This was supposed to be a simple, straight forward time travel story. It has expanded to includet mythological figures, redneck vigilantes, healthy doses of game theory, and the ghost of Marshal MacLuhan leaning over my shoulder . . . → Read More: No man is an island, but some of us are sponges. #nanowrimo]]> Week two started with an interesting revelation: My brain is a sponge. Writing is what happens when that sponge gets squeezed.

This was supposed to be a simple, straight forward time travel story. It has expanded to includet mythological figures, redneck vigilantes, healthy doses of game theory, and the ghost of Marshal MacLuhan leaning over my shoulder offering narrative suggestions.

Ye olde subconscious is offering up absolutely everything that ever held my attention for more than 30 seconds for inclusion in this first draft. That’s 40 years of infatuation, intrigue, titillation, outrage, and confusion gushing forth.

I’m elated  that so many ideas pop to the surface at the simplest sign of encouragement . However, trying to get them all to play nice and fit together is daunting. It occurs to me that this may very well be why I write – to make more room for soaking up more information. It’s my intrinsic de-frag algorithm. It’s how  clean house, organize existing data, and make room for more.

To aid in that metaphorical house cleaning, I have started a MindMap of the story’s constituent parts:

I find this works great for a visual thinker like myself. I can take a look and realize ‘ yeah, I need 1000 words about the Orientation meeting,’ and I instantly have a writing goal. Nice thing is, the FreeMind software cooperates with the ThinkingSpace program on my mobile. So if I get inspired while in the line up at the grocery store, it just takes a couple of clicks, to add an event, character, or a quick note.

Technorati Tags: nanowrimo, Writing

The comfort level is so optimal, you would gladly accept a catheter if it would . . . → Read More: It’s One of Those Days #nanowrimo]]> One of those days that you have managed to scrounge the perfect amount of covers from your loved one, and scrunched them around your sleeping self in a configuration that creates the perfect body temperature. You’re cozy. Even your feet are warm.

The comfort level is so optimal, you would gladly accept a catheter if it would allow you to stay in bed, reveling in this perfect foot temperature moment. Anything to delay the inevitable warm foot – cold floor moment. THen it happens.

The brain realizes you’re conscious, and all hell breaks loose. It addresses you in it’s best Stewie Griffin voice:

“Well, good morning, sleeping UGLY! Look, while you were busy with that rather disgusting cheerleader dream, some of us were doing real work. Now, I managed to work that hexagon idea from the Borges story you love so much into a structural paradigm for the novel. And, during your 3am to 3:15am Droolfest, I smoothed out the messy plot points and totally restructured the relationship between your protagonist and his wife.
Right then, up and at ‘em. We’ve got a word count goal, jackass. Can’t write this myself y’know. Just a brain. I do the thinking, you do the typing – that’s how we roll.

We’ll be needing some coffee if you want this relationship to work. I can’t be expected to keep achieving these daring acts of brilliance without caffeine, you know. Hmmm? What’s that? Five more minutes NO! I FORBID IT! Brain needs coffee, damn it. Coffee isn’t  the only habit I picked up from the Aztecs, chump. Get up and fill these veins with the strong brown nectar of thought, or I’ll march you up the pyramid and flay you open and offer your cowardly innards to the Gods.”

So begins day four.

With National Novel Writing Month mere days away, a specter of fear and foolishness casts a long shadow across my hearth.  Alas, this specter shall be no match for my hale and hearty army of provisions, resources, and outright . . . → Read More: What is this that stands before me?]]> Yes, I did steal this title post from a Black Sabbath song. Good for you for recognizing it.

With National Novel Writing Month mere days away, a specter of fear and foolishness casts a long shadow across my hearth.  Alas, this specter shall be no match for my hale and hearty army of provisions, resources, and outright dirty tricks.

I have playlists. Over the last year or so, I have identified 45 minutes as a very productive time period. With 45 minute playlists in iTunes, I don’t need to be an anxious clock watcher. Just keep typing as long as there is sound in the headphones. When it’s over, hit save and walk away. I’ve earned 15 minutes to eat, drink, stretch, nap or chat with the cat.

I have snacks. Salty ones, sugary ones, even healthy ones. Last Christmas while enjoying a bounty of seasonal chocolate gifts, I hypothesized it may be possible to live on a diet of Toblerone and beer. No time like the present. I think a nice dark beer would be best, something with iron and a full complement of B vitamins. Guinness – are you looking to sponsor anyone? Kilkenny? Brewers of the world, I can lower my standards to ‘as long as it’s cold,’ if that helps.

I have lists. Lists of books I like and why. Lists of admirable characters and loathsome characters. Lists of science websites that feature the cutting edge, insightful, and just plain odd. Lists of possible character names. Lists of common typos that I can fix with find and replace later so I don’t worry about fixing them now. It’s all about maintaining momentum.

I have friends who are as crazy as I am. We’re everywhere. It’s comforting to know that no matter what time of day it is, somewhere on this big ol’ ball of dust and gas there is someone on my buddy list  doing the same thing I am. We can message each other to whine, cajole,  commiserate, or celebrate.

Et tu, scriptor? If you are part of the madness, you can buddy up here.