Well, here we are, folks! Five days into NaNoWriMo, and still alive. I have a bit of personal horn-tooting to do… I made it to 10,000 words today.
That’s a good thing, as I just might have to give up three days in the middle of the month to take some teens to a weekend Young Life camp. The farther ahead I can get, the better. I’m trying not to stress about it, however, as I love my job as a Young Life leader, and if I can be a blessing to my kids that’s obviously way more important than making some artificial deadline. I keep telling myself that, anyway, and I mostly believe it.
Anyhow, the first couple of days were pretty rough going, due to the fact that I didn’t get nearly enough prep work done… However, I’ve been working on backstory and supporting characters and whatnot as I go, so it’s getting a lot more smooth. Yesterday I really felt like I was hitting my stride, in spite of the fact that I chose to frivle* most of the day away with two of my dear friends, Beth and Michaela, at the mall.
Or maybe I hit my stride because of it. I got up much, much earlier than I usually do, and started writing before my eyes were able to open all the way, and I managed to hammer out 500 words without even thinking about it. (If you know me at all, you know that that is pretty much unheard of. I think. It’s just what I do. I literally cannot turn off my brain, under normal circumstances.) It brought to mind the classic Ernest Hemingway quote, “Write drunk, edit sober.” I never expected to test the wisdom of that quote myself, since I’m a total prude and don’t drink, but I think writing half asleep probably has the same effect. I tested my theory this morning, and it worked again. 1,000 words before breakfast. Beat that, Red Queen.
Oh, in other news…
The fifth of November,
The Gunpowder treason and plot;
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!
Guy Fawkes and his companions
Did the scheme contrive,
To blow the King and Parliament
All up alive.
Threescore barrels, laid below,
To prove old England’s overthrow.
But, by God’s providence, him they catch,
With a dark lantern, lighting a match!
A stick and a stake
For King James’s sake!
If you won’t give me one,
I’ll take two,
The better for me,
And the worse for you.
A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,
A penn’orth of cheese to choke him,
A pint of beer to wash it down,
And a jolly good fire to burn him.
Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!
Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!
Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!
(By the way, I just have to say that you celebrate the darnedest things, British People.)