NaNoWriMo and I have an interesting past. The first time I took part, I drafted something that I printed out on mint green paper, workshopped around, edited with red and purple pen, and then stuck in a drawer. Every fucking day year since I have done a variation on that same theme. Blast music. Scribble. Do laps around the house. Love what I’ve written and want to write more. Do life and stuff. Eat popcorn. Cry. Laugh. What…
And so, you know that working-from-home gig? Not so much. Now I’m just home. I’ve been recharging by sniffing books and drinking Pumpkin Spice Lattes. Last weekend, I made Neil go out and get me one. This involved leaving our bed and then the entire house. I almost felt bad. Maybe. I’ve wanted to write here, really I have. But I couldn’t get past: I should really be doing a job I love. I’m taking vitamins and they are giant.…
In an update on Coffeegate 2012, say hello to Truman Bubbles: As you can see from the photo, Truman comes with a very safe, very wireless keyboard. (The marshmallow was consumed very soon after this photo was taken. I was worried about sugar-damage. ‘Have you learned nothing?’ I said to Sarge. Regular blogging will resume tomorrow. Right now, I must type up the pages of my handwritten Nano novel . The name is in honour of Truman Capote. The middle name suggested by…
Some of you may remember Coffeegate 2011. Well, it’s become an annual event. Earlier this week, I picked up my coffee with my left hand. And promptly dropped it. On my computer. Again. Maybe it was the weight of my engagement ring. Or maybe it’s because I am seriously not left-handed. At all. Ever. Anyway, the screen went black and coffee seeped between the keys before I could switch it off and flip it upside down. I know what to…
What follows could either be a. a snippet from my NaNo novel or, 2. a recent conversation between Sarge and me: I need to write. Then write. How do I get out of the way? Write in the bathroom, on the toilet, in the tub. Write in bare feet, using a pencil with no eraser. Stick your head out the window, shut your eyes and breathe. And don’t take breaks to talk to your mother about goat wool. That wasn’t…
