Time, Perhaps, for Some Actual Writing

So, when I started writing this blog I intended to put lots of bits of my writing up. I haven't really done that yet. So here's a couple of pieces from the archives. They're from my first NaNo novel, A Fairytale Tomorrow, which is currently (and will probably remain) abandoned. I've rambled on here before about why not everything you write has to be destined for publication, and about the benefits of writing for practice, but there are a couple of other reasons why this book is shelved:

• It was my first novel, so it is essentially jam packed of every single YA lit stereotype and trope you can think of.
• Basically everything in it is ripped off from my time at high school, and I really haven't tried to change names/incidents all that much. (The main characters are all completely imagined, though.)
• I could continue rewriting and editing it, but I'm happy to leave it as is and continue with my other works in progress. I learnt a lot from writing it though.

I have one physical copy of the book – or what it was like at one stage anyway – thanks to CreateSpace, a NaNoWriMo sponsor. Here it is:

(Cover adapted from a photo by D Sharon Pruitt.)

It's currently at Barnaby's house, where it may or may not be read. I mention this in case I ever forget where it is. I'll be able to read back over my blog and go 'Oh, right, that's where it is. Gee, it's been ten years, I should try and track that down.'

Anyway! Onto some excerpts. I've tried to pick ones that are not so much a rip off from SOHS. The first one, in case it's not obvious, is the first section from a paragraph where the Year Tens go to camp. (As we did at, uh, SOHS.)

'I can't, for the life of me, imagine why the school thinks it's a good idea to go on camp in the middle of winter', Mandy grumbled as Ms Tyler's form class waited to board the bus.

Caitlin was hopping from foot to foot, trying to keep herself warm. 'It's cheaper this time of year. And the school is a real cheapskate.'

'Aw, come on, where's your sense of adventure?' Adam asked the pair.

'I left it at home, along with my iPod, centrally heated house, and nice food', Mandy retorted. 'None of it's coming to camp with me.'

'Aw, it'll be fun guys', Ben put in. The group stared at him –  it really wasn't a Ben thing to say. 'Well, not exactly fun, but better than school', he clarified.

'Alright, class! Excuse me, everyone in my form class, please make sure you have put your bags by the back of the bus and line up to get on, please. Let's see ... line up in order of birthdays.'

'Why?' Gabe inquired.

'To spark communication, of course! Come on, or we'll never get to camp.'

'We'd get to camp a whole lot faster if she'd let us line up however we wanted', Caitlin muttered to Rory. 'Save me a seat?'

'If there're two seats together by the time I get on', Rory promised. Luckily for them, there were.

The bus had barely pulled out from the school when Ms Tyler suggested a singalong. 'How about some Westlife?' she asked. The students groaned, but one group of boys did start up a round of Row, Row, Row Your Boat.

Row, row, row your boat

Gently down the stream

Toss your teacher overboard!

Listen to her scream!

Ms Tyler didn't think it was nearly as hilarious as the boys themselves did, and they wound up with detentions. That was the only punishment she ever gave anyone, although being in her class was a harsh punishment in itself.

'Hard luck, ay, going off to camp with Ms Tyler and Mr Healy, the most insane teachers this side of the planet. Probably more insane than any teachers on the other side of the planet, too.' Caitlin stared at the teacher, currently writing detention slips.

'It's about as good luck as getting Mr Healy as our form teacher in Year Nine, and then Ms Tyler in Year Ten', Rory responded. Though Mr Healy didn't make his classes play stupid games, he would get crazy ideas and see them through to the end. He'd thought it would be good to put all the desks in a large block in the middle of the classroom, and the students sit around the edges. They'd been incredibly squished, but the setup had remained all year. Another time he'd decided to play a week-long game where one team had to do whatever the other team made them do, regardless. There'd been a few complaints after that, and a couple of students had transferred out of his class. Terri McClashen had even changed schools.

Right now, Mr Healy was ordering all the students to get off the bus so they could go on a bushwalk. The sky was a very dark grey, and looked like it would pour down at any moment. The teacher wasn't put off at all, telling the students that if they didn't want to get caught in the rain, they would have to hurry around the track.

'Psst, Rory. Let's line up at the back, then only walk in for a couple of hundred metres, then get back on the bus', Mandy whispered. Ben was beside her, nodding.

'Okay', Rory said tentatively. She didn't want to get in trouble, but she really didn't want to go on a bushwalk either. They couldn't even start to put their plan in action, though, as Ms Tyler decided she would bring up the rear. The three students suddenly decided that they'd rather walk in the middle of the pack. 'Good thing too – this bush is near where part of Lord of the Rings was shot. She'd be lecturing us the whole way if we were at the back', Mandy remarked.

'Ah, students!' Mr Healy called from where he was striding out ahead of the pack. 'Isn't the smell of the bush fantastic? It's so invigorating, so life-enhancing!'

'So stinky', Ben said, drawing laughs from both girls. Adam and Caitlin, who for some reason actually enjoyed physical activity, were walking further ahead.

'Aaand here comes the rain.' Rory muttered, as it began to spit.

'Oh no, rain! I'll save you, princess' Ben said, picking Rory up and carrying her forward a few paces, before dropping her unceremoniously on the ground. 'Or not. That's hard work. I'm not cut out for carrying anything heavier than my backpack.'

Rory dusted off her clothes, and tried to pretend his comment didn't sting. She was heavy? She knew she wasn't thin, but she was actually heavy?

'Come on, Ror, let's go, it's starting to pour down now!' Mandy was right. The grey clouds had burst open, spilling buckets of water.

I would have to be wearing a white shirt right now, wouldn't I, Rory thought, chastising herself, and wishing she could stab Ben's eyeballs out – they were, for some reason, fixated on her chest.

The classes trudged along the path as quickly as they could, sighing in relief when the busses came into view once again. 'Okay, back on the busses everyone. Wasn't that fun? Just another hour until we get to camp, where the fun will continue', Mr Healy told the students.

The group looked like drowned rats as they climbed back onto their busses. 'Now we have to sit in wet clothes for an hour. I can't wait to tell my Mum she was wrong, camp wasn't safe, and I got hypothermia' Rory said to Caitlin. Caitlin was silent. 'What?'

'Maybe you should try and have a good time, Rory. If you think you're going to hate camp, you will, and you'll be miserable the whole time.'

Rory slumped back in her seat. 'Whatever.' She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep the rest of the way to camp.

This segment comes from a chapter where our hero and her brother Max find themselves staying at the next door neighbour's house while their mother is out of town for work. Rory's pretty unimpressed – the Hunter family includes:

• Adam, who is in her year at school. She has a bit of a crush on him, and he recently asked her former best friend to the school social instead of her.
• Dean, Adam's older brother, who's a bit horrible really.
• Ian, Adam's younger brother and Max's best friend. He's okay, actually. He and Max share a mutual interest in dinosaur games.

She found Mrs Hunter in the kitchen stirring a big pot of porridge. 'Can I help?' she offered, not really wanting to, but wanting to be polite.

Mrs Hunter sounded surprised. 'Oh! Rory dear, you're up very early! Not like my lot. If you could grab the toast when it pops, then put some more in the toaster, that would be wonderful.'

Toast and porridge for breakfast? Rory was surprised. How did people eat that much? Although, she supposed, there were an awful lot of boys in the Hunter family. Mrs Hunter didn't stop there, however. Once she had taken the porridge off the stove she went to the pantry and began pulling out boxes of cereal, which she placed on the table next to a selection of plates and bowls, and knives and spoons. Rory took the last of the toast out of the four slice toaster and put it on a plate, which she put on the table. Mrs Hunter hurried over to the pantry and took out an assortment of spreads which she put on the table as well. 'Sit down, sit down dear. Eat up.'

Rory felt a bit funny being the only one sitting at the table. 'Aren't you going to join me?'

'In a minute, I'll just finish making everyone's lunches.'

Rory wondered who 'everyone' was. She always had to make her own lunches. But if she was only making a lunch for Ian, the youngest, then she wouldn't have said 'everyone'. Anyway, she took a slice of toast and spread some butter and Marmite on it, and took a bite.

'Take more than that, Rory. Have some porridge, or some cereal. Breakfast's the most important meal of the day, after all. Oh, and what can I get you to drink? Orange juice, tea, hot chocolate?'

'Orange juice is fine, thanks,' Rory said, still thinking that this was way too much food for breakfast.

Max and Ian were the next ones down, and they slid happily into their seats. 'Oh boy,' Max said, looking at the food and immediately helping himself to some of everything.

'Max, be polite,' Rory admonished quietly. He paid her no heed. Ian, too, had taken some of everything. So Rory guessed that that must be okay – and it certainly seemed to keep Mrs Hunter happy, as she made cups of hot chocolate for the boys.

Dean was next down, sidling in beside Rory, who stiffened visibly. 'Sup Red' he greeted.

Well, Red was better than 'Ginga' in any case.

'Did you get your Calculus homework finished last night?' his mother asked him.

'YES, Mum, don't nag,' he replied, rudely.

'Alright, dear. It's on your own head if you don't get university entrance.'

'I certainly hope you got your homework done,' Mr Hunter added, arriving at the bottom of the stairs. 'You're not freeloading off of us if you don't get into university.'

Dean rolled his eyes, and Rory found herself wondering if the stories Adam had told them about Dean brewing beer in his parents' basement without their knowledge was true. And speaking of Adam, the last Hunter boy entered the dining room and, like his brothers and father, took some of everything.

'Adam, where is your school tie?' his mother asked him. Adam shrugged.

'Dunno. In my room somewhere.'

'You'll get in trouble at school without a tie, won't you?'

Dean snickered. 'No, Mum, nobody cares if you're wearing a tie or not.'

'But the Year Thirteen boys' trend of shaving their legs so they can wear roman sandals like the girls is a bit disturbing' Adam said, elbowing Dean. 'Eh Dean?'

'I TOLD you Squirt, it's good for swimming.'

'And your little legs just look lovely in your roman sandals.'

'Adam, if you don't shut up right now I'll –' Dean stopped, seeing his parents staring at him with pointed looks on their faces. 'Not do anything,' he finished, turning his attention back to his breakfast.

Rory found out later that Mrs Hunter had, in fact, made a lunch for everyone. Including two sandwiches, an apple, an orange, a pack of peanuts, two biscuits, a muesli bar, and some cheese and crackers.

'Do you always get so much lunch?' she asked Adam on the way to school. He looked at her.

'What do you mean?'

'There's so much food in our lunches! Is that usual?'

'Yeah,' he told her oddly, as if he didn't understand what she was saying. 'Yeah, that's how much we always get.'

'Oh, okay. It just seems like a lot, that's all.'

They had left the house at the same time, so it had only made sense to walk to school together. But when they had arrived they'd both sensed some awkwardness. 'Bye, then,' Rory said. 'See you back at your place after school.'

'We could – yeah, see you then. Have a good day.'

AND NOW IT'S TIME FOR AN ADELAIDE UPDATE.

I have AirNZ tickets, a valid passport, and the Writers' Week program in my hot little hand, so I'm going baby! It's pretty close now too – only 26 days away. There are lots of exciting people presenting but I'm most excited to see / hear / hopefully get autographs from (because I am a fangirl) Justine Larbalestier and Scott Westerfeld. Larbalestier is the author of the fabulous Liar, which I have just reread and it messed with my head (in the best possible way) just as much as it did the first time I read it. She also co-wrote Team Human which is an excellent antidote to Twilight. She also is really interesting to follow on Twitter. And she has Tweeted me a couple of times! One time recently we were having a discussion about writing fiction vs theses and I really had to stop myself from going MY THESIS IS 2/3 ABOUT UGLIES, YOU KNOW THAT SERIES YOUR HUSBAND WROTE?! I refrained from doing this because it is really annoying if someone yells at you on Twitter, and also because that may have lowered the tone of the conversation and I was enjoying having a calm conversation with a real live awesome author, yo. So yeah, Westerfeld was the subject of a great majority of my thesis. He's also my favourite author. (His wife is a much more entertaining tweeter, though.) It might be kind of neat to see him. I'll try to stop myself from doing anything really stupid, like getting him to autograph my thesis. (That was a momentary thought of madness.) I'm considering taking my original copy of Uglies (I have two copies of the series – a box set and a study set) which is full of about 300 post it notes and has notes scribbled in ballpoint pen throughout the book and seeing if I can get that signed. It would be kind of neat, since that's the copy I've read and reread and slaved over. We'll see. I could, of course, buy one of his books there (as you should really support the Book Tent at the Festival, as it helps keep the events free) but I figure they might not have that series there and I'll probably be inspired to buy books from authors who I go and listen to but have not read.

Until next time.

Actually, it's too hot to go to bed so here are some pictures of my copy of Uglies, so you can see what I mean.  

My stack of the series, with post-its.

The  colour code for the post-its, scrawled on the front page. Different colours for quotes, character, and theme. 

There aren't chapter numbers, which makes referencing a pain when you're making notes and want to say something happened in a particular chapter, and need to look it up again later. So I went through and numbered them all. 

Sometimes I didn't have a post-it handy, or wanted to note something about the text which did not fit one of the three characters. Here I very intelligently remark that Tally's river ride mirrors her discovery of life outside of society's mindset. (Does society even have a mindset?)

Anatomy of a thesis subject: We have post-it notes, with notes on them. We have underlining. We have notes written on the text itself. We probably have sweat and tear stains on the paper.

A symbolic shot showing how the series and post-its and hard work all ended up in a pretty little thesis.

And after that little photo-taking exercise, I should really go to bed! 

Year of Awesome

The clock strikes midnight, and the revellers welcome in the new year. A few hours later (probably in the afternoon) the now-hungover revellers surface from sleep. It's January the First, and it's time to make your new year's resolutions. This year's going to be way more awesome than last year, right? You're going to do more, achieve more, not waste a single day. Well, maybe today, seeing as how it is already 4.30 in the afternoon. But starting tomorrow (well, maybe on the third – tomorrow is a public holiday in NZ after all) thing are Going. To. Get. Done.

At least, that's how it's supposed to do. I spent New Year's Eve having a lovely dinner out at some family friends' place, before racing home with the parentals to grab some whiskey and shortbread (family tradition) to see in the new year. We couldn't find a countdown on the television so we turned on National Radio, or Radio New Zealand as I think it's now called, and waited. New Year came, I drank my on glass of whiskey, induged in three pieces of shortbread, and went to bed. I didn't bother making any resolutions. They have a way of becoming momentously stupid, and people usually break at least one in the first week of January.

But I find myself now, on the ninth, sitting down to make some resolutions. Or as I like to call them, goals. I like goals. I like having something to work towards. Something that marks a year for you and gives it significance. One of the hardest things about (finally) leaving university was the absence of clearly defined years. All through school I had a purpose that year. Finishing J1. Finishing J2. All the way through to finishing seventh form. It then turned into 'my first year of university', 'my honours year', 'that year I wrote and rewrote thesis proposals and then a couple of month after I was finally accepted they decided you didn't have to write proposals for mere MA degrees anymore', 'the year I wrote a thesis', 'the year I finished a thesis and got a job'.

After leaving university it's been different. It's been a couple of years of 'that year I had a job', 'that year I still had a job but the office became a different colour', 'holy crap it is now 2013, what am I going to do with myself this year?'

Sure, I did stuff in those two years. I went overseas by myself for the first time, and I jumped off the Sky Tower, and I took up golf.

BTW proof of the Sky Tower thing:

I missed having goals though. So I've made some writerly goals for this year.

• Finish writing One Last Day. This story (the product of two Camp NaNoWriMos) is proving more difficult to write than I thought it would be. I'm treading a more careful, and therefore slower, path as I write the first draft. Normally I can blaze through a novel to end up with a very rough first draft, but I'm going about this one more deliberately. I'm not under any delusions of grandeur or anything, and it's still going to be a first draft, and first drafts are always bad. (That's why theyr'e first drafts.) I'd like to finish it though, even if the first draft stage is where it stops.
• Rewrite and edit The Girl Who Saved the World. (Last November's NaNo novel.)
• Blog once a fortnight.
• Win NaNoWriMo again in November.
• Read 104 books. Why 104? That's two a week. Why read? Because writers need to read. That's how you learn how to write, how story works.
• Read at least two books a month. This may seem like a 'well, duh' moment, given that I have just said I will read 104 books. But I'm sure there will be months when it is easy to read a lot (January, the holiday month, for example) and other months when it is not.
• Of those two books, one will be a book like those I write. You need to know your market. You need to know how your genre works.
• Of those two books, one will be a book I wouldn't normally pick up. (So basically anything that's not a YA.)
• Finish a fanfic I have abandoned for the past two years. Somebody added it to their favourites list the other week and I feel bad about it being unfinished.
• Do a manuscript swap with a fellow writer. This is a scary one! I plan to swap a (part of) a manuscript with another writer for feedback and criticism.

I'm not sure what I'm going to label 2013 with these goals, but maybe I'll have a better idea in December!

In other exciting developments, Adelaide is happening! It's only 51 days away. I need to be at the airport at a ridiculous hour that morning (see: So Early That It Shouldn't Exist, and also I Can't Tell If This Time Is Morning Or Actually Still Night) so hopefully I manage that. I'm super excited, especially since I'll be staying with my aunt who's also going to Writers' Week, yay!

That reminds me, I need to get onto getting a passport so that I can actually leave the country.

This year is going to be awesome.

The Stephanies. Also, a NaNoWriMo excerpt.

I got mail last week! 

Three parcels in one day, in fact, on what happened to be my flatmate's birthday. And she got no parcels. 

Here's one of my parcels:

This little gem is an example of 'Kickstarter swag', or, if you want to be more formal, 'goods obtained from Kickstarter'. For the uninitiated, Kickstarter is a funding platform for creative projects. People put up projects they intend to complete, and people can choose to contribute towards their funding in return for rewards. I was browsing to see what projects people had put up, and came across The Stephanies, a book which a father and daughter had created together. 

I don't know Kevin and Lexi at all. Heck, I don't even live on the same continent as they do. But I felt compelled to be part of this project. Why? Well, to start with, because I think writing is awesome, and it's awesome that a six year old has made a book. I remember when I was that age and we would write stories in our writing boos at school and then 'publish' them on a sheet of coloured paper. The paper which was folded in half so you could make a cover as well. One time I wrote a lengthy (it seemed then) version of Cinderella which was far too big for such simple publication. Instead, I got to staple multiple pages of larger pieces of paper together to publish my story. It took a really long time. My teacher was pretty impressed and I got to go and show the Principal who was also pretty impressed and gave me a 'highy commended by the Principal' stamp in reward. 

So I wondered ... if I thought it was pretty cool to have my Principal look at my book and give me a stamp, how cool would another young writer think it was to have a real, live, published book which strangers on the other side of the world are reading?

Speaking of, here's a picture of me reading on the other side of the world.

I like how my feet look bigger than my head. 

I was not disappointed with this book at all. It's a cute, engaging story with a great twist at the end. Which I'm not going to spoil for you because that would be evil. The pictures, drawn by Lexi, are charming. The story is about two girls who are both named - that's right - Stephanie. And are they pleased about it? They certainly are not! 

Do you know how confusing that's got to be? I don't often meet people with the same name as me unless they are really old people, or babies. So I don't usually run into the same problems as the Stephanies do, such as being in the same class and not knowing who the teacher is talking to. 

Actually, I lie. In fifth form geography I sat next to a Liz. Our teacher would frequently call on 'Elizabeth'. We'd look at each other - she was known as Liz, though her real name was Elizabeth, and I often get people mistaking 'Isabel' for 'Elizabeth'. So this was confusing, and we didn't know who the teacher was talking to. But we never got as grumpy as the Stephanies do! 

If you want to know more, check out Amazon.  

In other news, NaNoWriMo is progressing well! I'm not writing as fast as I have in previous years, just trying to get the 1667 words each day. I've continued to be very good at procrastinating and made this cover:

Made from a photo by Lauren Manning. I'd pick this book up in the store. 

And to prove that I have actually done some writing, here's a short excerpt. As always with NaNo it is in its unedited, non-proofread glory:

Aiofe remembered to close the front door more quietly than she had opened it when she’d come in. ‘Hold my hand,’ she instructed Katie, feeling grown up as she always did. ‘At least until we’re across the road.’

Katie did, looking down at Mr Twinkles beside her ‘And you hold onto my hand, Mr Twinkles.’

‘We’re going explor-ring!’, Aiofe sang, as they walked down the street. ‘And we’re gonna find some land, and we’re gonna make a town, and Dad is gonna make dinner, and we are gonna meet our guest.’

‘We’re gonna meet Stella’, Katie joined in.

‘Have you met her already?’

‘Uh-huh. She’s nice. And she has an earring in her nose.’

‘That means it’s a nose ring.’

‘Well it looks like an earring to me.’

‘Look both ways before we cross the street’, Aiofe instructed, as she always did. And as always, there was no traffic to be seen. ‘Okay, go.’ The girls ambled over the road, where they were met by a steep and muddy path.

‘It’s dirty’, Katie grumbled. Aiofe rolled her eyes. She didn’t understand her sister’s problem with dirt - it washed off, and who cared if you got dirty as long as you were having fun.

‘You’ll come clean later when you have a bath. And Dad will wash your clothes.’

Katie hugged her bear to her chest. ‘I don’t want Mr Twinkles to get dirty though’.

That was a problem. He was a bit harder to wash than clothes were. Aiofe thought of her own teddy bear, Lord Carrigan Beary. He had been in the washing machine many times, her mother insisting that it was like a playground ride for him. He may be having a great time, but he seemed to have less fur each time he came out of the machine.

‘I have an idea’, Aiofe told her sister. ‘Here, give me Mr Twinkles’.

‘Be careful’, Katie said suspiciously, holding onto the bear a few seconds longer than necessary as she handed him over. Aiofe took great care as she unzipped her jacked, held the bear to her chest, and zipped her jacket back up again so that only his head could be seen sticking out.

‘How about I carry him like this?’

‘Okay’, Katie agreed slowly. ‘Don’t fall over. He might get muddy if you do.’

‘I won’t fall over!’ Aiofe declared. ‘I am the great explorer, the brave knight, Madame Bellamy Brown. I come. I conquer. I do great things. But I certainly do not fall over.’

Katie giggled. ‘Okay, Madame Belly Brown.’

‘Bellamy Brown.’

‘I know.’

Aiofe smiled. ‘Now, onward! We must overcome this hill, come over to the top of it, so we can see what lies within this new district.’ Katie didn’t move. ‘Onward means you can start walking now.’

‘Oh! I get it.’ And the sisters began a climb up the hill. Aiofe wondered who panted more coming up this hill, Katie now or Ben when they ad the other day, but she realised that was a nasty thought and pushed it aside. Not everybody could be athletic, and Katie was only four. Besides, you couldn't really think anything bad about Ben - he was too nice all the time.

They staggered up to the lookout, and sat down on the bench. ‘Why, someone has been here before us!’ Aiofe exclaimed. ‘And put a bench here. And some signs. Well, that’s very helpful. Now, where should we make camp for the night?’

Katie pointed. ‘That house, with the blue roof.’

Aiofe looked at the house Katie pointed at. If she squinted she could see her father through the kitchen window. ‘An excellent choice.’

NaNoWriMo, Pyjama Pants, and Adelaide

Hello faithful readers, and greetings from NaNoWriMo land, where I have just made my word count for day three with eight minutes to spare. This was mainly because I whittled away my Saturday thusly:

- Sleeping.
- Reading.
- Craft shopping.
- Supermarket shopping.
- Making pyjama pants (I just bought a sewing machine, and it is the best thing ever, I love it.)
- Making dinner. 
- Wondering when my bag of crap from 1-day will arrive.
- Eating a chocolate bar. 
- Wondering whether I am more productive on weekends when I have made a list during the week of things that I need to do during the weekend.
- Wondering how far into next week I will get before regretting not being productive this weekend.
- Not caring about the above two points, on account of the eight point. 


NB. In the spirit of NaNoWriMo, I have decided not to proofread or edit my blog post. This may also be the spirit of laziness, but just keep that to yourself. 

In other news (when I wasn't either a) writing or b) distracted by my new shiny sewing machine and making pyjama pants) I tried playing around with making a cover image for this November's novel. I was pretty unsuccessful as I couldn't find any royalty free images that you don't need to pay for of the image I had in mind (a girl holding a globe), but I've come up with this, which I can see on the back of a book with a blurb underneath. (Tidied up and done by an actual graphics person, obviously.)

My story, in brief, is called The Girl Who Saved The World. It's about a nine year old who aspires to, uh, save the world. The problem? She's nine. Also, it's set in the real world, which is a much harsher landscape for would be superheroes than science fiction or fantasy are. And just to really kick the poor girl when she's down she has a sadistic teacher and horrible classmates who laugh at her and mock her for wanting to do good in the world. I don't think she'll let it deter her for too long though, and I'm sure she will achieve her goal by the time November comes to an end. 

Also, new pyjama pants:

With my laptop where I am working on THIS VERY BLOG POST in the background. How meta. 

NaNo has had an interesting start this year. Normally I go full pace ahead in the first few days, but this year I've only gone a couple of hundred words over the daily 1667 word count each day. Even today, which was Saturday - I didn't have to go to work. I didn't have to make pyjama pants. I did have to go to the supermarket, but that shouldn't take all day. So why so slow?

I was getting annoyed with myself, particularly when I'd sit down to write after having been on the bus reading. Reading was probably my first mistake - I started freaking out and asking myself 'why doesn't my book have fully developed characters? Exciting twists and turns? A complex plot? Why haven't my characters done anything yet besides go to school?'

Then my rational side returned and shoved my worrying side out of the way. 'Because it's NaNoWriMo. You know, that thing where you basically write a zero draft, not a completed manuscript. Where the plot always tends to work itself out around the middle of November. You've only got a few thousand words so far, and you had to start it at school - that's where the conflict sparks from.'

Clearly, I'd forgotten what I get out of NaNoWriMo. I get to hang out with other crazy people and write. I get to try out something I'm not used to - in this case, writing children's litereature. I get a completed draft, and it doesn't have to be perfect. Scratch that, it's definitely not going to be perfect. John Boyne wrote The Boy in Striped Pyjamas in something like three days, and I bet even that needed a little bit of editing. 

I continued to think about it, and realised that for whatever reason I'd been talking to quite a few non-writing people about my writing lately. And everyone always wonders when you're going to be published. That's a lot of expectation to heap on when you're doing NaNoWriMo. Because it's not like you can just finish a book and then get it published - there are so many hoops to jump through before publication is even a remote possibility. And not everything is written with publication in mind. But tell someone that you're writing a novel and they immediately think you're looking at publication.

Don't get me wrong, I would love to have something published. But some novels are just written for fun. Some are written while you find your voice and learn your craft. All writing is great practice. Is it a waste of time to write a novel with no intent of publication? Of course not. Would you say it's a waste of time to go and play a round of golf if you're not playing in the PGA, or to paint a picture if you are just going to hang it up in your living room rather than in a prestigious art gallery? I hope not, and if you disagree then I fear you have some harsh realities about life coming your way! 

So I have cast off all shackles of expectation and embraced the crazy spirit that is NaNo once more. I will write without editing, without fear, with gaping plot holes, as fast as I can. Come November I will have a 50,000 word manuscript. It may end up being something that is worth developing more, or it may be something I can use as a doorstop. Whatever the case, I'm sure I will have learnt more and become a better writer. 

And now for something entirely different! Well, not entirely, it is still about writing. But it is not about NaNoWriMo.

I was cruising the internet the other day, as I often do, and stopped upon the website of my most favourite author ever Mr Scott Westerfeld. He had written that he (and the equally wonderful Justine Larbalestier) would be at the Adelaide Writer's Week in 2013. 

'Adelaide, ay?' I wondered. 'That's not too far away from me.'

The next day the program for the Adelaide Festival was announced online so I checked it out.   And lo and behold, Writer's Week also features my MA supervisor. Which is just crazy when you consider that Westerfeld was the subject of two thirds of my MA thesis. If you google their names the Adelaide Festival is the first search result, and my thesis is the second. I hope they meet. 

I've spent the past few days daydreaming about attending the week myself, trying to convince myself that it is probably not the smartest, most fiscal idea. Then I tell myself to stop being boring, suck it up and do a bit of overtime, penny pinch for a bit, and just go. Somebody should just tell me what to do. Validate my choice, either way. Anyway, I checked out airfares and they are a ridiculous $800 return, but the wisdom that is the internet (the wisdom of the crowd, in Westerfeld speak) tells me that specials for the next year tend to come up in December, so here's hoping ... it may actually be possible to go. 

Until next time, readers, here is a nanoism from the journey so far. For the uninitiated nanoisms are sentences that you write in a NaNo novel that are funny, awkward, and/or make no sense.

‘That was most enlightening’, Mrs Salter continued, waving her hand around in the air. (Which Aiofe’s older cousins had reliably informed her was what people did ‘when they just don’t care’). ‘Very fine aspirations indeed, though perhaps somewhat difficult to bring to fruition. Nevertheless, I’m sure you’ve thought it through very thoroughly, haven’t you?’

A Taste of NaNoWriMo Things to Come

As NaNoWriMo approaches, a mere four days away, I'm realising just how unprepared I am for it. I've got a few pictures and a few ideas. Here are a few pictures now:

Since I haven't tried children's literature before I decided to write a pre-NaNo piece about these two. Finding the right tone and voice was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, an it's not quite there yet. But it was a good exercise and a way into the characters and story,  so come Thursday I'll hopefully be ready to write. 

Oh,  and here is a bonus picture of Aiofe's younger sister:

And here is a mini-story starring Ben and Aiofe.

‘This isn’t the way home, Aiofe!’ Ben accused his best friend. His house was two blocks away from the school, and Aiofe’s was another one over - as it had been since her family moved to town three years ago. The pair were most definitely headed in the wrong direction as they crossed the school field.

‘I have a hunch about something, Ben, come on!’ Aiofe was always having a hunch about something. Sometimes this lead to lots of fun, but other times it lead to Big Trouble. Hands in pockets, he shrugged, following her as she ran on ahead. He might not be home too late, and his mother might not be too mad.

‘Where are you off to, then, on your hunch?’ he called after her, hoping she’d slow down just a little bit. A walking pace would be nice. He clutched his side, feeling a stitch coming on already.

‘Not that far’, she said kindly. She knew how his parents were about knowing where he was every second of the day. This was because hers were much the same. Parents really are bothersome sometimes, Ben thought, though he wasn’t really bothered. Nothing much bothered him. It would be a lot easier if you could just go where you wanted to when you want to.

‘Do you actually know where we’re going?’ he asked curiously.

Aiofe didn’t slow down. ‘No!’

They reached the end of the field, and Ben doubled over, clutching his stomach and panting. Aiofe whirled around. ‘Come on, Ben!’

‘Where?’ he asked again.

‘There!’ she said, pointing. Sure enough, her hunch had led her somewhere. High up in a tree at the end of the field a kitten meowed pitifully.

‘The poor thing’, Aiofe said. ‘We’d better get him down.’

‘Cats can climb, can’t they?’ Ben asked, for he was positive they could. ‘It should be able to climb down again. It got up there to begin with.’

The kitten gave another loud meow.

‘It’s stuck’, Aiofe declared, ‘and it needs help’.

Aiofe did know a lot about things that needed help, so Ben supposed she was right.

‘So are you going to climb up and get it down, or am I?’ (Unfortunately her ‘saving things’ plans were often a lot of work.) ‘Uh -’

‘We should both go’, she decided. ‘So we can corner him, if he tries to run off in the other direction.’

‘What are we going to do when we get him down?’

‘Take him back to his owner’, Aiofe said, reaching up and grabbing a branch that was sticking out just above her head. She swung briefly before pulling herself up, grunting. ‘Hurry, Ben!’

Ben, having just had two growths spurts, was a head taller than Aiofe and easily jumped up onto the same branch. Aiofe, meanwhile, was scurrying up the tree like a shark through water.

The kitten miaowed again. Aiofe had nearly reached it.

‘I’ve got him!’ she yelled to Ben. Before he could suggest that maybe she not yell quite so loud, as that could easily threaten the creature, the kitten darted away and landed gracefully on a branch above Ben’s head. It settled itself and began to purr, its tail flicking across Ben’s face.

‘Oh, no!’ wailed Aiofe. ‘I let it go. Quick, Ben, grab it!’

Ben reached up, hands trembling, and tried to pick up the kitten again. Once more it darted away. Ben barely had time to think Ah, so kittens can climb down trees before he tumbled down the tree after the cat, landing painfully on a harsh tree root sticking out of the ground.

I won’t cry, he told himself, not while a girl’s around. Even if it’s only Aiofe.

The kitten wandered over disinterestedly, unaware of the drama it had caused. ‘Nice kitty’, Ben told it, patting it on the head. With a THUMP two feet landed beside him.

‘Oh no, Ben, your knee!’

Ben followed Aiofe’s gaze. Sure enough his knee was covered with blood.

‘I must have hit it when I landed.’

Aiofe grabbed her drink bottle from her bag. ‘We should wash it out, that’s what Dad always does’.

‘Is that water in your bottle?’ Ben asked quickly. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he didn’t think that pouring juice on a wound would help at all.

Aiofe took a tentative sip. ‘Drat, it’s juice. Come over to my place. Dad’ll fix you up.’

‘I should probably go home’, Ben said, remembering that his mother was already going to be mad at him for being late and he didn’t need to add another reason to the list.

Aiofe shrugged. ‘Okay. Hey, the cat has a collar on. Maybe it’s got an address on it.’

Ben turned the collar on. ‘52 Gibbs Road. Hey, that’s not too far from us.’

‘We’ll take the kitten home on the way’ Aiofe said decisively, picking up the animal. It settled happily into her arms this time. ‘Can you walk?’

‘Course’, Ben scoffed, not wanting to admit that his knee really was quite sore and he would like nothing more than to have a good cry. He clambered to his feet and they set off once more.

‘I wonder who the kitten belongs to’, Aiofe said.

‘Someone on our street. Don’t you know your neighbours?’

‘Not all of them.’

‘Me neither.’

The mystery was soon solved. The door to number 52 was opened by an elderly woman with shockingly white hair. ‘There you are, Muffin!’ she exclaimed happily. ‘Wherever did you find her, I’ve been calling for her all afternoon.’

‘Down by the school, Ma’am.’ Aiofe replied politely.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I should introduce myself. My name is Mrs McSweeney.’

‘I’m Ben.’

‘And I’m Aiofe. I live at number 57.’

‘Well, Ben and Aiofe, thank you very much for returning Muffin here. Would you like to come in for a drink and biscuit?’

The children looked at each other. ‘Well we would,’ Aiofe said, ‘but our parents will be wondering where we are, and Ben needs to go home so his Mum can look after his knee.’

Mrs McSweeney looked down at his knee, then put her arms around his shoulders and hustled him inside. ‘We ought to take care of that right away. What are your phone numbers, I’ll let your parents know that you’re here. Aiofe, can you look in the cupboard under the sink and bring me the red first aid bag please?’

When Ben’s mother and Aiofe’s father turned up quarter of an hour later they were less than impressed that the children had not come straight home from school. They couldn’t be too angry, though, when Mrs McSweeney praised the children’s bravery and thanked them once again for saving Muffin. And they had to smile when she invited both families over for dinner that weekend.

And that was how Aiofe was responsible for Ben’s first scar, and how Aiofe and Mrs McSweeney first came to be very good friends. 

Madcap Writers (are mad and, uh, cappy)

So I joined a gang last week. Nothing too hard core. A writing gang. It's official now cos we each have these awesome post-it notes that are shaped like typewriters. And we're on a mission. 

Madcap number one emailed us on Thursday about a writing competition he was going to enter. Scratch that, that we're all going to enter! 

Minimum of 25,000 words. A complete story/novel/book. For children or young adults. I think those are the specs anyway, we've hit the ground running so fast that I haven't really checked. It's gotta be submitted by the beginning of June, see. In Australia. And you can't email it. So I figure we have five weeks. 

Which, hey, is more time than NaNoWriMo which I've done and won twice now. It even gives me an extra week. Which will be needed for editing. 

Is trying to do this all in five weeks madness? Completely. But hey, why not? It'll be fun, and I'll end up with another manuscript, regardless of whether anything actually comes of it. And it's good practice. And there has been mention of coffee. And did I mention the awesome post-it notes?

Apparently anything you submit to the competition can't be published anywhere else, so blog pickings may be slim for a few weeks. But in the spirit of speed-writing, here's an example of what happens when I write at a breakneck speed. 

(Don't judge it too harshly. It's still a zero draft, and has not been touched at all since it was written during NaNo '11, most likely during a series of word sprints.)

"Maxwell!"

I opened one eye sleepily. My alarm clock told me it was already half past eight. And it's a school day. Crap.

"You're already late for school, if you don't hurry up you're going to be even later!"

"I know, I'm coming!"

When I came downstairs ten minutes later, Mum was waiting for me in the doorway, hands on hips. "Honestly, Max, this is the third time this week."

"I'd like mornings a whole lot better if they started later," I grumbled. If Mum heard me, she didn't show it. She merely shoved my backpack into my arms, and pointed to the front door.

"School! Go! Now!"

"I'm going, I'm going." I don't now why it matters, I'm only going to miss Form Time. Nothing important.

Twenty minutes later I arrived at school, and debated whether I should just go to class right away, or if I should go and get my late slip from the office like we're supposed to. I had English, with Ms Tyler, so the decision was pretty easy.

"I need a late slip", I told the woman in the office.

"Again, Mr Walden?" she asked, peering down her pointed nose at me. Crap. She knew my name. This couldn't be good. She continued, "You are aware that school begins at quarter to eight, are you not?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then why have you turned up after nine o'clock three times this week?"

"Well, you know, it's difficult turning up on time when you have to travel to get here." I smiled, in what I hoped was a charming way.

She grumbled, turning her attention towards the computer. The keys tapped loudly and slowly, then the printer started whining.

"Yes, Mr Walden, I imagine it must be very difficult to get to school on time when you live a short walk away. What happened? Snowed in? Car wouldn't start?"

Blooming administrators, thinking they have some sort of power. Wanna-be teachers, I reckon, though who'd want to do that either.

"Look, can I go to class? I'd hate to miss anything ... important." Ms Tyler always took half the lesson to get to anything important. The rest of the time was spent playing stupid games and trying to "develop us as people" or some rubbish. Nothing that was going to help any of us pass the class.

She harrumphed. "Here you are then. Do try to make it to school on time tomorrow, won't you."

"Sure thing, whatever you say." I flashed my teeth at her before I left, and wandered down the hallways to my English class. The thing about Ms Tyler's class is you can hear it before you get there. I was still four doors away when I heard her screeching.

"No, no, no, class! Back to your seats, back to your seats, you're doing it wrong!" Geeze, what was going on in there? And did I really want to find out? I considered heading off down the field, but then decided I didn't really want a detention, and kept walking towards the class. A ball of paper hit me square in the face as I opened the door.

"That's IT, Jason! Yellow slip! Now! Go!"

"I can't go, Ms Tyler. You have to give me an actual yellow slip if you want to yellow slip me."

"Out!" she hollared, and Jason shrugged as he gathered his things. He grinned at me as he squeezed past, probably going to go off down the field and smoke.

"Nice of you to join us, Max."

"I have a late slip, Ms Tyler", I said as I handed it to her.

She grabbed it "Take your seat". I did, gladly.

"Late again, mate?" Ian asked.

"Yup, like everyone keeps reminding me. I figure I haven't missed much though."

"You've missed absolutely nothing", Lauren interjected, as Lauren usually does. Butting in to conversations that don't concern her. "You know Ms Tyler ... I think we still have ten minutes before we're going to do anything useful." She and Ian laughed. Cassidy looked like she wanted to laugh, but pursed her lips instead. I don't think she approves of being rude to teachers, even if they can't hear it.

"There are those times we do nothing useful at all all period", Ian mused. "I think today might be one of those days."

"How can you tell?" Lauren asked.

"Ms Tyler's got that look in her eye."

"Ms Tyler always has a look in her eye."

"Yeah, but this one is a very particular one. Her pupils glint sort of, as if she thinks she's going to change the world. I bet you. Ten bucks. We're not going to do anything remotely related to the English curriculum today. We're going to do something to get to know each other, or talk about our feelings, or improve ourselves. I bet you."

"You're on." I figured it was too far into the year for her to do absolutely nothing English-y for the entire lesson.

Ian grinned. "Sweet, I'll be getting my lunch from the canteen today."

"Keep dreaming."

"She's got to do something, surely." Strangely, when Lauren agrees with me it only makes me want to disagree with her. Which, unfortunately, doesn't work. I can't disagree with myself, after all.

Ian left class laughing, as he pocketed a ten dollar note. My wallet, meanwhile, was somewhat lighter. "Yeah yeah, okay, you won. We all lose in the end when we fail English because Ms Tyler didn't teach us anything."

"That's ages away. Right now, I'm a winner."

"She really should have taught us something, though." Lauren was struggling to keep up with us.

"Lauren. We may be forced to work and sit together in English, but class is over now. You can leave us alone."

"But we're all going to the same place. Science."

"Well, you could go a different way."

"There IS only one way to get to Science."

"You don't need to talk to us, or walk with us though." She stopped walking, and we continued on.

"I don't know why you're so mean to her," Ian remarked. "She's nice enough."

"Yeah, I know you get on with her."

He shrugged. "She's fun. Not too serious."

"How do you know? You only see her in English."

"And in Geography, and PE. Classes you don't take."

"Oo-ooh!" I squealed, shoving him. "Geography and PE. Do you love her, then?"

"Bugger off, she's just okay to hang out with. Doesn't talk too much."

"She talks all the freaking time."

"But not about serious stuff. You know. Like most girls do. They want to be deep and meaningful all the time. Or they don't talk at all. Like Cassidy," he added as an afterthought.

"She talks. You just have to prompt her a little bit."

"It's like pulling teeth."

"Only because you have no patience."

"And you're Mr Sensitive, then."

I sighed dramatically. "Oh, Ian. It's because your family is full of men. You're socially undeveloped."

"Mum's not a man", he objected.

"Yeah, but she's your mum."

"Oh so you have learnt all your social skills from your sister?'

"I've learnt that you have to be more careful talking to girls than you are, if that's something."

'It's not much of anything, which I guess makes it a small something."