#NaNoWriMo 2014 – Getting in Shape

Each year I’ve found things that get me ready for NaNo. This year I’ve been doing more blogging – up from two times a week to at least three times a week – as I include a piece of my fiction or poetry with each post I’ve been doing more quick editing than ever. For Nano that means daily editing just to make sure I’ve passed my projected word count of 2000 words a day.

chairs rusty modernity

When I write I am a terribly but fast typist, I miss keys, don’t worry about spelling & have somewhat dyslexic fingers so that words like around turn inot aorund, or into into inot. I keep punctuation to a minimum, rarely indent or even bother with quotation marks, or even character names, even if I happen to remember them at the moment.

vase vase dappled by sun

In the house I have two main writing areas – the desk top which sits at the window facing the back yard. Here’s where the first rush happens & the later editing for typos. I’ve been writing more on my lap top in my upstairs study – I have board that fits nicely across the arms of my recliner & I write there in the morning as well. I email my upstairs work to the desk top to work on there in the afternoon.

toilet roll up the rim?

From past years I’ve found creating a separate file for each day works best for me, as opposed to opening one that holds everything done so far. That gives me better access to my daily word count. I keep the running total on a separate page.

soon

November 1-30 – participating – NaNoWriMo 2014 – http://nanowrimo.org

nano

Haters Gonna Hate

“I hate you.”

Sylvia couldn’t believe she was saying what she was saying. It had been playing on her mind for several weeks now, but she figured it would stay a thought, something she would never act on or say.

“Do you hear me? I hate you.”

She tried to make each word harsh, cutting, to get her point across.

“I hate you and everything you stand for. I have since I first met you. And nothing you have done has changed my first impression. I hate you.”

It felt good to get the words out, to get the thoughts out of her head. Perhaps now she could stop thinking them, she might make room for something more positive, something happier.

She was tired of the nights wasted by this hate image in her mind. Dreams of it, plans of how to avoid confronting it, of how to change her own attitudes to make it less so, but nothing helped. She would go to bed with this ball of hate in her stomach and wake up with it still there, only worse.

“Every time I see you, I hate you more and more. Do you understand what that is like? Do you? To hate someone this way?”

She wanted the hating to stop to be over, but with the object now right in front of her, with that docile face and slight smile of disinterest instead of a  real response her hate deepened. She wanted to slap that face, to wipe that smile off it and send it to Hell.

“Say something? Or do you like being hated? Is that it? Or don’t you care?”

She knew she was right.

“You just don’t care. Do you? How can you be  so … so … indifferent. How? That’s why I hate you. That and a thousand other things.”

She was suddenly ashamed of what she had said. How could she be so cruel? No one deserved to be hated so much or if they did they didn’t need to be told. She should have kept all this to herself. It wouldn’t change things. That much she could tell. There was no sense of relief as she spewed out her hate. Just a bitter aftertaste of disappointment. How could she be so stupid? Hate changed nothing. Only made things worse. Made herself feel worse, feel foolish and how could she face the rest of the week, of her life, with with information out there?

“I hate you and you have nothing to say? Say something? Anything? Please. It must mean something to you to hear this? Or am I so unimportant to you, to the scheme of things? That’s it, isn’t it. My hate is beneath you. Is that how you feel? Really? Really?”

She knew it was time to leave. She had come in with the full force of her hate hot and boiling ready to explode. It had exploded but left no marks on anyone else but her. Wasn’t that always the way. All those hours wasted on someone who didn’t even know she existed beyond being just another link in some chain of command.

God how she hated that, that no one really cared and now she was empty, deflated with no where to go back back to where she started from.

waves breaking waves Cape Breton

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s