NaNoWriMo - Day One

To the noveling world (and those who want in),

I have begun my journey to 50,000 words! And I have decided to blog daily about my progress. Disclaimer: These blogs will not be pretty, or edited, or anything, in the spirit of NaNoWriMo. They will be a mishmash of things I've written, things I've learned, things I've felt, and things I've overcome. So, without further adieu, Day One.

I began writing immediately at midnight. I started without any idea of where I was going. I had a very bare plot and flat characters. Scary, right? But I started typing, letting my Muse do the talking. I gave it complete freedom and, to be honest, I'm thrilled at what has come. I'm writing based on a feeling and not on meticulous planning, and the breathing room is much-needed. In fact, I may not ever outline again! So there, Creative Writing textbook!

Now for some statistics, because they're a great marker of progress.

Words Written Today: 5,290

Total Words Written: 5,290

Words Left: 44,710

Days Remaining: 29

At this rate, I'll only have to write 1,542 words per day to finish! I'm already off to a much better start that the previous two years, where I ended up having to scramble to write 33,000 words in the last week. My fingers didn't work properly for at least a week following that rapid dash to the finish line. It was exhilarating, but exhausting.

But this... getting 5K out of the way on the first day (unintended rhymes, I assure you) is also exhilarating, in an entirely different way. I'm ahead of the game and feelin' fine.

And now, some snippets from my day's writings:

1.

Time seemed weightless here; everything felt suspended, in waiting for some miraculous event unbeknownst to any one person. But the grass knew. The way it fluttered in the wind that made no sound, the way its green leaves pressed into her palms as she swayed back and forth. The trees knew. In the far off distance, at the foot of the hill – her hill – she saw them blinking with the secrets of this place. They were still, silent, soaking up the sun and the wind and where were the birds?

There were always birds. For as long as she could remember, there had been birds on the tree right outside her window. They’d build tiny, straw nests in the summer and cheep until she woke up when the sun sat burning the pavement. She’d dress in her sun dresses, with the crocheted patterns on blue cotton, to showcase her feminine side. She’d sneak into her mother’s makeup and paint her lips until they shone crimson. She’d spray perfume in her hair and twirl around, encased in a cocoon of musk.

She could almost smell it now, but the scent of lilac was too much. As she stood, balancing herself on bare feet, her toes curling into the rich dirt, she knew she was far away from her metal spaceship, far away from the tangible memory of her father’s disproving eyes, far away from the scandal of her mother’s pregnancy. Here, there was nothing to be ashamed of. The endless, rolling hills caught everything she’d ever doubted and spun her worries upon themselves. Inside the dream-like unfamiliarity was a kind of freedom.

[ Bonnie finds herself on a strange hill, without any memory as to how she has gotten there. She believes herself to be dreaming. ]

2.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“You aren’t yourself.”

“Who are you?” she persisted.

“Your husband. It’s just me.”

“Don’t make me ask again.”

“I’m Meyer Abernathy!” He pounded his fist against the table, sending his glass toppling over, the clear water spilling across the smooth wood surface of the table. Bonnie let out a strangled gasp, but remained seated. He was looking at her now, a mixture of anger and uncertainty in his eyes. His broad shoulders were hunched and his hands were balled into fists; she feared for a moment that he would hit her. Instead, he sat back down, took his fork, and continued eating as though nothing happened. She noticed his chest rising and falling rapidly, but nothing else seemed amiss.

She picked up her fork as well and stabbed at a green bean, raising it in the air and examining it. From what she could see, there was nothing abnormal about it. It was not made of wax or plastic or – she shuddered at the thought – poison.

The trickling of a single droplet of water against the tile floor caught their attention. They both perked up, looked to the floor, watched as the stream of spilled water dripped onto the ground.

They looked to each other, mirroring the other’s open-mouthed expression.

“I’ll get it,” they announced in unison, both rising from their chairs.

[ Bonnie has been shown back to her home, with her husband, whom she has never met. This is the awkwardness that ensues. ]

Intrigued? Or just frustrated at me for being so vague? Either way, stay tuned for Day Two!

NaNo Blessings,

Gina

P.S. If there are spelling mistakes... well, I warned you.