind me what it was like to be alive. Whisper light and lovely, the veil is so attractive. I want to touch it, even reach through it and touch my familiar stuff. I move close, too close sometimes. The idea of having an effect on my stuff is crazy cool. I miss it, but I’m afraid of scaring the living. I’m afraid I’ll lose myself in the rush, too. I dance away again, but I don’t lose sight of the familiar. My anchor to time and remembering my living self.

The living press against the veil from the other side sometimes. People who die and get saved, go back to living. Curious people, mourning or looking for kicks. Most often it’s just a dreamer. Like a nurse to a confused old patient, I say soothing things to the dreamer. “Yes, I’m here. I’m fine. I love you.” Pretty words. As close to having an effect on the living as I let myself get. No idea who they are, but they always leave the veil peacefully. It’s part of remembering what it’s like to be alive. Remembering that need to know loved ones are okay, even when they’re deading.

Age at death doesn’t much matter. I’ve seen old and young spirits lose track of themselves. They become ugly and mean, lashing out at each other and pushing at the veil. Sometimes they become desperately sad and try to reach through. Either way, I pull in tight and think myself away.
Leaving makes me lose sight of the familiar, though. Time blurs. I grasp hold of something, anything, that can be an anchor. Pets are nice. They can see through the veil. Their eyes are soothing. They make me remember being alive and loving my dog. Good anchor stuff. Good reminders of living for the deading.

Familiar things from life give way to new things as the living change. As the living join the deading, new familiar things take their place. If time blurs too long, all the familiar stuff is gone. There’s no anchor. Rebuilding the pretend tether to time is hard. Giving over the memory of living is the easy way out. I fight hard to remember living. Mom always said I was stubborn.

Don’t be sad, Daddy. She’ll be here soon, too. Hold her in your sights, let her be your familiar anchor. She’ll help you remember what it was like to be alive. Just like she does for me.

August 2015 Daily 100

Flashes

 

A few friends and I joined in a writing challenge last month. We wrote flash fiction of at least 100 words a day to get our creative juices flowing. I took the first word that came to mind and just let it flow. I didn’t edit, didn’t mull for hours. When I read back, I often found a dismal display of writing. Occasionally, I hit upon something I might continue into a longer story.

Here are a few I liked. I hope you enjoy them.

 

14th

 

“Frittering it all away, my girl,” Granda told me, papery voice nearly swallowed by the television. Yet another game show.

I put my hand over his, warming it. “What am I frittering away?”

He turned away from the television, giving me a gentle smile. “All, Emma. Listen when I talk to you.” He winked.

“And all would be…” I lifted a shoulder and a corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.

“All, love. Time, opportunity, ingenuity… but especially time.” He closed his eyes, resting after the forceful response.

As he stayed quiet, I reflected as well as I could. I always felt these moments as what writers call “comfortable silence.” I liked to think Granda thought so, too. Wasting it all, especially time? I waited for him to open his eyes. “I’m seventeen, Granda. Going to the university on scholarship next fall. How am I wasting time?”

He fidgeted and his hand bumped up under my palm. I turned it so we loosely clasped fingers. With a sudden surge, he grasped my hand. He gave me a look so fierce and his voice was strong. “Love you, girl. I’m proud. Mind your time.”

He didn’t so much lean back as crumple, caught with a sweet smile forever more.

 

21st

 

Worn, this servomotor. Worn out and used up. Just like me, she snorted softly. Too bad for both of us, had to be cleaned up and keep on going. Angel Station was just a diurn’s flight, anyway. Had enough for some food, some fuel, and a few servomotors besides. Off to Valkyrie Hill for a meet and greet with the new clients on that crappy moon beyond Passapore. Possibly made it Passapore’s moon. Elladora made a mental note to check when she jacked into the navcomp for course corrects.

Just had to get another day out of this servomotor. Again.

 

25th

 

Grey blanketed her, in color and in mood. She had no desire to shake off either the dull, plodding thoughts or the quilt. The poor thing was tattered, worn, bearing stains of generations. It was appropriate. She huddled into its warmth, turning her face away from the window. Streaks of sunlight had the audacity to peek through the glass.

When the sunshine went away, she ventured from under the covers. Lumbering between shadows, she went to the kitchen. She didn’t want to eat. She wanted to sleep. More sleep, not food. Her shrink’s voice joined the others. “Prove you can take care of yourself this week, Marnie. The nurse will check on you Tuesday morning.” Monday night now. The battle between self-care nonsense and getting stuck in the hospital again. Right, soup and a shower.

Then she could sleep again.

 

29th

 

There was something unnatural about the way these beings moved.  Petram nearly laughed aloud, a terrible breach of protocol. She felt the eyes of the ambassador swivel her way and her merriment disappeared. Alien meant different, after all. Not of our experience. The four legged yet upright Fiirmi certainly met that requirement. Coming from a nebula beyond Terratoo’s reach sealed the deal. The hiss of their respirators pumping who knows what into their flat noses was the only sound as they approached.

Petram was far down the line from the ambassador. Celebrity had its perks, but it didn’t trump political and diplomatic credentials. Her predictions as to contact with alien species paid off bigtime when the Fiirmi arrived. As she wrote, they were the ones driving the tram. Terratoo’s people liked to think they were advanced enough to explore the cosmos, ready for first encounters. The truth is, her people were just poking about in the galaxy while the Fiirmi, and likely others, observed. Were they amused? How would she know? They were alien. Along with the others, she bowed to them, but lifted her head quickly. Mustn’t miss a moment of this.

#FridayFlash: Box of Rox

 

Diamonds are Rocks

 

“Dumb as a bag of hammers.” Harvey Feasler snorted, pointing at her.

“No, dumb as a box of rocks!” The other kids howled laughter when Monte Lyman spoke up.

Roxanne heard them in the distance. They weren’t far away, but if she listened, she’d hearseefeel everything. They stayed in the distance like all the other stimulation. Mr. Sattler called her name, but got no response. He waved from a few feet in front of her and waited there. He was safe that way.

Easing him into a space of her awareness, easing him out of the miasma of colornoiselight, Roxanne took a slow breath and prepared to engage in conversation. “Good morning, Mr. Sattler.”

“You having a good morning, Roxanne?” She searched his face for cues. A slight smile, widened eyes that might be happy rather than scared, hand palm up. That last one confused her, but he seemed to be friendly. He always did.

Trying to mirror his expression, she looked a little frightened when she responded, “It’s good.” She was busy making the colornoiselight absorb the children’s continued laughter and chanting. Was that concern on Mr. Sattler’s face now? “Thank you for asking,” she belatedly finished. His face slackened into what she recognized as calm. Filing away the information, she tried to offer a calm smile back.

Knowing better, he didn’t chatter with her on the way to her classroom. His position of authority quelled most of the abuse heaped on the poor girl. She seemed oblivious to it, even when a rowdy jock called out, “Lookie now, here comes the box of rocks!” Sattler didn’t understand her lack of reaction, not really, but decided it was a small mercy. When he held the classroom door open, Roxanne hesitated only a moment before awkwardly sidling into the room. That’s progress. He nodded, waved to the Spectrum Class Block, and quietly closed the door.

“Dumb as a box of rocks, my butt,” he muttered before shooing late students toward their classrooms and sending the rowdy jock to the principal’s office. Not a very glamorous job, being middle school vice principal.

Standing at her locker in the SCB, Roxanne peered into the shadowy space and frowned. Miss Emily watched her shrug her shoulders and knew it had nothing to do with dismissing a thought. Roxanne didn’t do that. She couldn’t do it. Giving the girl a wide berth so she didn’t startle her, Miss Emily waited patiently to be noticed. Roxanne stopped shrugging and shaking her head. She waved to her teacher and waited.

“It’s too warm for a sweater or jacket, Roxanne. You don’t have one to put in your locker,” she explained patiently. Watching the girl process the information and then light up with relief made happy bubbles dance in Miss Emily’s belly. It’s times like this when Roxanne gave a spontaneous smile, eyes alight with understanding and connection, Miss Emily knew Roxanne was meant for more than the SCB had available.

Settling in at her seat alone at a table, Roxanne began her customary decompression with paper and pencil. Miss Emily left her to it and circulated in the classroom. Nearly each student had a personal teacher’s aide who helped with monitoring and helping them with their tasks. Roxanne was able to work with little supervision, only a reminder to focus on the worksheets or computer from time to time. As she passed Roxanne’s table, Miss Emily noted the girl wasn’t writing equations as expected. Words filled the page.

She got Roxanne’s attention with a little wave from several steps away. After getting a wave back, she sat across from the girl. “May I look at your paper?” Roxanne looked blank and nodded. Nearly every line of the page held the words “box of rocks.”

“You are writing very well, Roxanne. I have a question.” She paused until Roxanne tilted her head slightly. “What is a box of rocks?”

“Dumb,” the girl replied flatly.

Miss Emily caught herself, stopping the frown before it could form. “May I show you something?” Roxanne tilted her head. Extending her hand over the table, Emily showed her rings. She pointed to her engagement ring. “Do you see this?”

“Shiny.”

“It is shiny, yes. It’s called a diamond.”

“Diamond.”

“Diamonds are rocks, Roxanne. They’re bright and shiny.”

Roxanne tilted her head one way and then the other slowly before her shoulders relaxed and she put down her tightly gripped pencil. “Diamonds are bright.”

“Right. Diamonds are bright. Diamonds are rocks,” Miss Emily nudged.

“Bright as a box of diamonds,” Roxanne said slowly.

Miss Emily smiled, her head tilted slightly to engage Roxanne more closely. “That’s very good. Bright as a box of diamonds.” She gave a little nod. After a moment, so did Roxanne. “Would you like another sheet of paper?” Another nod, another piece of paper. This time, the equations flowed.

When Mr. Sattler walked her to the bus as he did at the end of each school day, she walked along quietly as always. The colornoiselight was thick. “Dumb as a box of rocks,” Monte shouted from down the hallway, ignoring the vice principal’s presence in his enthusiastic delivery.

The voice squeezed out of the colornoiselight and Roxanne heardsawfelt it. She stopped after a couple steps. In an even tone, she commented, “Diamonds are rocks. Diamonds are bright.” Continuing on her path, she was unaware of Monte’s face turning red as the other kids heckled him about getting burned back.

Mr. Sattler didn’t understand, not really. He decided he didn’t have to understand. “Very good, Roxanne,” he told her.

 

~

Inspired by my younger son, who has autism, this story is presented for Autism Awareness Month. The character of “Miss Emily” is a tribute to one of my son’s favorite teachers. Although he’s an adult, he remembers his elementary school teacher often.

Everyone on the autism spectrum is different, but all face challenges, as do their families and friends. Please know your kindness is deeply appreciated. 

 

#NaNoWriMo: How I Survived My NaNo’s Death

 

Embracing the Spirit of NaNo

 

Our heroine is plagued by an annual NaNo Curse, dear Reader. Everything from pneumonia to chronic migraine has hit me in November, making me work all the harder to reach my goal for NaNoWriMo. Despite the Curse, I have always hit the goal line, sometimes by the skin of my teeth.

This year? Not so much.

The Curse started early and stayed late this year. I cleared several hurdles, but the biggest obstacle came in the form of extended ER visits and hospital stays. Since I’ve been home, I enjoyed an ambulance ride, had to go back inpatient briefly, and am giving myself IV antibiotics at home. A barrage of home nurses visiting and the expected journeys to doctors’ offices take up much time.

It leaves little time for writing.

I talk and post about “The Spirit of NaNo” every year.  I tell wrimos they’re winners because they write what they can when they can as they navigate the obstacle course of their busy lives. I believe it to my toes. This year, I embrace it on a personal level. For the first time in years, I got nowhere near the 50k. Sure, I could have cheated and got my 50k of nonsense validated. That isn’t why I participate in NaNo, though. I do it to enjoy the balls-to-the-wall writing experience. I may not have had a lot of that energy writing this year, but I dove in when I could.

That’s the Spirit of NaNo. My NaNo novel died, but I survived. I feel like a winner because I held onto the philosophy behind NaNoWriMo. That’s the basis of any goal I set going into NaNo each year.

How did you do?

#NaNoWriMo: Beyond the Words

 NaNoWriMo: Beyond the Words by JC Rosen

 

Whether prepping for or deep in the depths of NaNoWriMo, we tend to focus on word counts and stifling the inner editor. Don’t get me wrong. These are important issues. The latter helps with the former and the former is what gets you beyond that official finish line.

Let’s talk about what you can do to improve your experience. These are techniques which have little to do with plotting and wrangling words. These are meant to rejuvenate your energy stores, to lift your spirit, and to freshen your sense of purpose. They make it so much easier to do the stifling and the writing.

Simply put, I’d like you to consider what you can do for your comfort and pleasure. Self-care is greatly overlooked, especially during NaNo. We wrimos tend to develop tunnel vision and I’m telling you, it’s easy to feel the walls crowding you when you’re in a tunnel. What do you do when you’d like to treat yourself? Not a spa weekend, but rather a small pick-me-up. How do you like your environment so that you’re not distracted by it?

If I didn’t make lists for these situations, I’d get lost in the tunnel vision. I make two lists: Get and Do. I enlist my kids in helping me so the Getting and Doing don’t become chores themselves. Asking those close to you to help prepare you for and refresh you during NaNo also reinforces how important it is to you. One stone, two birds there.

I’m wary of stereotyping genderwise, so my disclaimer is these are examples which work for me. YMMV. I hope some of them inspire you to finding your own way out of the tunnel vision.

Under GET:

  • Crepes on NaNo Eve (at least!)
  • Good coffee and creamer
  • Warm socks
  • Fingerless gloves (I tend to write when it’s cold.)
  • Peppermint lotion (It’s as invigorating on the hands as it is on the feet.)
  • Good microwave meals and/or easy meal supplies
  • Incense
  • New nail polish

When you make your list, keep in mind the little incidentals. Will you need change for laundry machines? Getting quarters means one big step I can skip at laundry time.

Under DO:

  • Fresh linens on the bed
  • Clean bathroom
  • Do laundry (Yes, these are chores, but they make my life easier and more pleasant.)
  • Find comfy sweaters
  • Give myself a manicure (or go out and get one)
  • Crank up the music and dance and/or play air guitar (or a real one!)
  • Spend some time with family and pets
  • Watch some entertainment (WARNING: Do not start a tv series. Far too easy to binge.)
  • Read a book. (I strongly recommend setting a timer, but this is one of my favorite items.)

What helps you cleanse your writing palate? Maybe cooking a special meal or going for a run? Just as important, you can list items just for fun, ones which aren’t really options.

  • Buy that Jaguar and take a ride down the mountain to see the leaves
  • Have a fun evening at the local with <insert celebrity name here>
  • Pitch a no-hitter during a crucial game in the World Series

When you feel a little frantic about writing, your writing gets bogged down. Lighten the mood and your outlook by looking at your list and picking something you enjoy. Taking a little time away from writing may be just what you need to get your head back in the game.

What is on your list? Please share and inspire other wrimos at the same time.

 

 
photo credit: nicola.albertini via photopin cc

#NaNoWriMo: Stop with the Waffling!

This originally appeared on the #amwriting site a couple years ago, but bears repeating.

No More Waffling about NaNo by JC Rosen

Photo by TheCulinaryGeek

November 1st is just around the corner, a mere handful of days away. For wrimos, Halloween / Samhain is spent in anxious anticipation of the stroke of midnight. Wrimos spending this time alone talk to themselves, coaching themselves to jump through that midnight gate with vigor. Those at write-ins with other wrimos? Well, they experience a group dynamic I like to call hooting crazitude. (Come on. It’s fun to say.)

You – yes, you – can still be caught up in the excitement that is NaNo. Have you been compiling pro and con lists? Perhaps you think you just don’t have time for it. Maybe the idea of writing that much in one month is too daunting to contemplate. Are you in the midst of a work-in-progress and simply don’t wish to step away from it to start something new? Do you sigh and wistfully say you just can’t do it?

There are so many reasons people state to explain why they don’t want to do NaNo. Don’t get me wrong: I respect another’s choice in the matter. A simple “I don’t want to do it” makes me nod and back off. NaNo’s not for everyone. It is, however, for many people who think it can’t work for them.

  • The spirits of encouragement and camaraderie during NaNo are not to be underestimated. Put those on your pro list and underline them for emphasis. Whether you’re in it to be utterly nuts and compile a novel full of “plot bunnies” and challenges (see nanowrimo.org Forums for more info) or you’re working on a more conventionally legitimate project, you’ll find people ready to support you and keep you going.
  • The NaNo Rebels group is going strong again this year. Check out this link about NaNo Rebels on the nanowrimo.org site for official info about the Rebels. If you’re in the middle of a WIP and don’t want to set it aside, write nonfiction, or write in formats other than novel-sized ones, you can participate by being a NaNo Rebel. The goal is the same: 50k new words on your project(s).
  • Consider setting a different goal for yourself. No one says you have to write 50k words. No, you won’t “officially win” NaNo by writing 20k words. You may write your heart out during the hours you have available, though. You may be pushing yourself in ways you never have in order to reach the goal you set for yourself. That’s NaNo, baby!

The whole point of NaNoWriMo is to push yourself and just write. Gag and tie up that inner editor who makes you go over everything you write as you write it. Just. Write. No matter what, it’s a great exercise for anyone who gets into ruts because of that inner editor. If you need to set a different goal for word count, no matter. The exercise and purpose for it are the same.

So no more waffling! Whether you’re a pantster, a plotter or somewhere in between, it’s time to stock the cabinets with food for easy meals and snacks, get your favorite source of caffeine ready and clean off your writing space. (Trust me, it’ll become cluttered enough during November.)

Write on, wrimo!

I have done NaNoWriMo for several years. It’s a huge reason I began writing after a 15-year hiatus. On the NaNo site as JC_Rosen (isn’t that clever?), I’m open to buddy listing. I usually use the #NaNo hashtag in addition to #amwriting during November. Join us! We do sprints. Progress measurement is up to you.