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Touchdown!

Okay, so maybe y’all have had enough of the football analogies, but I can’t help it. I love the sport! It’s dirty and gritty–full of conflict and heartbreak.

Just like any good story!

As most of you know, I’ve spent the month of November participating in NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month. Those of us insane enough to make it official signed up on their website and pledged to write at least 50,000 words over the thirty days in November.

Over the past month I’ve wrestled with my characters as I tried to meet my goal. I’ve fumbled the plot a few times, watching in horror as my characters spun across the page searching for their purpose. I’ve had to change my game plan, tackle a few opponents (like exhaustion and Black Friday shopping) but with time running out on the clock I drove down that gridiron for the go ahead score!

I reached 50,000 words last night at approximately 10:30 p.m.  I’m not the only one celebrating the achievement. My husband can’t wait to see the dining room table again (I kept my Thesaurus, idea notes, word count sheets and lap top set up there for easier access!) My kids will be happy that they won’t have to wait for me to come to the end of a scene before I’ll talk to them.

No, I haven’t completed the entire novel yet. I anticipate another 30,000 words will be needed to wrap the loose ends and fill in the blanks I left in the plot as I hopscotched to scenes I had fully realized in my head. But I’m excited to have achieved my goal. Thanks to all of you who commented either here or on FaceBook, I couldn’t have succeeded without your encouragement (and nagging!)

And now, I’m sorry to say, I have to leave you. I may have scored a touchdown, but my characters are still waiting to see who’ll win the game! I’m off to finish their story, just at a little less frantic pace!

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The Agony of a Field Goal Kicker

I’m lining up on the thirty yard line, waiting for the snap before the ball is set before me and I kick it through the goal posts to win the game!

At least that’s my plan…

There are only six more days in November…six more days to complete my NaNoWriMo goal of 50,000 words in a month! That’s the most I’ll ever have written in a thirty day period.  As of right now I’m at 38,116.

I’ve learned a few more things along this journey so far. I’m learning that the first draft doesn’t have to be perfect, it doesn’t even have to be that good, as long as the story and characters are evolving. I don’t have to make it great before I move on, I can tell the story and polish it later.

Once again, my characters have surprised me by making me tell THEIR story, not mine. Whenever I try and force them somewhere they don’t want to go, those stubborn little figments of my imagination dig their heels in and throw a hissy fit. I spent two days scribbling in a notebook various possiblities for the plot until they finally yelled “That’s the way we want you to go!”

And I confirmed to myself that I’m a people pleaser. When my friends stopped asking me about my word count after I’d come home exhausted from a conference, I let myself slack off. But when I started posting my progress and people started prodding me on I forced my muse to come out of hiding and made my way back from a 4800 word deficit.

Now the end is in sight it’s time to steady my nerves, take a deep breath and kick that ball through the posts…um, pound those keys until I reach my goal!

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Of Brains and Words and Epitaphs…

I’m wondering where my brain went today. It seems to have wandered off. Perhaps its lingering in the remaining powdered sugar from the Dunkin Donuts I indulged in over the weekend. All I know is, I can’t find it.

This brain abandonment always occurs after a writer’s conference and that’s where I was this past weekend. I kibitzed with other writers, listened to interesting lectures and I sat down with editors to discuss my various manuscripts. The angst alone of those meetings is enough to send my brain underground. Throw in the lack of sleep and the abundance of people and I’ll be lucky to find my mind before Christmas.

On the plus side, I got lots of good feedback, insights and new avenues to pursue. A small publishing house, Written Word Communications, is interested in looking at my novel Deborah: Woman of Flames. Another contact insisted I try my hand at writing screenplays and helped to rekindle my desire to do theater again.

But now it’s back to reality and I must find my muse again. The NaNoWriMo count awaits and I’m two days behind. No matter what the future may hold, I have to remember the goals of the past and get back to writing my story.

Maybe I need another donut…

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A Discovery

I’ve learned something about myself this week, which is always exciting when you’ve got enough years behind you to see the crest of that infamous “hill!”

I learned that it’s not so much the threat of a deadline or the setting of a goal that gets my juices running and my muse musing– it’s the fact that I told so many people about my obligation. I wrote it on this blog for all to see and now I hate the thought of failing so publically that I’ve found myself squeezing in time to write when I’d normally shut down and tune out for awhile.

Granted, I’m only on day 4 of NaNoWriMo and the insane weekend hasn’t come yet, but I’m still hopeful. I’ve already plotted to get up early on Saturday before my road trip to the Husker game so I can type out a few hundred words. Sunday will be a little more difficult what with church and an afternoon singing engagement with my husband, but I’m hoping to have a little energy left in the evening to write.

I guess it’s my desire to please that has spurred me on this week because I’ve set my own private goals before–for writing, house cleaning, dieting– and I always fall short. I honestly worried that I’d already be behind in my NaNoWriMo goals long before now, but because I let you all know my plans, I’m paranoid to fail.

So thanks to all of you who have commented so far to let me know you’re reading these blogs! It’s  keeping me on track to succeed in something I didn’t think I could do! You all rock!

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Deadlines, To-Do Lists and Other Obligations

A few weeks ago I signed up for NaNoWriMo- National Novel Writing Month. I thought if I pledged on-line to write 50,000 words in the month of November it might actually spur my creative juices. Awaken my muse, as it were.

So far, as the start day approaches, my muse has remained in a comatose state. I think she’s begun the hibernation process, fearing the coming winter.

In addition to my slacker muse, my life has suddenly become incredibly busy. My job, which had been down to one afternoon a week, now needs me for several days a week. My daughter, an ice skater, has a competition coming up, which means extra practices. Early practices…waaaaaay before the sun rises ice times. I’ll also be out of town for several days at a conference. And then of course, there’s the realization that Thanksgiving is only three weeks away.

And so I ask this question, will this full calendar make or break me? I will actually have to schedule time to write and force myself to sit down at my lap top at those times if I even hope to reach the 50,000 word goal. It will mean not vegging out on FaceBook when I have an hour off, but being vigilant to piece thoughts together into a story. I’ll have to wake up earlier or stay up a little later than normal if I even hope to meet the goal.

It’s been a long time since I’ve put myself in this kind of situation. I’m hoping that by stating my goal “in public” as it were, I’ll have even more incentive to keep it. It used to be, when I was younger and more foolish, that I thrived on deadlines. They inspired me greatness. Now they give me heartburn. But I vow to persevere!

How about y’all? Do you work best under the pressure of deadlines and goals or does your creativity flow when you have time to let it percalate? Drop me a line and let me know!

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Lessons from an Egyptian

This past Saturday I went to the Denver Art Museum to see an exhibit of artifacts from King Tutankhamen’s tomb. Plexiglass boxes housed priceless necklaces and statues; model boats and even a latrine! Narratives along the walls gave background information regarding the life and times of the kings who reigned some three thousand years ago.

One panel made an interesting point. The pharoahs built the pyramids and filled them with treasures to insure their immortality. But the contemporaries of King Tutankhamen, or Tut as we call him now, wanted to erase his name from history. They opposed the changes his father, Ahknaten, had made in their religion; forcing them to abandon their pantheon of gods in favor of worshipping just one god.

Once they died, new kings erased Ahknaten’s and Tut’s names from historical records and wall carvings. Their statues were inscribed with the names of the new pharoahs. The Egyptians hoped to make the world forget these kings existed.

But history had another idea. Although the pyramids have survived and those with an interest in Egyptology know the names of pharoahs like Khufu and Ramses; it is the boy king, the pharoah Egypt wanted us to forget, Tutankhamen, that ALL the world knows.

It got me thinking about what kind of legacy I want to leave behind. Of course, I hope my children will be filled with the love and confidence I’ve tried to give them as well as a foundation of faith that will see them through the trials of life. But what about the world at large? What kind of legacy do I want to leave it? I hope to be known for kindness and generosity-not selfish ambition or pride. But how do I do this? How do I use my time on earth to make it a better place?

I think my problem is I’ve been looking at “the big picture.” Waiting for a calling of some kind that says “this is what you need to do!” But the truth is, we can make a difference each day with how we treat other people and use our time. Maybe if I concentrate on the little things each day, the friendly smile, the encouraging word, maybe then the harder things will get easier. It certainly couldn’t hurt, could it?

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Seasons and Memories

Out here in Nebraska we’ve been experiencing a week of perfect fall weather. Mornings are crisp. Afternoons are filled with sparkling blue skies, sunshine and the hint of color in the trees as the leaves change. Pumpkins are popping up on front porches and I can practically taste the apple cider as I drive through the neighborhood.

A few weeks back I wrote about how certain sounds can evoke a response from us and this week I wondered about how particular days can do the same. I used to absolutely love the fall, but I’ve realized that now the first hints of autumn always carry with them a sense of melancholy. It’s been over twenty years since my dad died one September night, but I remember it clearly. Fall had just made an appearance in Connecticut that year and so now I can’t help feeling that twinge of loss whenever the leaves start turning yellow and the air gets cooler.

There’s a particular smell of spring rain on asphalt that immediately sends me back to my days as a freshman in college. I can see steam from manhole covers and the soft glow of street lamps on the rain soaked sidewalks as I make my way across campus after a late night visiting a friend.

The first snow of winter brings with it the craving for hot chocolate and cuddles by a roaring fire as that’s what I recall from endless days sledding in my childhood.

What are the days that trigger memories for you?  Is it a gentle spring rain or a violent summer storm? Drop me a line and let me know!

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My Bucket List

Ever since I saw the “I Love Lucy” episode where Lucille Ball joined a group of women stomping grapes I’ve had a secret desire to do the same.  Something about getting to mash food with my bare feet appealed to my inner child.

I got to fulfill that childhood fantasy last Saturday when my husband and I participated in a “Grape Stomping” contest at a local winery during their “Harvest Festival” celebration. Four teams gathered atop a flatbed wagon and wooden tubs were filled with about twenty pounds of grapes. One person of the team (me!) stepped into the tub while the other person (my husband) held a plastic pitcher below the tub’s spout. We had three minutes to stomp away at the slippery fruit and try to get as much juice into the pitchers as we could. I’m proud to inform you all that WE WON!!! I pulvarized those purple balls and my husband kept the spigot clean so that all our juice poured out!

To answer some frequently asked questions after the event-no the grapes weren’t cold, the stems didn’t hurt my feet and my toes weren’t permanently colored purple.

Of course, I have much bigger goals to accomplish on my true “Bucket List” before the Lord brings me home-visit Israel and Egypt, get a novel published, hike a mountain (a small one!) But stomping grapes really had been something I’d always wanted to experience and I had a blast doing it.

So what little thing have you always wanted to do but never had the chance? Learn to juggle or tap dance? Take a class in basket weaving? Bake a four tiered chocolate layer cake? Jot me a line and let me know. And then maybe look for the opportunity to accomplish that goal. It sure is a lot of fun! Now if I can just figure out how to use the experience in one of my stories…

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The Loss of a Smile

A friend of mine died Sunday night–a resident from the assisted living facility where I work.

I met Jimmy some four years ago on the first day of my job. His spry step and enthusiasm for life belied his seventy-plus years.  Mildly retarded, Jimmy may never have learned to read but he had a memory like a steel trap for the things that interested him. We called him the “Town Crier” because he memorized the monthly and daily calendars and each day would let the other residents know what was going on in the facility.

Jimmy loved music; sing-a-longs on Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons were among his favorite activities, only topped by the professional singers that come in monthly to entertain the residents. Jimmy’s voice could be heard singing the lyrics to all the old standards, especially “Sentimental Journey,”  “Tennessee Waltz” and “Vaya con Dios.” And he never passed up an opportunity to polka with me!

In the four years I had the pleasure of knowing Jimmy he never failed to meet me without a smile on his face, calling out “How you doing, Kim! I wasn’t sure you’d be here today!” as if my showing up to work was the best thing that happened to him that day.

Jimmy taught me to be patient with my limitations. I never saw him angry when he made a mistake. He’d just keep plugging along, doing the best he could.

He taught me to freely offer to help others-he was always quick to get another resident an extra napkin or a drink, or give them a hand if they needed help back to their apartment.

And best of all, Jimmy taught me to appreciate life for the simple things. Biscuits and gravy on Tuesday mornings. A Cornhuskers game on TV.  A drive around to look at the scenery. Ice cream and cake served at a party and of course, a good song.

I thank God for bringing Jimmy into my life, even if was for far too short a time. Vaya con Dios my friend. I know you’re whole and happy where you are, but I will miss your smile.

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The Sounds of …

Something woke me from a deep sleep last night. The kind of sound that brings you instantly from unconsciousness to awareness quicker than a Porsche cruising the Autobon.  “What noise is that?” you ask. The unmistakable retching of a dog getting ready to vomit in your bed.

Our dog Schatzi (a Dorky-part Dachsund, part Yorkshire Terrier) is not allowed on the bed when we first go to sleep. But she has learned over the years that if she waits until my husband is well situated in La-la Land she can whine by his side and he will pick her up and place her on the bed without ever waking up. Such was the case last night. We went to sleep-no dog on bed. At 3:00 a.m.- dog gettting ready to hurl. Fortunately, I woke in time to avoid complete disaster.

It got me thinking about sounds. What are the sounds that bring you to instant attention, maybe with worry or fear? Glass breaking? A door slamming when you’re home alone? A siren in the night when you’re kids are still out with friends?

But not all memorable sounds are those that invoke fear.  Are there sounds that bring you joy? Nothing brings a smile to me quicker than the belly laugh of a baby. That deep chuckle of pure happiness a child gets over the silliest of things.

Is there a sound that brings you peace? I know for me the sound of ocean waves crashing against the shore gives me an immediate sense of God’s presence. Any tension I carry gets washed away with the pounding surf.

So what are the sounds of your life? The ones that bring you fear? Joy? Peace? Drop me a line and let me know. I’d love to see what makes you tick.

p.s.- My dog  Schatzi would tell you that her favorite sound is the siren call of lunchmeat cellophane!