Saturday, November 7, 2015

For The First Week Of NaNoWriMo, I Lost My Sanity....

In which I give a brief summary of this week's activities.


Day One:

Wake up late. Look at the goal of hand writing this novel. Realize I was clearly crack addled when I made that goal. Open up Scrivner. Write a bunch. Go to the write in at St. Peter's. Write a bunch more. Eat diabetes inducing quantities of sugar despite having brought healthy snacks. Like an asshole. Crush my word goal. Forget coat at St. Peter's. Realize the fact far too late to do any good. Swear a bunch. Drink a beer.

Day Two:

Wake up in agony. Pop pain killers. Pull a few hundred words out of my bone marrow at lunch. Go home. Get shitty news. Write some more anyway. Curse the stupid inefficacy of stupid painkillers and stupid, ill timed migraines. Hit my word count goal anyway. Flip off the universe. Go to bed.

 Day Three:

First two plot bunnies show up. They are fluffy and adorable. Put them in a pen and promise to play with them the second November is over. Receive yet more shitty news at lunch, and spend the rest of the day trying to proofread through tears. Go home and write anyway. Hit my word count goal. Flip off the Gods of NaNo for daring to try to thwart me then  apologize and swear I didn't really mean it. Please stop hurting me.

Day Four:

Wake up late, feeling like Satan personally shat in my Wheaties. Whimper over coffee.Write at lunch. Nearly forget to feed myself. More plot bunnies show up. Beg them to stop fucking and let me finish my novel. Go home in the goddamn dark. Trip in the yard and sprain wrist. Write some more despite feeling like someone tried to beat me with a lead pipe. Go to choir. Sing. Write some more. Barely squeak past my word count goal. Whimper some more. Go to bed.

Day Five:

Write at lunch. Resign myself to the rampant fornication of the plot bunnies. Manage neither to injure myself nor receive shitty news. Go home. Write more. Hit word count goal. Drink celebratory beer. Pat self on back. Go to bed.

Day Six:

Write at lunch. Go to a cafe and write a little more. Realize I am a half step away from chanting "red rum RED RUM" in a shrill, crazy voice. Decide to take the rest of the night off for my mental health. Get drunk. Regret nothing.

Day Seven:

Do several hours of printmaking. Go to the library and do a couple of word sprints. Curse myself for falling so far behind. Take the dog to the dog park and watch him run around like an idiot. Transfer my Scrivner MS into Word. Realize I was massively off on my word count because Scrivner can't count. Cry. Vow to spend the rest of the night doing word sprints to catch up.

Post Script:

I just found my missing words. I had managed to hide one of my chapters in Scrivnerland. So, maybe wait until the month is over to start learning this program? Yes. Sounds like a plan.