That makes sense actually

On Friday night I made my pilgramage to the Starbucks on Academy Road. I had meant to rotate the places I visited, but when I thought about the other locations they didn't seem as appealing as this one. I liked the idea of having an easy place to park, a place that was busy but not too busy that I wouldn't get a spot to sit, preferably in a comfy chair or a tucked away table in the corner. This place had all that so I stuck with it.

Last week I noticed a pirate sitting on the other side of the store from me. He had a beard and a laptop and wore a rather stylish looking black eye patch. I wasn't very focused last week so I messaged OAF to tell him about what I was looking at.

me: I am in Starbucks and on the opposite side of the shop is a pirate.


OAF: Male or female?

me: male.

OAF: Talk to him! Just for five minutes. He's single and (even though you're not attracted to him) he'll say some hilarious stuff.

I sat there for the longest time trying to figure out what I could say in order to play out this scene that OAF had made up. One of the baristas came around and offered me a sample of tea and a chocolate oat bar. I watched her approach the pirate and saw him turn down the offer. Who would turn down the offer of a sample of tea and the infamous Starbucks chocolate oat bar? On top of that, now if I found myself wandering over there it wasn't like I could say something casual like, "hey, sample night!" I turned back to my novel project. I was stuck. I thought about how I could write the pirate into the story but couldn't come up with anything. I ended up adding in some teenage girls who walked in later. I sludged my way through maybe 1,000 words that night. I noticed when the pirate got up and headed out that he had a gold ring on his left hand. OAF had been wrong, although I suspect he was just trying to give me something to do other than chat with him.

The guy was there again this week. I wondered if he noticed me too. I was kind of loud when I was ordering my tea. I don't know why but my voice just seemed to project itself when I said, "Tall Vanilla Rooibos tea, please" and then later when I said, "Is this just the tea, or the tea latte?" because the kid got my order wrong. I was dressed in mostly black because I decided I wanted to look "gothic" that night, just on a whim, or well, more likely inspired by my love of Vampire Diaries. I don't know if it is possible really, for a blonde girl to look gothic. Even though I put on my skinny black jeans and my bat wing black sweater I still had that shock of blonde hair and bright blue eyes that looked anything but angry or emo or whatever. I painted my nails with Vamp It Up, a dark blood red color I got from Avon. I didn't go through the goth phase when I was a teen. I had a beige and blue plaid shirt with a matching hair scrunchie from Smart Set in the mall. That was the closest I got to the grunge look. One of the teachers told me I would never get a date if I kept dressing like a boy. My idol around that time was the Sarah Michelle Gellar Buffy The Vampire Slayer. She was blonde and she got the attention of David Boreanaz's Angel, unfortunately their having sex opened up a portal to hell. Anyway, the attractive pirate was married.

I started out this novel project with a bang. I knocked off the first 10,000 words easily. The next fifteen weren't much of a struggle either and I celebrated being halfway to my target days ahead of schedule. The next ten were a little harder to get down, but by 35,000 I was actually convinced that I would finish the feat. I had an idea as to what I wanted to happen in the end at this point, but I wasn't sure how I was going to get there exactly, and how I needed to pace myself so that I would start my ending in the right place to cruise into 50,000 words for the finish. This is where I started really over thinking things. Up until then, I was just filling up pages with words and letting the journey take its own course, but now I actually had a destination in mind. My daily quotas were a struggle. Interesting things would happen though when I would shut down for the day. My brain would figure out solutions to my blocks. It would inevitably come up with something every time. My favourite math teacher in high school used to tell us that when we got stuck on a math problem sometimes the best thing to do was to put it aside and let our subconscious work on it. I completely believe in this idea.
 
Today I procrastinated a bit on getting down to work. There was a song in my Yoga/Pilates/Tai Chi class that I loved but didn't know the name of or the name of the artist who sang it. It had a John Mayer sound to it. I kept meaning to Google the one line of lyrics that I had but I always forgot. This weekend when I was thinking of it again I realized that I couldn't remember the lyrics anymore. So then I did a mad search of "Goodlife Fittness Music" and "Goodlife BodyFlow Music", which didn't give me what I wanted at all. I hoped that I would find a Blogger or a Tweet or a Facebook page or something that had listed the track for the last choreography release but no. I was playing around with my searches again this morning some more and finally got some results. I found a blog with the names and artists of the songs, but I didn't have a clue which song was the one I was looking for. I randomly started plugging things into YouTube to sample the songs but still hadn't found what I was looking for. All of a sudden though I could remember the lyric and I could hear the song in my head again. I Googled the line "I'll be right beside you dear" and found it! Snow Patrol's song Run was the one I was looking for!
 

Light up, light up

As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you dear

Snow Patrol, Run (Leona Lewis also sings this song, I don't know who did it first)

I threw my head back on the chair and exhaled once I confirmed that this was in fact the song I was looking for. I remember doing hamstring stretches to this song, balanced on one foot and trying to touch my nose to my knee (I can come close, you know) and how that one line, "Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you dear" just got inside of me and helped me push forward. Songs like that go on my personal soundtrack.
 
So with the song mystery solved I could finally get to work. On Friday night I left off with one of my characters saying to another, "That makes sense, actually." I sat and stared at the screen for the longest time trying to figure out where to go from there. I could feel the characters looking at me going, "Okay, now what?" And I was kind of looking at them going, "sorry guys, I'm not sure. I wasn't really expecting this. I didn't know A was going to be so smart or that D was going to turn out not to be a total jerk." So it seems that whenever I get stuck like that I change scenes and move on to something else. I eventually had to face the stuck situation and do something with it though. When I did, another strange and unexpected thing happened. I got tears in my eyes.  My own freakin story was making me cry? That's not supposed to happen! I don't cry for movies or books! What's the deal? Well I had to push my character to do something scary and I think I was worried too about the same things she was. I mean, I wanted everything to work out for this person, I wanted them to get what they wanted (but at the same time too, as a writer, I did NOT want to write a fairytale all wrapped up in a pretty pink ribbon). I really got stuck again and then all of a sudden this other character started talking, and I still don't know who this character is, but they started talking to the one who was scared, and they offered some wisdom and reassurance and things started moving again. Do I sound crazy yet? Good. Writers usually are a bit "off" aren't they? Sometimes they wear a lot of black too.
 
I could see a resolution to everything that satisfied me and satisfied the character so I worked my way to that, all the while keeping one eye on the word count. I got to the second last scene and again, the waterworks kicked in. Oye. I think I understand why it was touching me so deeply, and I don't really want to get into it here because I've already said too much, but it was an interesting experience. It's my hope that it means that what I wrote was from such an emotional, honest and real place that it will have resonance with an audience too.
 
I am about 3,000 words shy of the 50,000 goal. I believe I have written the ending today though. The story is done. I don't want to stop though because the official challenge was 50,000 words in one month and I feel that if I don't meet that challenge it would be like skipping out of the last 200 meters of a marathon just because I personally felt that I was done enough. So I'm going to try to go back and fill in some thin spots, which will be hard to do without being tempted to edit.
 
Editing is the next step. After I have put in the full word count in the alloted number of days I plan to leave the story alone for about a week and try to remember what it was I did before I locked myself in a room with a keyboard and my headphones. After the week-long vaction I will go back and clean the thing up a bit. There are places where I forgot a character's name and instead of searching back for it I just gave them a new one, or where I decided suddenly that they didn't come from Vancouver but actually it was Calgary. There are places where I know I got bogged down in making the plot progress on a daily basis so the story is full of "and the next day..." and "by Friday...". Stuff like that. Once I am satisfied that those details have been taken care of and that all the pieces of the plot at least make sense, I will contact the coordinator at the Manitoba Writers' Guild and employ the use of her matchmaking skills. No, not for a date, (although doesn't "I wrote a novel in 30 days" sound extremely attractive?) but rather for a writing group. Based on what you are looking to get out of the group, the Writers' Guild will put you in touch with other writers. It is my hope that I can go to a group or a single person and say, okay, I know this thing is still rough, but I think there is something good in here and I just need some help working out the kinks and shining it up.
 
So that's where things are at right now. This is me, being a writer. It might just work.

Will you still love me when I'm 84? How about tomorrow?

I was grumpy yesterday. I don't know why, the mood just struck me. Maybe it's the return of the cold weather. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt comfortably warm but figured it was probably on Saturday evening when I was working by the fire with a glass of red wine at my side. I can just imagine myself when I'm old and reminiscing about the good times I had when I wasn't fighting to keep warm

I phoned my dad this morning to tell him I was less grumpy today than I was last night when I talked to him on the phone. Last night I was grumpy because I had missed him calling me to say they were going to Costco and ask if I needed anything--which I did, bread and McIntosh apples. I missed the call this time because my phone was charging and not because it was on vibrate or silent mode at the bottom of one of my bags. I had lost my phone again for about a day last week. I wish there was some way I could put that thing on a lanyard and wear it around my neck. I am also a big fan of mittens on a string if that isn't already obvious.

"I'm grumpy like an old man who didn't get his pudding," I told my dad.

"You're what?"

I explained to him then the scenario of a little old man in a nursing home who waits all day, maybe all week for a dish of pudding with his meal but for some reason does not get it. That little old man, in my mind, would be grumpy. People might laugh and think it's an awfully silly reason to get all bothered over, but for this man pudding is the difference between a good day and a bad day, and that is what I felt like. Grumpy for no real good reason and in need of an afghan because I am cold all the time. Perhaps as you read this though you are thinking someone should check me for a fever because I am sounding delirious.

I had a meeting at the bank today with My Bank Guy. I told him today that I am writing a novel. I mentioned this because we were looking at my investments and I had not yet told him of my early retirement plan that requires me to write a best seller. In case the markets crash again this is my Plan B.

"You have to let me read it when it's done," he said. He was really excited about this project for me.

"Yup." I nodded. Later though I thought about this some more. Maybe it was not wise of me to mention the novel writing project. Would he read this story I am crafting? Would he even be in the section of the bookstore one would find this book in, if it made it to the shelves? Then I started replaying the whole story in my head and letting the internal editor take a critical look at it (so far I've done a pretty good job at keeping that nasty woman locked away in the linen closet where her comments are muffled by fluffy towels). Then I said, STOP! You are telling the story of Character A. It's not even your story anymore, it is Character A's. You're just putting it into words. All that matters is that you tell Character A's story in a way that is respectful and true. And Jillian, you can make paint drying sound interesting, so what makes you think that you can't entertain anyone with this story you're working on now?

After the bank and dinner with my parents I went to the gym for a short run. I figured out today that I could probably do one of those 5k fun runs. They're usually fundraisers for some honourable charity which means I would be paying money to run. Crazy talk. Must be delusional. As I was running today though my knees started aching like someone whacked them with a hammer. I know, I know, I really have to get out and get some proper shoes. Even after the run my knees continued to ache, which made me feel even more like a grumpy old man.

And now I think I would really like a dish of pudding.

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four
--The Beatles, When I'm 64

The Typical Winnipeg Winter Writing Experience

When I got home today I had a horrible headache. Truck got all hung up on a snow drift when I was backing him into the driveway. On top of that, my head was pounding (ba dum ching!). I called my dad and took an Advil.

I was hoping the roads weren't going to be so bad this afternoon because I wanted to go to the gym and pick up some groceries. The gym is located in the Superstore (in the same building that is, I don't actually do laps around the produce and canned goods) and boy do I love the convenience of that. But since I couldn't even get out of my driveway without help I really wasn't excited to navigate the roads just for a Body Pump class and some Oreos.

I bought a new down jacket on a super sale at Eddie Bauer last week but I couldn't decide if I liked it. It was good quality and would be super warm, I knew that, but it was shorter than my current winter jacket. This one only came down to my hip. Most ladies jackets will hit just below the hip at least and cover some of the derierre area. I worried that A) this would look funny on me because it would essentially cut me in half, and B) that it would mean sitting on a frozen tush after waiting for the bus to arrive. The hood was another matter altogether. It is also filled with very lofty down so when I put it up it for sure will keep my ears warm, but I can't help but think I look like a Teletubby. I just need some kind of antennae to complete the look.  I also found myself reminded of that Robert Munsch story, Thomas' Snow Suit:

"That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen in my life. If you think that I am going to wear that ugly snow suit, you are craaaaazy." Thomas, speaking to his mother in Thomas' Snow Suit. Listen to Robert Munsch tell the story here, he is still one of my all-time favourite story tellers.

I needed to be convinced that this jacket, which was a supreme deal, was in fact so fabulously warm and able to protect me from the elements of a Winnipeg winter, that it didn't really matter if the style was not exactly my preference. So I put it on with all the tags intact, and stood outside while my dad cleared my driveway. It worked exactly as I predicted it would and so I think I have convinced myself to keep it.




Yes, my eyes are closed. I am so warm and cozy in my new jacket that I can fall asleep standing outside in a whipping 80 km/hr wind. Clearly, worth every penny of the $100, even if it should have had an extra couple of inches added to the bottom.

So as I was saying, I had a headache and I didn't feel like putting my life nor my auto insurance deductable at risk, so I stayed in for the night. Mother Nature essentially grounded me.

I had an itch to do some baking, which was why I needed the Oreos. I wasn't too disappointed I wouldn't be able to make the mini cheesecakes I had in mind, but I had an incredible craving for chocolate, so all I could think about was double chocolate chip cookies. The only thing that really stopped me from baking though was the thought of having all those extra dishes to wash after--bowls, spoons, cookie sheets. I had just finished washing up the dishes from my breakfast and dinner. I really didn't want to plunge my hands into a basin of hot water again.

I knew too that a baking project would take a fair bit of time to do and it would probably leave me with very little time for writing. With it being so miserable outside it was a perfect reason to stay in and just add to my word count. But then I checked the TV and saw that House was going to be on after the news. When I went to settle in to watch the show though my TV started acting up again. I had no picture. I really couldn't do anything except go to my writing space and work. I did my daily word count and cured my chocolate craving with a piece of cake. After that my headache was gone. Amazing huh?

I'm finding myself torn about telling people that I am doing this writing project. While I am excited about it and proud of the results so far, people always want to know what I'm writing about. The No Plot No Problem book suggest that writers taking the one month novel challenge shouldn't talk about what they are writing while doing the challenge because then they might feel limited to stick to the details and plot plans they've revealed. So for now I am keeping the topic a secret. So far I think it has worked out well because the story I ended up telling isn't quite like the one I thought it was going to be, and I am quite enjoying the surprise.

Since reaching the half-way mark I've gotten paranoid about the idea of losing my work so today I decided to back it up onto a USB stick. I'm also worried about what would happen if I were to lose that tiny little stick and so I'm thinking maybe I should back the work up online too. I started having visions of that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie's Mac crashes and she loses all her work, all the columns she's written and everybody asks her, well didn't you back up? She's dating Aidan in that episode and they get into a fight and he buys her a new laptop.

Ugh. I feel like I was dragged behind a bus in the snowdrifts. I hope I'm not coming down with something. That would be great, writing my novel while under the influence of Nyquil or a fever-induced delirium. I told Lisa that I would only introduce aliens and dream sequences if I found myself getting close to the deadline but not anywhere near the word count.

Day 10

After what I called a bad week for writing, I wagged a stern finger at myself and got back on track. I visited the gym on Friday night for some Zumba and Yogalates, came home, showered and put on an outfit for going to Starbucks to get some work done. Nigel groaned and rolled his eyes when I told him that I planned to spend Friday nights this month playing the cliche part of the writer in a coffee shop. Isn't it something I had to try at least once though? If I didn't, wouldn't that be like going to New York and not going up the Empire State Building? Even if it is overpriced and cliche, you have to experience it just once.

On Saturday I did more writing, mostly from the warm and cozy comforts of my aunt's house. And today I went back to the gym, washed dishes, realized I had been neglecting my laundry so tackled that, and worked some more on the novel. Just before six I crossed a major marker: 25,163 words. I am at the half-way point on Day 10.

I'm good and tired.

I.O.U. J.B.

It's been a terrible week for writing.

There are three things I am trying to stay on top of these days: writing, going to the gym and dishes. My word count this week has been a grand total of 3,464 words since I closed the weekend with 10,190. I got to the gym once, on Tuesday for a run and some weights. My kitchen counter, however, is spotless.

Lisa was suddenly left with an extra ticket to the theatre last night and called to see if I wanted to go. I could have said no, but then I would have missed a really great play--The Drowsy Chaperone. I came home and worked for about ten minutes before my eyes started getting tired and my brain started considering changing a big chunk of the plot.

Tonight being Thursday I had scheduled to be a free night since usually Lisa and I get together for dinner and TV. Still, I knew I would have time for either dishes, a quick run or some writing time. Possibly two things, since I had passes to a movie screening that we were going to go to instead. But Lisa called this afternoon and said she had to take a rain check because she wasn't feeling well. I talked to my sister and she said she'd like to go. I also decided to invite her for dinner. So when I got home today I did not write or run. I did make us some tasty turkey burgers with rice and mango salsa, and I even got to wash up the dishes just before Tracy arrived.

Tracy really enjoyed the meal. I packed up some leftovers for her to take home too. I always think that I don't have a single maternal bone in my body, but it seems there is something in there that gives me great pleasure in nurturing people with food. Hm, that reminds me, I should feed my goldfish.

The screening tonight was for Extraordinary Measures, which was based on the true story about a regular family guy who teams up with a medical researcher to find a cure for the disease that is killing his kids. As I watched it I wondered what it was like from Tracy's perspective, given that she's in the medical field and works with terminal kids every day. On the way home we talked about how it seemed hard to believe the time line of the story, given that it dealt with medical research, grants and clinical trials.

"Are you still thinking about med school?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm still going back and forth on it."

I asked her if it was still the same things that are holding her back, and it seems that she's still afraid of not making it in. Fear of failure, especially after investing time and money, is a very common reason for not doing something. Am I afraid of not getting this novel done? Oh yes. I am terrified. Mostly I am afraid of having to come here on February 15 and tell you that I didn't make it, that I was all talk and no results. I'm also afraid of losing my health which I pretty much took for granted most of my life until recently. I've been trying to keep up with the dishes simply because I have very limited counter space to stack the dirty ones on, and I hate spending more than 15 minutes with my hands in a basin of water when I could be doing other things like writing, exercising, watching Vampire Diaries (which I missed tonight!) The 30 day novel project has been a great exercise in making a commitment to myself and just doing it. Some writing days are great, some are a struggle but I forgive myself for the frustrating days because at least I sat down and put in the time. I kept my promise. I keep promises to other people all the time, I give things up for other people all the time, but I have mostly sucked at honouring myself.

This week life made it challenging to keep the promises I made to myself, but the trade offs were pretty good. Over the weekend I am going to have to work extra hard to make up for the little vacation I took though. I owe it to myself.