It Was a Dark and Stormy Night: Why I’m Quitting NaNoWriMo
“I’m a starter, not a cleaner,” she said, pulling a cigarette out of the flattened pack she fished from her purse.
“I come in with the ideas, get things rolling, you know. I excite people, get them worked up.”
I bet you do, I thought; even from behind my cluttered desk the dame was getting me worked up.
“But,” she continued, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag, leaving a red kiss on the filter, “this thing I got going just ain’t for me. This latest…assignment, it’s not going where I thought it would, and I’m ready to quit. Thing is, the boss don’t want me to go yet. He says this time it’s different, that I need to stick around and make sure everything we need to get accomplished comes to fruition, you know? You get it?”
“I get it, toots,” I said, swinging my feet from on top of the desk and leaning forward. I wanted to smell her, this little sexpot that had strode off the sidewalk into my P.I. office in her Zombie Stomper shoes and legs that went as high as the highest legs I’d ever seen.
She smelled of raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. And fire and rain and scarlet begonias. It was the smell of sex and candy, and it had me turning upside down, inside out. And round and round.
“So whaddya want from me? I’d love to help you with your…problem…but I don’t know that there’s anything I can do.”
“Oh, you can do plenty for me, sugar. Plenty.” She took another drag of her cigarette and bored holes in my head with her boring-eye stare. Her eyes were like Russian sediment borers, and dinner plates. Or something. I think.
The point was, she needed me and I wanted her. I knew we could work something out.
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we take a walk to my place. We can discuss it over a nice eighteen-year-old Scotch, like civilized people.
She leaned in so I could see the rise of her breasts under her dress, could feel the warmth of her breath. She smelled like incense and peppermints, now. And Doublemint and double entendre.
“Look, Daddy-o. What I want takes time. Not one night or one week or even one whole month. The boss don’t seem to get it. You want something done right, you have to take your sweet time. You agree?”
“Oh, I agree. Yes indeed.” I felt like I would suffocate in this room with her heat, and I reached up to loosen my tie, but her hand beat me to it and she pulled me closer until I could feel the humidity from her moist, red lips.
Her tongue ran once over them, nearly touching my own, and then she let go, leaving me stunned and half standing, half sitting. She stood up straight, looking down at me and said, “I’m glad we’re on the same page. Here’s what I want you to do.”
She explained her plan, which involved time. Lots and lots of time. And a housekeeper, who may or may not be wearing a French maid uniform. And also, some lorikeets.
I listened, but my mind was elsewhere, with her in a smoky nightclub, a bottle of scotch between us, and nothing but time to figure out where the story would take us next.
***
This is my crafty explanation of why I’m quitting National Novel Writing Month. Some of you might not be aware that I’ve been attempting to write 50,000 words in thirty days. That’s right. Because, and I believe I’ve been clear about this, I’m mentally ill.
I started out strong, with a rough outline and some scene and character cards. Then I lost my way. And I’m just not a person who has time to waste writing crap so I can call myself a winner at the end of November. As anyone who knows me will attest, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of me ever calling myself that.
I have learned some things though. In no particular order:
1. Coffee at 10PM for a 38 year old is BAD. Really bad.
2. I need detailed plans before I write a large piece of fiction. And also, more than thirty days. I have three kids including that violent one I believe I’ve mentioned, and a husband who works seven days a week. Need I explain myself further?
3. I should probably not write fiction. I’m good at essays, at lyrical prose, and humorous stories. But I don’t know that I can extend that into one cohesive piece.
4. I intend to find out. Just not right now. I’m setting aside the fiction and working on the thing I’ve wanted to do, which is a book of essays. It will be all the stuff you love about me, but if you want to leave comments you’ll need a pen or maybe a crayon, since I’m not sure you should have pointy objects.
5. I’ve developed the discipline to sit and write whether I fucking feel like it or not, which is my mantra now. Something like that anyway, and it does involve the word fuck amazingly often.
My apologies to all those from whom I’ve demanded support, pep talks, advice, shoes and drugs over the last three weeks. I will make it up to you by making you a character in my first novel.
You’ll just have to figure out which one is you.
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Jennifer L. Monroe, Jennifer L. Monroe. Jennifer L. Monroe said: My apologies – I'm quitting #NaNoWriMo http://bit.ly/1uoAjh @Doublelattemama @SomethingGirl @fentonslee @doycet @jessicadeva [...]
“I’ve developed the discipline to sit and write whether I fucking feel like it or not, which is my mantra now.”
Then you got it.
Seriously, in the end, I think that’s all this whole silly nano thing is about.
You’re taking away the most important thing. I look forward to reading those essays.
Ditto Doyce.
Tritto Doyce.
Can ditto go to the dreaded fourth level? I hope so.
Quatto? I don’t know, I’ll have to think on it. But I appreciate it.
You’ve done it, Charlie, you’ve won!
You won NaNowriMo because you got yourself writing and you gained something. whatever anyone else says- I think that’s the whole point of it.
Now get going on those essays. xoxo
Hey, so long as you keep writing. *hugs*. And I like your artsy way of explaining why you’re quitting. Since I didn’t get started at all on account of computer fail, I suppose I have no room to say “aww, but you just have to!”
Be well.
Yup.
What do whiskers on kittens smell like. Mine tends to smell like the litter box he insists on using as a sand box.
This nano business is tough stuff … we r in similar family situations and i am counting down the minutes until this month is over! i may yet survive it but if i come out the back end without catching pneumonia it will be a miracle.
You are a fantastic writer and whatever you set your mind to, you can absolutely do it.
I am so proud of you, PJ! You just keep going and doing all your other things too. I really don’t know how you keep it all up, but I’m grateful you do. Your encouragement has meant a lot to me, and not just this month.
xo
I agree with Doyce. You are already a winner. You found out a lot about yourself and what you want to write. I love your fiction excerpt here, so there’s no doubt you can write fiction, but even more, I look forward to those essays you have waiting to hit the page too. Wishing you tons of success!
Thank you so much, Debra, for coming by. I appreciate the positive feedback and I’m sure I’ll announce it (loudly) when I finally do get a book, any book, finished.
I’m not doing NaNo, but @Doublelattemama is a twitter friend and I followed her here. Anyway, your crafty way of “quitting” was brilliant!
You are writing and this is the only thing one can ask for and expect from a writer. So, good job!
Kudos!
Thank you, Marisa! I’m attempting to look at it that way, and to maintain the discipline I’ve developed in the past three weeks. It’s true for me that the more I write, the more I have to write about. Not sure how that works, but I’m going with it.
I hope you’ll come back soon.
I absolutely loved that short bit-o-fiction. That was hilarious with the ‘whiskers on kittens’ and ‘highest as the highest legs I’ve seen’ and especially the ‘bored holes into my head with her boring-eyed stare.’ Instant comedic classic, my dear!
The next time you’re in your local library, see if they have Tim Dorsey. He writes a detective whose heart and mind are after your own.
I’m proud of you just for developing the discipline to sit and write, with everything going on in your life. I’m proud of you period!
I knew you’d appreciate it! I had so much fun with that pulp fiction stuff on the Sick Days blog, I had to resurrect it. Now, if only Alan were here to see it…
Anyhow, you ROCK. You make the best metrosexual cheerleader I know, and I mean it from the bottom of my cheap detective story.
Metrosexual? I don’t even own hair gel. Or matching accessories. I do try to moisturize though. I get way, way too much sun not to. It’s just coco butter, not like Nivea or something.
Rats. I’ve just been waiting for an opportunity to use that word and I got carried away. I know you’re not one of those…what I said. Thank you for taking it so well.
(He uses moisturizer! *giggling*)
I’ll be your silk skinned muse anytime.
You did a hell of a lot better than I did, BKT.
I tried NaNo as well, but I didn’t say anything before because I think I knew from day one that I wouldn’t be able to do it. I should probably thank NaNo for making me realize what I’m NOT good at.
I’ve actually been refocusing my energies and am heading in a direction “somewhat” similar to yours…which works out perfectly, since you’re my muse and all…:)
I can’t wait to see what you end up doing, b! I think we are long lost twins who were born years apart in different countries. That can happen, you know. I saw it on Oprah.
Anyway, I’m thrilled to pieces to be someone’s muse, especially someone as gifted with the silver typing fingers as you. And plus, you’ll have to move to central Virginia, because everyone knows you can’t start a writing career in Saskatchewan, or whereverthehell you live.
Haha…
You’re right…Saskatchewan is a dead end for writers. So is Alberta, which is where I am right now…but I’ll be in Vancouver soon. And if things work out, Virginia here I come!
ps. Since we’re only three years apart and I’ve always believed deep down that I was adopted, there’s a very good chance we could be twins! Or something!
i like the cadence of the piece. It reminds me of Kinky Friedman’s detective novels. Looking forward to reading more. -
Gary! Thank you so much. It is kind of a silly take on the noir detective stories I love from radio. I have friends who really dig this kind of thing so it was kind of a shout out to them. I’m so glad you stopped by.
Fuck NaNo doll face, remember we wrote a 50,000 word comment thread back in the day (May I think) on Alan.s blog.
I do remember – ah, the glory days! That was some good fun, wasn’t it? I wrote this with you two in mind, actually. Hope you enjoyed it. Now, where’s our partner in crime?
50,000 words in thirty days? That’s crazy. Crazy like a dame with a gun and a bad plan that’s gone awry in the city as the summer heat beats down on her like an iron smoothing out the creases in a dead man’s suit. Crazy like a rabid mug strangling himself with a fox stole. That kind of unexpected, uncharted, unreliable and yet understandable crazy. The kind of crazy that makes you more loco than a bug eyed madman trapped in bedlam with only sheets for friends and nickels to plug: All the while wondering where he’ll finds his next plug nickel once he bust out of this crazy joint.
I could go on… But you know that.
I’m sorry it didn’t work out with these NaNo mugs, but as you well know, doll face, it’s all good when you sit down and write whether you feel like it or not. That’s what you writers do.
But 50,000 words in thirty days really is crazy, I tells ya. Crazy like the madman locked in bedlam and dressed in a fox stole. Crazy like his plan to get out. Crazy like how he felt as the evening moon cast its harsh fist of a white glow on his egg shaped head. Crazy? Or was it? Yeah, it was crazy. But he didn’t care. He’d show those palookas who was crazy. All he needed was a quart of whiskey, a bedpan, the love of a good dame and a little ingenuity.
You never disappoint, Daddy-O! But don’t forget the lorikeets.
Good point, dreamboat.
Can’t have a crazy plan without lorikeets.
This would be a huge undertaking for anybody! Phew! But wouldn’t you rather write your first novel without so much pressure? In a genre you’re happier with? My best friend is a published novelist whose book of fiction might as well be an autobiography. Write what you know. Write about your life. When it’s been a painful one it can be very hard to put it all out there but you’ve got a head start because you already write about yourself on your blog. Anyway, my friend’s novel is called Highways and Dancehalls. She suffers from PTSD and Depression and it took her a long time to write it. But it was picked up by the first publishing house she tried and it got nominated for the Governor General’s Award for Fiction in Canada. Do it in your own time on your own subject.
Aseveryone has said just by attempting you have done it – I too quit – got to 14,000 ish words and just wasn’t there – the story was writing me and I was auditioning and holidaying and all three of those do not go together – But I’ll always aim higher than i can reach
and well done for trying.
Your writing is so interesting and good to read. I just love your blog