She lifted her gaze from the screen to the candles and sighed. She found him this time. He showed himself when it mattered. The candles flickered. She felt his pain and remorse.
“I am sorry”
The whisper traveled through the years and distance. It hung in the night air. Then it was gone. The candles went out. She was in the dark except for the glow from the computer screen.
She sat silent, motionless, stunned. Then she put her head and arms on the desk and wept. Relief and sadness swept through her. She was free at last.
I peered into the thickening mist calling his name. Oh, where was he? It was getting late and the mist was closing in.
I climbed onto the fence, trying to see further into the fog. My heart was pounding. I could hear it thudding in my ear. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe he was only playing with me.
Oh, what could I have been thinking! So foolish! So stupid! I need to stop admonishing myself. I have thrown caution to the wind. I am committed to live my life.
The stage is set. I have a title for the novel. There is a plot and a cover. I have drank enough coffee and I have lost sufficient sleep the last two nights, wrestling with the project. And my desk is certainly messy enough to start the creative juices flowing. That is what you get when you sign up for the project with just a week to go. Now is the time to let go of the doubts and researches on how to write a novel. I just have to write.
The other day I took out Alex Quick”s 102 Ways to Write a Novel. The cover said that it has indispensable tips for the writer of fiction. It defined a novel as fiction having at least 50, 000 words. Otherwise it would be a novella. Well, I haven’t even ever done a novella either. It also said that writing a novel could be an arduous task – taking months, years and even DECADES to complete!
WOW! Not very encouraging words. So, I’m going to have to leave conventional wisdom behind and charge forward. How else can I write a novel otherwise? A novel by definition is fiction. Fiction is not truth. Hence a novel is a bunch of lies strung together.
How hard could that be? Well, it could be very hard for me. I’m like George Washington. I can’t tell a lie. I have my work cut out for me. I am thinking with three days remaining before the kickoff for NaNoWriMo, I better clear my energy field in my work space.
I went to my special place in my mind. I opened my heart space. I breathed stagnant chi out. I opened my arms to embrace my heavenly creative chi. November Novel Writing Month, here I come! I wonder if my nose will be like Pinocchio’s at the end of November. I sure hope so.
I register for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge yesterday. I’m one of those wannabe writer who thinks she has a story to tell, but just waiting for the right time to do it. It’s been years, since high school, that I’ve had this calling. The right moment has not come and there is no book. But now, the time has come – to do, to write. No more just talking.
I read the fine print, accepted the terms and policies and created my account and profile. I was pumped up. I was up to the challenge of 50,000 words in November. …. a little over 1,ooo words a day. I had a title, sort of a plot, and maybe even a cover. Then I read somewhere that it has to be fiction.
Fiction! That gave me cause to pause. Wait a minute!
Though I am an a voracious reader of fiction, I’ve never thought of writing fiction, never told a story, never even had a fantasy. I have never daydreamed about a perfect wedding, the white picket fence, children, etc. It’s no wonder that I have none of those things!
But now is the time, like the walrus says (from Through the Looking Glass): ‘To talk of many things: Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax — Of cabbages — and kings —And why the sea is boiling hot —And whether pigs have wings.’
And why not talk of cabbages and kings, whether pigs have wings and other fanciful things? Why not wish upon a star and ask for the moon? Why not dream a little and dare a lot? Why ask for a small thing and not the whole shabam? Just think, I could have had a tea party like Alice in Wonderland instead of shared Retirement/Farewell party between 4-5 people. Where is my pride and sense of worth?
Wait, it is not too late! There’s still time. I can still do many things. I can write about cabbages and kings and whether pigs have wings. If Mary McPhee can write books and blogs at 87 from her retirement home, there is a lot of hope for me yet.
I just did the math of 50,000 words in 30 days. It equals something like 1700 words a day. No matter. I will still give it a good go. I will do my personal best. I have a week to relax into it. I will call forth all the creative forces within me. I can do it! Or die trying. 🙂
onethousandandtwo 