Monday, November 15, 2004

Taste my desperation. It doesn’t taste like strawberry icecream

Well, this is the end of week two of the nanowrimo rock festival in my brain and I’m sitting pretty (or as James Thurber would have it, in the catbird seat, God bless you high school English) on just over 25 000 words. Which is exactly on schedule for those of you without calculators.

But there’s a storm cloud on the horizon (see! I am a writer! Only a true original talent could have compared an impending writer’s block to a black wall of bad weather. It’s never been done before.)

The kind folks at nanowrimo HQ pop out a weekly pep talk. Here is how they describe first day of week two:


“If there were a zodiac sign for each cycle of the noveling escapade, Week One would undoubtedly be a magnificent galleon at full sail. Week Three would be a road-tested marathon runner, smiling as she catches her second wind. And Week Four would be a lone figure silhouetted against the setting sun, arms raised in triumph.

Unfortunately, Week Two would be represented by a pack of rabid weasels hurling themselves from the treetops onto a group of screaming campers below.

[…]

Because Week Two is when you'll likely begin having some second thoughts about your participation in NaNoWriMo. It's the point when the effects of sleep-deprivation, mind-wearying creative output, and a shortage of leisure time will combine to create the infamous Week Two Wall.”



Actually, the week two wall was made of foam and tasted like mango as far as I was concerned. (Though I love the weasels metaphor and will steal it at some point in the future.)

And here’s how the muthas describe week three:


“You just spent two weeks paying your noveling dues. And Week Three is when payback begins.

And how! This week, the whole thing gets easier. The words will come more fluidly, and your characters will finally start pulling their own weight, solving plot dilemmas and spicy personal dramas in surprisingly readable ways.”



Trust me to be contrary and counter-cyclical (how I love that word – it’d be worth doing a bachelor’s degree in economics just to be able to use that word every day) but I’m starting to hurt right now.

Tonight’s quota is no playful monkey slapped off its perch. It’s a 200kg mountain gorilla (much like the enourmous silver-backed male we saw in Melbourne Zoo three weeks ago about which the Dude said to me: Gettit!’).

And it’s playing knucklebones with my kidneys and pancreas.

So, in the interests of teaching the quota primate who’s top of the evolution tree, I beg your assistance.

Insert plot developments in the comments box and I SWEAR* I’ll use them.

*offer not valid in conjunction with any other offer or in South Australia or if I don’t actually feel like it or if your idea is really crap.




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