What’s shocking me right this second is the calendar.  Specifically, where we stand on the calendar.

Ladies and gentlemen, we stand on the cusp of the end of October, which means we are a mere screaming toboggan ride away from November.  Those of you who have been reading for awhile may remember that last year during the month of November, I embarked on a ridiculous journey.  A journey to complete a novel of at least 50,000 words from start to finish during the month of November.

That journey was NaNoWriMo.  It was difficult.  I was running two different blogs part-time in addition to my blog, and writing additional content at the same time for my novel.  There were times when I thought my very joints would keep me awake with their incessant aches, and somewhere right around 24,000 words I started wondering if I could finish at all.

But I did.  I crested that hill and the view was mighty indeed.  The novel’s pure crap, but it exists.  Thanks to NaNoWriMo I can say without hedging that I’ve written a novel.  It was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done, and I remember it with fondness.

The big question then becomes: What about this year?  November starts in four days, will November 2009 yield Crap Novel 2.0?

No, no it will not.

It breaks my heart, but a woman’s got to know her limits.  I’m not running more blogs this year than I was last year, but the nature of those blogs and of my work for them has changed dramatically.  When I worked for Qvisory, I wrote one post a week and merely managed the content for the other four posts that went live.

For Offbeat Mama, I’m writing 3-4 posts a week.  It doesn’t seem like a big difference, but when you’re writing for a large audience you want to make sure your content is solid.  My name goes on those posts, and I’d prefer it strongly if they weren’t crap.

In addition to the Offbeat Mama posts, I still write 3-4 posts a week over here in addition to one post a week for Bottle Your Brand.  In short, I’m already producing a substantial amount of content every week, none of which is for a novel.

I guess you could factor being pregnant in there somewhere as well.  I will admit that nesting has taken over an alarming proportion of our weekend to-do list, and whereas I used to fantasize about sitting down and writing during the weekend, now I distract myself by imagining which projects we can complete given our resources, budget, and weather.

In short, it’s just not going to work out this year.  That’s ok, though, because next year is only twelve months away!  And I’ll have an eight month old baby hanging around then, so that’ll make writing a novel in a month easier!

Ten bucks says my NaNoWriMo novel next year will be about a woman who eats nothing but potato chips and cheesecake during her pregnancy, gains 15 pounds total the whole time, and never misses a wink of sleep thanks to her miraculous infant who rarely fusses and instead just smiles and coos all the time.

Obviously it will qualify as a “Fantasy” novel.

The six word story was allegedly sprung from Ernest Hemingway’s oeuvre.  He is rumored to have written a story in just six words.  What’s amazing is that when you read the six words, you can totally understand how it constitutes a story of some kind.  Your mind just sort of grasps the whole tale, which is weird since it’s just six freaking words.

Here’s Hemingway’s teeny tiny little short story: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

Just take a minute to let that sink in.  You get the whole story, right?  It’s pretty incredible, really, don’t you think?

In the spirit of Hemingway’s fine example, I’ve set my considerable will to crafting my very own teeny tiny little short stories.  I hereby offer them to you, my fine readers, for you consideration and/or derision.

• Cannibals taught me everything I know.
• Redeeming a lifetime of poverty, Christmas.
• From pup to beast, nearly overnight.
• After years of strife, they wed.
• Canned soups make great improvised weapons.
• The new haircut changed her entirely.
• Furious, she said, “Crap, I’m pregnant.”

Wow, if you read them all together they make one heck of a weird story…

I know, I know, mine are nowhere near as good as Mr. Hemingway’s fine example, but everyone’s gotta start somewhere.  I hope you’ll excuse me if I don’t write to the caliber of an American literary legend, m’kay?

Now that I’ve ventured my own piteous examples, I really want to know what creativity strikes you (and where).  What story can you tell using six words?

Make a choice.  I can either choose to wallow in my melancholy (and infinite sadness) and be really and truly miserable or I can dust myself off, stick out my stubborn little jaw, and kick sand in the face of whatever’s bothering me.

I chose sand kicking this time.

I figure that if this is how my uterus is gonna be about this whole thing then fine, but I’m not going down easy.  I’m just gonna wait her out.  She will eventually become a home for my progeny and she’s just gonna have to be happy about it because 1) I’m more stubborn than she is and 2) I’m in charge of the chocolate consumption around here and if she doesn’t start being a little more accommodating she may find her chocolate privileges dwindling.

Likewise for my writing situation.  I submitted my latest chapter to my writing group for review on Saturday and it didn’t go very well.  They gave me the kiss of death, they said they didn’t understand my character very well.  Shoot me right in the face, why don’t you?

I gotta figure that 60-odd pages into this novel, if my readers don’t understand my main character something is really wrong.  Now I have to comb through everything I’ve written so far and try to figure out why no one understands my poor protagonist.  It’s enough to make me want to hang up my noveling hat right now.

As if that weren’t enough, I read a novella by Jim Butcher (the author of the much beloved Dresden Files) and it made me crazy.  He’s so good!  I love his writing so much!  Why do I suck so much?!

Enter Wes.  He shook me firmly and said every artist throughout time has always admired and respected someone else’s work.  I asked him if even Matthew Bellamy of Muse, patron saint of rock guitarists everywhere, admired other people’s stuff.  Wes told me that Bellamy has great affection for Led Zeppelin, and that encouraged me.

If even Matthew Bellamy, who makes my eyes go crossed with his undeniable talent, looks up to someone then maybe it’s not a total waste of my time to keep trying to write even though people like Stephen King and Jim Butcher make me feel quivery and I’m-not-worthy on a nearly daily basis.

So, the moral of this story is: Even though (so far) I suck at getting pregnant and writing novels, I’m stubborn and will keep at it.  Kicking sand in the face of adversity, because I’m just too stubborn to lie down and quit.

This novel, though, is the apple of my hyper-critical, demanding, and ambitious eye.  I had to laugh at myself last night because I was talking about how easy it would be to turn this story into a movie.  Not only have I gotten published in my mind, I’m making movies too!

Lucky for me (and my gigantically inflated dreamer’s head) today is Thursday.  Thursdays mean the focus is off me and on whatever wonder I’ve found to enthrall you for the week.  Specifically, Thursdays are reserved for Things That Do Not Suck.  If you’ll recall, I started Things That Do Not Suck Thursdays as a kind of counterweight against all the bad news that’s all around nowadays.  A neat side effect is that I’m constantly on the lookout for neat things to share.

I was tempted to take a picture of some random middle-aged dude I saw riding his motorcycle without a shirt so that I could share it, but I decided that a shirtless middle-aged man on a hog doesn’t really qualify.  Not only would that make one heck of a mess if he crashed, he had moobs (man boobs) and the last thing I need to see when I’m zooming down the road are some dude’s moobs swaying gently in the breeze.

What I did find is pretty special, though, so I’m not disappointed that the half-naked motorcyclist didn’t work out.  These photos come courtesy of an email from my step-father, who thought I’d enjoy them.  I did.

Seriously, this is the coolest thing ever.

I guess there’s this British artist named Julian Beever who does chalk drawings throughout Europe and Australia and he’s simply incredible.

Wouldn't it be fun to see that in person?

People with talent like this blow me away.  What he can do with a stretch of pavement and some chalk quite simple makes me sit at the computer catching flies in my open-in-awe mouth.

Really messes with your mind, doesn't it?

Makes me feel embarrassed by my stunted little drawings that barely even qualify as stick figures.  I have to admire this guy’s work because at no point, even if I went to art school for 100 years, could I ever hope to do something this cool with concrete and chalk.  When your four year old niece looks at a picture you drew of a horse, pats your head, and tells you how proud of you she is because you tried to draw a horse, you know drawing’s not your gig.

If you want a real mind trip, look at those pictures and remind yourself that these are flat surfaces.  Especially with the Batman and Robin one, look at that one and tell yourself that both his feet are flat on the ground and even with the rest of the picture.  This has been making me crazy all week!

The second novel, though…If there’s an apple of my eye right now, that there’s it.  My writing group spent some time critiquing it this weekend and their insights and suggestions literally set my brain alight.  They asked the perfect questions, the kind that ignites ideas as opposed to quashing them, and gave me the encouragement I needed to feel confident about pressing on.

The problem now is that I’m hideously distracted.  I can see the whole story laid before me, much like this:

Except, of course, without the two tourists right in front of it.

It’s all fun and games until you realize that you’ve ignored everything a customer was saying on the phone because you were plotting out the perfect moment-of-truth conversation between two made-up people.  This is one of those times when I wish I were a full-time writer, sitting at home in my pajamas crafting the stories I’d like to tell out of the fabric of my ideas.

Lucky for me, Wes had agreed to shoulder part of the burden of my weekend chores, thereby liberating a beautiful two-hour chunk of time on Saturdays that I can devote exlusively to writing.  We work together to clean the house on Friday (this is why Friday blog posts have pretty much disappeared) so that when Saturday rolls around all I have to worry about is laundry and grocery shopping.  Bliss!  Truly a more supportive and wonderful (and handsome!) husband has never existed.

The curious side effect of this new arrangement is that my weeks seem to be leading up to Saturday now.  I cache the ideas I take away from my writer’s group, and they grow and build to the extent that by the time Saturday rolls around my ideas feel corporeal.  Like they would exist even if I didn’t bother to write them down.  It’s an exhilarating feeling.

In addition to my writing group, I had the pleasure of watching Wanted with my husband.  As with Watchmen, it’s a fun movie if you pay no attention to the philosophical problems and holes it contains in its plot.  I thought it was a fun Friday movie, but Wes found it difficult to move beyond the whiny male lead character.  I think Wes’ problem with that guy partially stemmed from the fact that the guy was a wuss whose name was Wesley.  It’s never good when the movie’s resident girly-man shares your name.

I encounter a similar problem with TV characters who share my name.  I can think of no characters named Erika/Erica/Erykah/Aarikaaaaah who are pleasant to watch, so my ire always doubles when I know someone on a show shares my name.  Get your own name, ye harpies!

Completely unrelated to this is the fact that I just booked tickets to go visit my Dad in June.  Squee!  I haven’t seen my Dad or my brother in a year so I’m just a little teensy bit excited ohmygoshisitJuneyet?!?!?!  Alas, on this hyper yet happy note I’m going to have to bid you adieu with nary a witty closing line or thoughtfully appropriate farewell.  All I have is my excitement.  And tendency to switch topics at will.  I’ll just have to leave with you the hope that tomorrow’s post will actually make sense.

This image courtesy of Erik Johansson, who photoshops his pictures into beautiful art.

I…have not had the best day.  It wasn’t haunted by any one looming terrible thing that I can think of, just a lot of the tiny little irritations that wash over you until you’re ready to grab your paperclips and fashion tiny war weapons with them. 

That would actually be a pretty fun past-time, if you had tough hands that didn’t bruise from all the wire twisting and shaping.  I wonder which time period would give you the best weapons to form from paperclips.  Are you more a trebuchet and broadsword kind of person, or would you have more fun fashioning bayonets and tanks?

Me?  I think I’d probably content myself by crafting a couple lightsabers and having a duel between Darth Vader and Obi Wan Kenobi.  Except in my fights, Obi Wan would always win because his lightsaber would not accidentally-on-purpose fail, leaving him defenseless and helpless at the worst possible second.

There sure has been a lot of Star Wars around here lately.  I think it’s because I’ve finally finished all the published Dresden Files books and I’m in mourning.  They’ve been such a big part of my life since December and now I have to wait for the next one to get published just like the other unwashed masses.  I felt a similar sense of mourning and sadness when I finished the Harry Potter books, with the main difference being that at least with the Dresden Files I know more are forthcoming.  I can’t really think of what that has to do with Star Wars, but give me a couple hours and I’m sure I can put together a BS answer that will sounds reputable enough.

In addition to mourning my ready supply of Dresden, I’m also a bit distracted.  I started my next novel last weekend and it’s gotten me worked up in knots.  I’ve laid aside my first novel for a time because it needs to be completely rewritten and I’m not in touch with the story anymore.

When I wrote the first story, I was reading oodles of wedding blogs every day and that’s really where my head was at.  I’ve exhausted my wedding blog marketing at work, though, and in my personal life I’ve moved onto the making babies phase of things, so my writing’s reflecting that.

The new story is about a woman who tries to get pregnant and, in the course of things, finds out she has fertility issues.  I’ve decided to pour all the insecurity I have about being able to get pregnant into a story.  This seems a healthier way of dealing with it than either ice cream or avoidance.

The story’s written in 3rd person, which I learned this weekend is difficult for me.  It’s like walking up the stairs backwards: I can do it, but it feels funky and takes me four times as long.  It took me two hours to write ten pages, which is virtually unheard of for me.  My writing group is critiquing the first chapter this weekend and I’m anxious to hear their thoughts.  The story will either fly or it won’t, and I’d rather know now than 200 pages into the thing.

Let’s see…paperclips, Dresden Files, second novel.  I feel pretty good about what we’ve accomplished here today.  I really do want to know what kind of weapons you would fashion from paperclips if you had the time or inclination, though, so pipe up if you feel the urge.

Granted, the idea of re-writing my 250+ page novel makes me want to cry just a little, but the more I go back and re-read it the more dissatisfied I become.  I’m not the kind of writer who normally feels dissatisfied with her work.  I’ll go back to old blog posts and most of the time I’m surprised I actually wrote them because I like them so much (I know, I’ve got the modesty thing down to a science).

With all the new skills I’m learning though, I’m slowly realizing how much better my novel could be.  Whereas before I would read it over and think to myself how good it was and how well I detailed the characters, I now read it over and realize that my characters have no faces and my story has a plot that’s neither well-developed nor resolved.

Normally, this would probably make me toss the whole thing out and start over but I’m still in love with this story and want to tell it.  I just now realize that I can do it so much better.  The trick, I think, is going to be to tell the story from a 3rd person instead of  a 1st person perspective.

My whole novel as it stands is written in present tense 1st person, which means my sentences are always happening right this second.  For example: I’m writing my blog when Wes walks in and gives me a hug. 

What I think would be a lot better would be 3rd person omniscient.  For example: She sat at the computer, face scrunched in concentration, typing madly to the sounds of Beethoven when Wes walked in and interrupted her with a hug.

I can give my characters faces, personality quirks, and a deeper depth of character with 3rd person than if I’m shackled to the perspective of one person who’s only in one place at one time.  Also, 1st person present tense gets a bit tiring to read (and write!) after a while.

Apparently, I’m in good company in writing my first novel in 1st person.  According to my good friend Working Girl, most first novels are written in 1st person.  The woman who teaches my writing class says that most publishing houses won’t even take a look at novels written in 1st person since they practically scream AMATEUR AUTHOR!

The last thing I want is to be that obvious about my amateur status, so I think I’ll give a different perspective a try.  I’m sure there are plenty of authors who can make 1st person look good but I’m not yet arrogant enough to assume I’m one of them.  The great thing about having already written a rough draft is that I have an excellent grasp of my story and my characters so I have the feeling the second draft is going to just pour out of me.

Now, the dilemma is: Will I have time to revise my novel before next NaNoWriMo?  I’m so busy lately I really question whether I’ll carve out the time to do this until I’m forced to do it by a voluntary deadline.  If I do have to wait until November, at least I’ll know what I’m writing about ahead of time!

I blame dinner. It’s sitting there in the kitchen, all unmade little bits of things waiting to be put together, and will avail us not a bit until I get down there to throw it all together over a flame. However, before I start throwing ingredients around it would be nice to have a blog post written.

What to do? I tried glaring at the carrots and chicken. When that didn’t work I tried sending them on a guilt trip. They just ignored me, so I ignored them back until realizing that my belly’s the one who’s losing that particular spitting contest. I’m afraid I’m going to have to bite the bullet and bend to their nasty, veggie wills.

I just have too much to do and it’s bugging the heck out of me. I have this writing class, which I love dearly but is responsible for giving me entirely too many mind-blowingly amazing new ideas and not nearly enough time to put them to use. I have my low-budget lifestyle of cooking huge dinners every night that will sustain Wes and I for dinner and lunch. I have a puppy outside at the moment who’s waiting to be let in for some dinner and playtime, and then there’s little old me who’d really like to do a lot of things but can do none of them but sit here and go all complain-y on her blog.

Really, though, I need an extra five hours of time and energy every single day. I could get a lot done. If I had five extra hours in the morning, I would be making so much progress on my book right now it wouldn’t even be funny.

But I don’t. My morning hours are occupied by sleep (you don’t want to know me at less than 8 hours of sleep every night) and my evening hours are occupied by my husband, puppy, blog, dinner, dishes, laundry, lionstigersandbears. Le sigh. How am I supposed to use all my nifty new ideas if I never have time to write???

The writing class was loads of fun, and very informative to boot! The teacher is a lovely lady and she did a commendable job of keeping the class substantive, fast-paced, and personal. We spent the majority of our time doing writing exercises, some of which were fun while others were challenging, and the rest of our time reading excerpts from great authors and analyzing them.

She invited us to submit works-in-progress to the class for constructive critiquing, so I ponied up one of the pivotal chapters from my novel for their perusal. There was a wide variety of writers there, everyone from poets to children’s writers, so I’m looking forward to getting some good feedback.

It’s a scary feeling to have my work out there, floating amid other people. I worry a bit that all this is for naught and my novel is a paltry little work of fluff but no one I know will tell me because they don’t want to crush me. Then I tell myself to get a grip and just let people see it already. If it takes a village to raise a child, I see no reason why it can’t take a village to edit a novel as well.

We did one exercise in particular that was a lot of fun and I’ll share it with you so you can try for yourself. It’s called “The Exquisite Corpse” and is nowhere near as macabre as it sounds. A bunch of philosophers invented this to give them something to do whilst drinking.

You need at least two people, a writing implement, and a lined sheet of paper. Write two lines of text on the paper, about anything you want. Then, fold over the sheet so the top line is hidden but the bottom line is visible. Hand it to the other person, who will read the second line you wrote and then write two lines of their own. They fold the sheet down too, hiding their first line, and hand it back to you so you can read their second line and write two more of your own. Repeat until you feel like it and then read the whole thing.

It can be total nonsense or it can be surprisingly eloquent, but either way it’s a fun way to see how perspective and context can change the direction of a sentence.

Alas, my last reserves of energy have left me and I’m going to shuffle down to the kitchen to join my husband is dinner preparations. If any of you try “The Exquisite Corpse” be sure to let me know! In fact, and even better, share with me your results. It would be a lot of fun to hear what everyone comes up with!

Normally, I leave work and go straight home so I can write a blog post, take care of the puppy, make dinner, and then socialize with my husband. I come home at the same time, I have dinner ready around the same time, we watch roughly the same amount of TV every night, we go to sleep at around the same time. Wash, rinse, repeat.

I like our routine, it’s a good one. We get lots of sleep, we have healthy meals every night, we get lots of time to spend chatting about this, that, and the other. I’m really very comfortable in that little routine we’ve grooved for ourselves into the road of our lives.

Which is exactly why it’s good that I’m throwing a wrench in the whole thing for a short while.

I’m too young to get crotchety and stuck in my ways, so I’m going to shake things up just a bit. The class may only be for five weeks, but I’ll be meeting new people, learning new things, and varying our routine just ever so slightly.

It feels good, but also a tad uncomfortable. I don’t know exactly how this evening is going to go and that gives me a thrill that’s part fear and part curiosity. Trying new things is fun, but for me small doses are preferable to huge heaping ones. As the great Bilbo Baggins once said, “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, walking out your front door…”