Halfway(+) through NaNoWriMo

This is a personal sigil for Inspiration. Because why not!

This is a personal sigil for Inspiration. Because why not! See the original sigil instructions here.

I’m taking a small break from writing for NaNoWriMo, mostly to let my character decide what’s going to happen next. I forgot how fun it is to let them tell the story! They even name themselves; one quirky lady tossed her nickname at me before running off to cause a ruckus!

I’ve reached about 30,000 words today. Yesterday was an allergies-and-Benadryl night, so I didn’t write anything. Thankfully, though, it’s been a slow day at work and I’ve had a muse whispering over my shoulder.

I’m surprised at where my story has gone. I’d originally allowed (begrudgingly) a small amount of romance into the plot, largely unwanted by me personally. However, the main characters ran with it, had a hot tryst, and then leapt straight into a plot of deep intrigue and political drama (a pleasant surprise).

Now I’m looking at a couple of random people who popped up, trying to figure out who they are. Are you a good guy or a bad guy? Do you plan to make this some corny love triangle (oh gods, please no!), or are you here to help the OTP get back together? Do any of you plan to die?

NaNoWriMo is helping my process, actually. Instead of struggling through pages and pages of writing until I’m drained dry, I usually write about one or two scenes a day during the scheduled word count. That means most of my scenes start and end concisely, without too much rambling or wandering off in a weird direction. It also means I’m never at a loss for a stopping point; when a scene ends, my writing ends for the day.

That might sound bad, my creative process thrives on sprints rather than long deluges of words across the screen. Most days I easily write a couple thousand words before stopping. It’s highly satisfying!

On a side note, I’ve also been surprised by how easily I shut up my inner editor. She’s much nicer than she once was! If I see myself using the same word for the hundredth time, but I’d remind her that we’d find a better synonym later and she’d hush right up. The same goes with “said” over and over, or scenes where the descriptive parts are a hot mess; she accepts that I’ll get back to it later.

Halfway through the NaNoWriMo month, I’m feeling confident and creative. That’s what this is all about!

Poetic Ramblings

I’d like to think
the reason so many have run from the commitment of loving me
is that I am too wild a thing to tie down,
that they see the travesty in making me tame,
making me stay put.

I’d like to think
the reason my heart is so full of love for people who want nothing of it
is that I am a goddess among mortals,
that my love is too awe-inspiring,
too overwhelming for a mere human to handle.

I’d like to think
the reason people leave
is that they are repelled from my presence
by virtue of the radiance of my heart,
for only the true can stay
and they recognize their own dishonesty
before I ever do.

I’d like to think
the reason I heal so quickly
is that I’m resilient and complete on my own,
capable of letting go and moving on
from hard times, hurt, and anger.

My father left,
turned tail the minute he could,
and forgot the daughter he never wanted.

My first love kept me at arm’s length until the day he left,
accepting my love while keeping his dark secrets between us as armor.

My high school sweetheart ran as graduation approached,
even though I told him I had no plans to follow him to colelge.

My knight in shining armor turned his back on me and on himself,
becoming a bitter man by the time we met again.

My sweet warrior had too many dents in her own heart
to deal with handling mine,
so she stepped back to the safety of friendship.

My poet took a look at his future
and decided it was too full of roots,
and all he wanted was his wings.

I’m coming to realize that I am loved,
but I am not a lover one keeps for long.
Those who love me best tend to be those who love my friendship,
rather than my romance.

NaNoWriMo is almost here!

This year I will win!

This year I will win!

NaNoWriMo starts this weekend! YAY!

With all of the emotional crap I’m dealing with in my personal life, I’m seriously looking forward to diving into an alternate reality for a while. This is the first year that I won’t be in the middle of a move, so there are *no* excuses to not participate.

I had a funny epiphany, though.I did a word count on half a dozen of my blog posts. In a little 30-45 minute jot, I often write up between 600-1000 words. That’s just by rambling into the aether!

With this event, though, I’ll be able to focus that pouring of words toward a story (which I should’ve already been doing, but I’m lazy and have bad habits). I don’t think I’ll have any issues, since I’m only looking at the length of two blog posts per day; considering the prep I’ve done, I’m sure that’ll be easy!

Speaking of prep, I still have bits I want to do. I’ve researched and built a nice little world, but I want to get a vague, one-page outline of my story (or at least one character’s arch) written out before Saturday. I’ve bounced between ideas, from a story of self-discovery to a story of two unlikely people becoming friends (corny, but it has more depth in context).

Another piece of random prep is creating a calendar. I want a physical one for my bedroom door, so I can mark off my word counts daily (and weekly) to be sure I’m on track. I’m in a mood right now where step-by-step processes are my jam. I saw a few interesting calendars online via DeviantArt, but I think I’d rather do my own and add quotes and junk. I’ll probably make it tomorrow during lunch, just to be sure it gets done before we start writing.

Of things I’ve managed to nail down for my story, I can say… I’m going to write something in third-person. It’ll probably be third-person limited, which is basically third-person from a specific person’s perspective, allowing you to keep stuff from the reader because an observer following your main character wouldn’t have been informed or witnessed your secret thing. It’s used in a ton of the books I’ve enjoyed reading, and it’s more relatable than first person for many of the people I know. It’s really hard for a male to get into the head of a female protagonist if she’s first-person (and visa versa); meanwhile, it’s relatively easy to step out of oneself and become an observer of the opposite sex without that sense of disconnect.

I’m annoyingly excited for the end of this week (and it’s only Monday).

Note: I’m snickering at myself, because I said the average length of my blog posts… and then wrote one far shorter (489 words) in about 20 minutes. I still stand by my logic, though, that it’s like blogging on a small dose of steroids.

It’s Okay (Not To Be Okay)

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I’m not okay.

I’m a pulsing mass of nerves, riding my own waves and trying not to dissolve into myself. I have work to do, a house to keep, bills to pay.

Random things set me off. It’s hard to tell anyone what’s going on, because they say “I’m sorry” and I break into pieces of a while. Then I pick myself back up, embarassed for making a scene, and make a hasty exit.

I deal with being left by making plans to leave. I want to go home to Washington, maybe to Aberdeen if I can get a job at the college there. I want to leave behind as much of what I have as I can, a cleansing of my crap and my life. I want to pay off my car and save up a few pennies before making the trip, because I am (and will always be) a planner.

I make plans to keep myself busy, too. NaNoWriMo is next month, which will be a good 30-day distraction. The holidays are coming, so there’s special food to plan. I’m finally going to go get my Semicolon Project tattoo in December, having found a local parlour without ridiculous rates for a tiny tat like that. My birthday will be right around the corner, too.

I’m trying to be okay. Not the kind of okay that accepts and understands what’s going on life… just the kind of okay that breathes and eats and sleeps.

Randomly found my theme song while browsing my subscriptions on YouTube:

I’m rambling, because I feel like blogging but don’t really have a reason. Just want to avoid letting my blog be silent.

Expired Dreams, or What’s Your Favorite Color (Really)?

Age 5: My favorite color is purple.

Age 10: My favorite color is purple. It matches my birthstone.

Age 15: My favorite color is purple. It’s the color of magic and mystery, and it matches my birthstone by coincidence.

Age 20: My favorite color is purple. It always has been. It matches my birthstone amethyst, which happens to be my favorite witchy crystal to work with. It makes me think of magic and midnight.

Age 25: Hmm… you know what? I like purple, but if you favorite color is the one you’d use to decorate your house, paint your car, redo your wardrobe, and even put in your hair… my favorite color would have to be green. Any shade of green.

Sometimes the things we like and want in our lives are repeated to others out of habit. It’s like you figure out your answer to a particular question (What’s your favorite color?) and then reuse that answer for the rest of forever.

Yet… in taking a moment to reflect on it, you find yourself with a new answer and confusion over when exactly the shift occurred. The above is a simple example, true for myself. I always said and felt that purple was my favorite color, up until the moment it suddenly wasn’t anymore.

Is there some kind of spot-check we’re supposed to do, to verify that all of our preferences and dreams are up-to-date and unexpired?

TTC: When He Changes His Mind

[[Note: The journey of TTC (trying to conceive) is a hard and painful one sometimes. I considered deleting the entry below, or at least marking it private; however, I feel like maybe someone out there will benefit from hearing the bad with the good. Knowing someone else has suffered the same trials and tribulations as your own can be a good tool for healing.]]


He tells me he’s figured it out, his depression and dissatisfaction with life.

He doesn’t want kids anymore. Kids tie you down, prevent you from taking off to do wild and crazy things. They take time and energy that could be used for living an overflowing life of activity. There is no room for children in the future he wants for himself.

He tells me this after ten months of trying to conceive.

I’ve struggled quietly with my body’s unwillingness to woman, to cycle and bloom into fertility again. I’ve avoided babies, avoided thinking, avoided crying about the way it’s so clear that I’m the biologically damaged one. I’ve found a way to push my needs and desires into a calm corner, because breathing is necessary in day-to-day living.

Saying his depression was triggered by the idea of children took all the effort I’ve put into being strong and crumpled it into dust.

It’s not just the sudden change of heart that leaves me lost. It’s the reality of its ripples.

We’re polyamorous. If I had a child with my other partner, he’d still be stuck with a child he doesn’t want. We’re a household, a non-nuclear family; there is no easy separation of biology in this case.

The only way to meet his newfound desire to be childless… is to be childless myself, or to let him leave.

He’s rejected one of the few dreams I’ve held steady for my entire life. The hope of becoming a mother is a piece of myself, something I’m not sure can be removed from the definiton of who I am. So, in a way, he’s rejected me.

So here I am.

Hurt.

Too hurt to voice these feelings out loud to my best friend. Too hurt to vent, to let off steam and seek relief from the aching pressure in my skin. Too hurt to be comforted without dissolving like a sandcastle in the surf.

Part of me wants to dissolve.

on feeling small

i’m feeling so small right now, and it’s weird.

i feel invisible and muted, like everyone and everything around me is moving while i’m holding still.

i feel out of step, like i wandered outside of my place in time and got lost between being and not being.

i don’t feel hurt, or empty, or lost.

i feel tender, like everything is deep and emotional and powerful.

i feel filled to the brim, like i’m experiencing more than i can comprehend in each moment.

i feel directed, but like something has pointed me in some unknown direction and i’m following on blind faith alone.

i don’t know why i’m doing anything, only that i’m active rather than passive.

and all the while, i feel myself straddling a feeling of immense connectivity and an intangible disconnect at the same time.