So, I have a story very incredibly slowly coalescing, and I realise that I absolutely suck at describing actions. Right now, this thing is reading more like a script than anything else. I'm liking it, but that's because it's starting to flow fairly easily. The dialogue, at least. Mind you, I've usually been pretty comfortable with writing dialogue.
It's describing actions that I have the biggest issue with. I have characters in mind, and I have their voices perfectly in my head. Describing what they are doing is proving a greater challenge than I honestly had anticipated. So, I'm going to try something. I'm going to write out the dialogue and put placeholders for the actions, so it actually does read like a script. At least, for the first draft of it.
From what I have read regarding how to write stories, I've never heard this approach used. So, it's going to be an interesting experiment. Hopefully, it works. If not, I'll have a nice little script that I can post and see what people think. Hopefully, I am able to figure out actions and incidental stuff. No guarantees, though, so don't set your hopes too high.
Grah. I am tired, but I'm attempting to flip my sleep schedule to diurnal so that I can be awake during the coming week. There's a lot of stuff that needs to be done during the day, and I need to get on top of that. So, I have to keep my brain engaged all day so that I don't fall asleep. One way that I can think of os to make a half-batch of tortillas and just have tortillas con huevos. We're running low on salsa, so I don't want to use up all of it.
I know I'm awake enough to do that much cooking, but I'm not going to chance it on frying up some nachos. Maybe later, when I have gotten an adequate amount of rest. For the foreseeable future though, it gets set on the backburner along with some other cooking endeavors. I still am having heartburn, and am starting to get all hypochondriacal.
I keep trying to convince myself that I have an ulcer. Then I remind myself that I am in fact retarded, and that ulcers don't really give heartburn, just severe abdominal pain. Then I think that it could actually be an issue with my heart, because I know that sometimes those can be mistaken for indigestion like that. Again, I sit myself down and patiently explain that the way that the pain is placed, as well as how it is limited to the esophagus, means that I can definitely rule that out.
So, in desperation for something to pin this minor inconvenience on, I latch on to the thing that I used to see commercials on television about all the time. I have Acid Reflux Disease! Oh my god! And my brain, with a heavy sigh and a slump of it's shoulders tells me to shut up, it's not acid reflux, you only show one of the common symptoms of it anyway, and none of the secondary. It's just some heartburn will you calm down?
And, reluctantly, I give up the scrabbling for somthing dire to pin my discomfort on. This happens at least twice a day. I feel stupid every single time, too. I mean, seriously.
Wow, I really screwed that up. It's now 02:24 on the 22nd of November. That's yet another time that I have skipped posting. Hopefully, the simple fact that I am waking up this late/early means that my cunning plan to shift into diurnal is working. Hoever, this post needs to be about three thousand words long, now. Unless I count what I have written so far in my short story.
Frankly, though, I don't want to do that quite yet. I kind of want the short story to be the final posting of this month, so that I end it on an actually creative note. Seriously, I don't want this entire month to be nothing more than a self-indulgent whinefest about the things that I am having trouble with. It's not something that's good reading, in my opinion.
Unfortunately, I'm kind of stuck with the story, ath the moment. I think I'm going to have to either cut out about half of it to change the direction, as it seems to be heading to a dead end if I keep it as-is. I don't know, though. It could end up surprising me and going somewhere nifty. I certainly hope so, as I want it to be good.
I have ideas, you see. Unfortunately, all of these ideas are disparate, and I am having the damnedest time incorporating them into one smooth story. It's like trying to figure out how to make something delicious out of several ingredients that have no business being near each other. Also, the fact that it's 05:16 might have something to do with how I can't get my thoughts together.
Grah. Stupid forgetting to finish posting yesterday. I can't believe I did that, especially after what I had to do a few days ago. Can't be helped, I suppose. All I have to do is type like crazy until I hit the wordcount for the day. Speaking of which, my goal is 36667 words today. Which means that my post count should be an obscenely long 3500 words, to round it out nicely.
I am really unhappy with myself about this. I need to spend more time on actually writing poasts, and less time struggling with the story idea. At least, assuming I want to get this month done properly. Seriously, there is no excuse for this kind of sloppiness. It's unprofessional, and will get me nowhere if I keep it up.
Luckily,I'm already about a third of the way there, simply because I was in fact typing up a post. Had that not occurred, I would be hard pressed to come up with anything. So, I suppose I have to think of this as less of a three thousand word project, and more of the type of post that is the common catch-up for me. Two thousand-odd words is more than doable, as I have proven before.
You know, I had forgotten how ridiculously easy it is to make scrambled eggs. I had been taught how years ago, but I never really got into making them before. I always figured it would be a supreme hassle to create that I never really gave them a second chance. But for a quick and tasty snack, I can't believe I've been passing them up all of these years.
At this point, I've forgotten who taught me. It was either my Mom, my Sister, or my Dad. Regardless, I think that I am finally realising how awesome it was to teach me this. I'm getting over my fear of cooking with every successful kitchen endeavor, too. So, that's a bonus. Man, I can't wait to pass on the tortilla recipe, because it's so simple and filled with awesome.
I mean seriously. It's easy to make. Sure, it takes about half an hour to make a dozen tortillas, but that's assuming that you're cooking them one at a time. If I was using a bigger pan, I could cut that time in half, at least. I do still want a bigger tortilla press, though. The tortillas I make end up being only about the size of my palm. I'm not saying that that is a bad thing, though. I just want a slightly larger tortilla, so I don't have to make as many.
I'm definitely not trying for those ridiculously large tortillas that they sell in supermarkets. You know, those flour ones that are the size of a dinner plate? No thank you on those, they are simply too large for my purposes. Really, what do you need a tortilla that big for, anyway? All it does is encourage even larger portions that are not necessary.
I've been reading A Softer World lately. It reminds me of what I would write if I was any good at it. Except shorter. I try to go for at least a hundred words, you know? The people behind this are generally content with around twenty. They still tell stories, though. In the end, isn't that what really matters?
Stories are my passion. I tend to pick my friends based on them, in fact. It's a horrible thing, I know, to like people just because they have amazing stories. It also gets me into some bad crowds, but I try to avoid that. As a plus, a few of the gangs out in Frederick don't mind me. I think it's because I try not to judge.
It surprises me, though. There are a lot of people that I am acquainted with who are in gangs. Most of them I actually met back at my last job. That's probably why they don't mind my existence; I always helped everyone I could, regardless of how they acted. A person is a person, in my book. Sure, I wish they changed their behaviour. Love the sinner, hate the sin, and all that.
But I don't condemn them for their lives. Judging is not my job. After all, I have done plenty that I am ashamed of. What makes me better than them? So, I seem to get along just fine with them.
Whee! Had an adventure. Went to sansets place to play various board and card games. Whilst there,I learned of the awesome that is Apples to Apples. I had heard that this game was nifty, but I never really understood why. I mean, what can be so incredibly interesting about matching various words?
I did not take into account the fact of odd combinations. Also, warped senses of humour. So, one round ended with my favourite combination of cards for the night. The words played were Whips, Chains, Riding Crop, Silk, Black Velvet, Feathers, Cactus, and Batmobile. What they were attempting to match? "Luxurious".
Batmobile won that one, of course. There were more instances of bizarre happenings that night, but nothing truly compared to the Scrabble game. I have almost an entire page of paper written down with quotes from the night, but everything kind of pales in comparison to that incredibly awesome game of scrabble. I think not playing for points makes it more fun, as well as playing on a Super Scrabble board with double the amount of letter tiles to play with.
The game went well enough until we started running out of room to play letters. That's when the emergency Lolcat rules went into effect. Apparently, that also triggered Fangirl mode, so that was interesting. Pictures will be posted by some of the people who were there that night, so I shall gank at least one of them to show you what I mean.
Unfortunately, I ended up falling asleep on the floor there, which was bad form for a guest. However, it seems the evening was winding to a close anyway, so that was something that seems to have been excusable. I don't really know, though. I was unconscious at the time. There was one game that I must mention, but only because it was ridiculous.
Trivial Pursuit Book Lover's edition can die in a fire. All of the people in attendance believed themselves to be particularly literate, but throughout the entire game I can only remember three questions answered correctly. The answers were Asimov, The Joy of Cooking, and Anne McCaffrey. I believe there may have been another question correctly answered about Virgina Woolf, but my memory is flawed on that point.
Because the evening was a gathering for fangirls that I somehow attended without technically being invited, I was quite lost throughout most of the conversations. Fortunately, it was acceptable to sit back and soak up information without really providing much in the way of talking points.
I was introduced to a coffee that I would not ordinarily have tried. Cafe du Monde is a pretty decent coffee, at least in my book. It is definitely stronger than I am used to, but this is not necessarily a bad thing. Should I ever become employed again, this coffee is something that I may pick up. I know it hasn't displaced my favourite casula drinking coffee, though. Chock Full o' Nuts still has Cafe du Monde beat for that.
I realise that I am not a terribly picky coffee drinker, with one single exception. I dislike flavoured coffees. I drink coffee for how it already tastes, and I cannot truly understand how someone can dislike the flavour. Certainly, it can be terribly bitter, but that is the sign of poor preparation of the drink.
The fault for that is generally on the roaster, not the preparer. Overall, most coffee on the market today is of the Dark Roast variety, which is a Very Bad Thing. At least,in my opinion. You see, Dark Roast means that the beans have been roasted for longer and hotter than is necessary, and this means that the inherent flavours of the bean get roasted right out.
The reason this is done is to disguise the flavour of poor-quality coffee. Most of the coffee harvested these days really cannot be called 'high-quality' with any sense of honesty. So, rather than admit that they cannot guarantee truly quality coffee, the coffee companies burn their beans into oblivion and claim that it is has a superiour and complex flavour.
Now, this does remind me of the story about the Emperor's New Clothes. Obviously, if you cannot appreciate a Dark Roast, you are not truly cognizant of good coffee. Unfortunately, this sham continues and is accepted because the charred beans are cheap compared to the good stuff. This is where the ENC analogy breaks down.
It's more like if a clothing line was introduced that was made entirely of burlap. All of the fashion houses are calling it the best thing ever, and if you don't buy it you are obviously too gauche to appreciate the complexity of such designs. Not only that, but this clothing line is fairly inexpensive. It gets the job done, and is kind of comfortable to wear as long as you have some layer of clothing on underneath to mitigate the unending horror of continuously wearing burlap.
Actually, now that I think about it, that is a much better analogy than the Emperor's New Clothes. In fact, I think I will use that from now on when I try to explain the state of coffee these days. Man, I'm good. I should get into writing for a living. Ha! As if a simple coffee analogy would throw me into the national spotlight. I should be so lucky! No, more likely I will die in obscurity.
Not sure where that little piece of pessimism came from. I like to think of myself as rather happy-go-lucky, and that was way out of character for me. Oh well, not like I can really do anything about it. Especially not delete it, as I desperately need words to fill out this post. I'm very far behind as it is, and with a week left I am not in a comfortable position.
So, I get to figure out how to get this horrendous hole that I have dug for myself. I need to write about five thousand words, and am fortunately about halfway there. Unfortunately, this means that I have to write like a fiend once again. So, I have a goal and no way to get there beyond the yammering that I have been doing.
I also just checked the short story I was working on, and it's only about five hundred words. So, that has become a much less viable way of incresing my wordcount for this post. I hate not having inspiration. I know that the muse left me long ago, but it still annoys me to not have much to write about.
Seriously, I used to pride myself on having an incredible imagination. I wish I still had it. I really would give almost anything to have that back. I just watched a couple of episodes of Doctor Who. Brilliant writing, and I want that sort of talent. Particularly the episode 'Blink' starring David Tennant as the good Doctor.
Unfortunately, that was the first full episode that I have ever seen. I am now addicted to this show, and wish that I had already watched every single episode. If 'Blink' is any indication of the overall quality of writing, then it is something that I wholeheartedly support. Really, I have no idea what kept me from watching it before.
Most likely my stubbornness. I generally dislike trying new things, and even when I go into something, it is very reluctantly. The whole kicking and screaming thing, you know. I don't exactly know why that is, and I'm not sure that it will ever change, but I do know that it is something that I must work on.
Grah. I need employment. It would solve so very much of the issues that are occuring in my life. I just feel that I make people unhappy with my continued presence, though. And it seems like it sometimes, too. Really, no matter where I go, I cause strife, and I am getting quite tired of it. There is nothing that I want more in this world than to help people, and it's really goddamn hard to do so when I'm the one constantly being helped.
Quite frankly, it makes me feel like an utter failure. After all, I should be able to bootstrap myself into success. And yet, I cannot. Every time I try something new, I get no results. Even worse, I end up destroying that which I hold dear. Like friendships.
In thinking about it, I think that is why I cut off contact with friends during major life changes. I've fucked up one thing something fierce, and I get afraid of screwing up something else. So, in order to keep that from happening, I go ahead and cut off contact before things can get any worse. I am learning now that it doesn't exactly help, though.
Things haven't exactly been going well for me. Mind you, that is basically the story of my life, and I should be used to it. Unfortunately, there is just enough of me that is an emo crybaby that I can't help but complain uselesssly into my livejournal. So, that should give you the reason for the above several paragraphs.
Not an excuse, mind you. Simply a reason. As if anything can excuse piss-poor self-indulgent crap in the place of good works. Yes, I'm still trying to come up with a good reason to excuse the quality of this entire month's posting. No, I have not gotten any closer to finding one, yet. If I ever learn of it, I shall post it with as little delay as possible.
So, one of my friends insists that I remind him of a small, frightened mammal. When I pressed him for further information, he claims that in particular I seem like a vole. Now, I've just spent the past fewmoments researching voles, and I must say that I am rather impressed by the creatures. Particularly the ones native to this area.
The creature called 'Vole' is also known by several other names. Among these, the most common is 'Field Mouse'. I used to think that a field mouse was literally a different name for a type of mouse, but I have thankfully been informed that I am most definitely wrong on that point. That last sentence was definitely not necessary, but I needed something there before I could move on to the next paragraph.
The vole species native to this area (Microtus pennsylvanicus) is astoundingly adorable. Unfortunately, the damage they do to lawns is far from it. They look like mice, except fatter, and with a shorter tail. The damage to the lawn looks like a network of veins traced delicately in dead grass. Now, I'm not sure if my friend intended it that way, but it seems like there is a comparison to me in that. Anyway, it's best not to dwell. What else can we learn about voles, I wonder?
Actually, notmuch more. Beyond the whole 'vole clock' thing that archaeologists use to determine what time period they are digging in. So, yeah.Beyond being cute and a pest in the yard, there's not much to them. And here I sit, hoping that I could have gotten many more paragraphs out of them. Well, that's what you get for pinning your hopes on small mammals, I suppose.
Awesome. I've hit about 3500 words now. That means that I am now just one post length behind. Not that it makes much of a difference, beyond the whole thing about how unbelievably long this post is going to be. In fact, I'm not entirely certain that LJ will support a post of this length. Hang on, let me check. Sweet! It looks like LJ does not have a maximum post length anymore.
I'm actually not entirely certain that it ever did, but I do know that there are posts out there that are split up because they could not be posted all at once. So, that leads me to the conclusion that it did have a character limit. In fact, I seem to recall having a post limit at one point, but I can't for the life of me remember exactly what it was.
Not that it really matters, I suppose. Even if LJ currently had a length limit, what difference would that make? Simply having to cut this post into multiple pieces. Is that really such a bad thing? Already, this is shaping up into an impenetrable wall of text, so splitting it up can only help it. Alternatively, I could go with the horrible cheater's route.
If you have used LiveJournal for any appreciable amount of time, you know what I am speaking of. And for those of you who don't, Livejournal allows you to edit the date of the post. So, if I really wanted to, I could go ahead and post part of this entry a couple of days ago. Now, there is a flaw in this cunning plan, and that flaw is precisely why I am not going to use it.
If I chose to change the posting date, it would still show up in people's friends page at the exact time that it was actually posted. So, I can have a post and I can date that post three years prior to it's actual post date, but it will still show up on a friends page as soon as it is posted. So, if you only saw the journal at the main page everything would appear normal. Soon as you look at a friends page, the jig is up.
I have another 1200 words to go. Fortunately, I have a good six hours to write them. So, I get to sit here and continue writing until I have it all finished. Already, I have written about 2250 words today. That's a horribly large number for me that is getting slightly easier to reach everytime I do it. Rapidly approaching deadlines seem to help me.
I ripped my pants last night. This annoys me, as there is now a giant gaping hole in the knee. I really liked these pants, too. This makes the third pair of pants that have incredibly large holes in them. I suppose that is an incredibly oblique way of saying that I need to get some new pants. It's hard for me to shop for clothing, though. I'm very specific about what I wear.
I don't look it, though. I have a very unfashionable fashion, as it were. I tend to dress in clothing that has no noticeable brand or trademark. The only exception is for clothing that supports a fictional location. Such as my Templar, AZ 'Sassy Cavy' shirt. I tend towards t-shirts, as I enjoy the freedom of movement that they provide.
My pants usually have as many pockets as possible. The pairs with giant holes in them average about twelve pockets apiece. I want more. That's not to say that I really need more pockets, simply that having more is an enormous psychological assurance that should I suddenly need to have several dozen things in seperate pockets that they can do so.
I'm rather strange like that. My fashion sense lies in being about as unfashionable as possible. I once dressed as nicely as I could for a date, and asked a friend if I looked okay. She replied that yes, I do indeed look like myself. Which didn't answer the question. Unfortunately, that's about the best answer that I could expect.
I don't feel comfortable in 'fashionable' clothing. I much prefer function over form. All I really ask of my clothing is that it keep me warm when it is cold, and that it not become stifling when it is hot. Also, as much storage space as possible. I don't really think that there is much more to clothing, really. Beyond of course, not getting giant holes in the knees.
Jawesome. I only need another eight hundred words or so. I'm in the home stretch on this! That's only what, another twelve paragraphs? I can totally do that. I mean, I have stuff to write about. I think. Well, not really. I have nothing. Of course, I've had nothing before, and where did I get with it? Not very far. Mind you, I didn't need to go too terribly far, but it's the same general idea.
I have six hours to write seven hundred and fifty words. That's plenty of time. That's two words per minute. I could do that back before I became halfway decent at typing. Mind you, I'm still not that good at typing. Slightly better than I used to be, but not as good as I wish I could be. Man, I wish that I could type around sixty words per minute. That would be awesome.
I want to belive that it would change my life forever, like a superpower. Sadly, I know that it just isn't true. One can dream, though. Also, in thinking about it, I can't really see superfast typing as that much of a superpower. It would be handy, sure. But I can't really see the kind of thing that would make it terribly awesome for anyone but the typist.
That actually raises an interesting question. What would life be like to have a superpower that is only mildly useful? Fast typing is one, and the television show Family Guy showed that the ability to make your fingernails grow isn't really that useful either. A Softer World has done one that I honestly would not thought of, the power to have everyone smile at you. Piers Anthony showed the ability to make a purple spot appear on the wall in his first Xanth novel.
I would say the ability to make your hair grow fast, but that can actually become useful as rope or similar binding. So, disqualify that. Same deal with the power to make food appear spontaneously. I like the concept of the ability to make money appear at-will, but I don't want to make destroy the value of money even more than it already has been. So, both are useful powers, and are thus disqualified.
Man, I am tired. I've only been awake for about seven hours, but I am incredibly exhausted. Not sure why, either. It just feels like if I blink too slowly, I will find that several hours have passed. So, I have to really buckle down and write this thing until I catch back up to my goal. It's 22:00, though. I want to try and get back into a diurnal schedule, and heading to bed now would be a better way of hitting that state.
Luckily, I am only about four paragraphs away from getting to that point. How I long for this to be over. I have written an astounding amount so far, and yet I still have much further to go. Today, I've written over three thousand words so far. If I were to post the three days of writing seperately, today's post would still be the longest post of the entire month.
It's an accomplishment, sure. I just wish it was an accomplishment that was not also a necessity. That would have been so amazingly awesome. Come on, Nick. Wake up and finish this gorram post. Not too much further, you can see the end from here. Also, five thousand word post. You know that that will be freaking awesome.
Yeah, I know. But is it really worth it? I mean, what am I getting out of this whole thing beyond a headache and an insane amount of text that will never be read again? Some false sense that you can do anything you set your mind to? I don't think so. I know you, Nick. You'll just convince yourself that this was just a fluke entire month, and that you are filled with bad luck.
Looks like you miscalculated, Nick. You have another three hundred words to go. That's yet another four paragraphs. That unfinished short story looks awfully tempting now, doesn't it? It's okay to post, after all, you started writing it this month. Besides, it would be the first really interesting piece you've posted this month. It's not like anyone really reads any of this, anyway.
Does it matter if they do or not? This is simply an exercise in verbiage. All it is here to do is prove that I can indeed write at length for an extended period of time. This month is not here to change the world, nor is it here to teach, inform, or otherwise help anyone but myself understand that I can in fact do things that I set my hand to.
I also hope to glean a little more understanding about how my mind works. A month's worth of what I think are the interesting bits should go quite a ways towards seeing what I do and do not think is noteworthy. And hey, if it helps other people understand me, so much the better. I honestly don't expect that, but if it happens, it happens.
As for the short story, it's not a piece of NaNoWriMo. It could very well wind up being that, should I discover that I am running dangerously low on words at the end of the month. Not a moment sooner. Besides, look at how much I have written so far! It's not like I really need it to fill space. If, at five minutes to deadline, I discover that I am four hundred words shy? Then the story goes in. No sooner, no later.
As it is, it's 22:30, and I have just about reached the goal for catching up on the past three days. So, I have proven that I don't really need to add things that I am writing on the side. Take that, self-doubt! Think you can do better? Well, you can't, because you're too busy doubting yourself, you loser!
And that concludes my longest post ever. A good five thousand words of text in giant wall form. I can't remember half of what I wrote, so I'm going to assume that it was mostly me complaining about something or other. Probably is, too. Enh, it doesn't really matter, so long as I have finished off the quota for the day. Reaching deadlines, that's all that matters.
Good night everybody, and stay safe out there.