50,075.

I did it. I beat NaNoWriMo for the fourth year in a row. I'm also four chapters from the end of the book, but for now, that's something I can think about later. I also went back over the material. It rambles a bit, but I like it. It has an authentic feel to it all.

Maybe when I'm done, Dead of Winter will be coming to this space. Stay tuned, and enjoy the rest of your weekend. I know I will. ;)

So today I finished the prologue chapter of Dead of Winter and also started the first chapter as well.  I finished pretty close to 5,000 words, and I got a lot of football watching done, plus I showed up for a taping of Good Morning Sacramento at 8:30 or so this morning.  You can see the story they ran on our group at this link, and I am the one in the red and white flannel shirt and the ponytail.  Plus, they used Nemesis for the starting point of the video, so I had a good hitch of pride there.  All in all, today was a good day.

Going to a write-in tomorrow and I'll play some Dan Patrick while chewing into the book.  All in all, a good start.

I've been asked by some people what the plot is for this year's edition of National Novel Writing Month.  Here's the sales pitch:

A grisly murder in Lake Tahoe draws the attention of a fledgling paranormal investigation team working on behalf of private interests and the United States government.  The previous incarnation of the group met an unearthly fate at the hands of unknown gathering dark forces, and now it appears the team is in over their heads as the mystery darkens and the body count rises.  Will the team even be able to save their own souls, much less those of the people they have sworn to defend?

That's the cover letter response.  The pat answer I give people is that Dead of Winter is "part The X-Files, part Ghostbusters and part CSI... and deadly business."  It's got ghosts, demons, serial killers, ritual torture, police procedure, skulduggery, smokescreens and general hellraising.

So yeah, that's my newest project.

Oh, and the laptop?  It's apparently going to arrive on Friday.  This Friday.

Life's good, my devoted peeps.  Life's good.

So in my last post I was wondering what to do for NaNoWriMo 2009.  I am pleased--bouncing off the walls, actually--to report that problem is solved.

Back in 1993, I started a novel titled Dead of Winter, where a very determined young woman (who may or may not be psychic) is matched up against a serial killer.  She tries to track him through dreams and nightmares, glomming onto the case as her father is one of the detectives assigned to the case, and in the end has a bloody-as-hell showdown with the wicked entity... and discovers she is truly not the equal of the task.  I got the first chapter and a half down, whereupon real life blindsided me and knocked me right off these tracks and onto the ones which led to the novels Diablos, Suspiria and others.

Truth be told, it's probably just as well that I didn't get to see Dead of Winter through; back then my storytelling ability was vastly overrated by myself, and the bottom line is that just as the young woman was not up to the task of taking on the so-named Face Killer, so I was also not well versed enough in the art of writing to pull it all off.  There's actually at least two more novels that I germinated the ideas for during that time period, and I'm now finally at the point where I would be able to make a success of them.

This brings us back to the idea I threw out with the working title of CSI: Hellraiser, which is how I described it to my wife after a very vivid dream where... well, I'm sure you can guess what the content was, given the title, right?  The problem for this was that I didn't have a central crime, I didn't have a central bad guy, and I didn't have outside element to bring the team first together, and then on the path to the heart of darkness.

Now I do.  Seventeen years later, it's time to fly the black flag and make Dead of Winter the 2009 National Novel Writing Month project.

Very simply?  I'm psyched.  Peace.

On my new run I actually get some honest-to-God layover time.  Considering the last six months had been spent running to one bathroom or another (because transportation runs on caffeine and six minutes sort of blows), the ten-twenty-ten minute breaks of the first half and the five fifteen minutes breaks on the second one have given me ample time for navel-gazing.  I regret to report that among the usual subjects for mentasl debate has come the annual Bobsled Run From Hell... yes, I am speaking of course about National Novel Writing Month.

Well, because that's what dorks like me think about.  That's why.

Anyway, I decided to try to figure out what I'll be doing for the 2009 edition and quickly came to the startling conclusion that I have five, count 'em, five contenders for this year's fuckfest.  Since I don't have anything to blog about save the fact that I've once again begun pecking away on Black Sunshine, here are the contestants--

QUICK NOTE:  Oh, and if anybody thinks that I'm being a little premature in this department, that's very possible.  I'm nothing if not an obsessive-compulsive Capricorn.  However, the 2009 contest is going to require more planning than in previous years due to the new Degree Of Difficulty Modifier, which in a nutshell is that it is very likely that on October 30th I will be having a serious amount of oral surgery done... to wit, four wisdom teeth being disposed of and a possible root canal.  What the bloody hell, right?  And in this case, it certainly is bloody.  I need to have the extractions done, and since my dentist has been talking about root-canaling one of my teeth anyway, why not get the whole horrific mess out of the way at once?  Right?

This is, in addition to being a serious bummer to look forward to when I'll be starting my vacation, going to add an extra level to what is already a moderately difficult circus trick.  Doing 50,000 words in 30 days is hard enough without adding anywhere from three to five days of being doped to the gills, so I'm going to need one that's easy to knock out or, failing that, an outline that puts previous years to shame.  Are we clear?

Onward.

( And The Nominess Are... )

As you can see, rumors of my Internet demise have been greatly exaggerated.

Not so with Lost Sundays, however.  I managed to get about 20K into it before I discovered what I was actually writing was a doctoral thesis on the nature and fundamentals of my favorite game.  This, unfortunately, does not a novel make.

So in order to conquer NaNoWriMo, I have gone back to Living After Midnight.  So far, things are better than good.  I'm killing it, not to blow my own horn... because as you know, that is not how I do things.  It is my hope to get it done and the required 30K in the bargain to win the annual Literary Bobled Run From Hell Contest.

Other stuff will come once the blood and feathers have settled.  Would anybody be interested in seeing this work serialized when it's done?

As you were, and God bless.

Bitches, it's time to start gearing up for National Novel Writing Month.

This is going to be my third year in a row doing this bobsled run from hell, and I fully expect to vault right over this literary bar in fine fashion, as I have the other two years.  Really, I do.  Not to toot my own horn or anything, but the rivalry between myself and NaNoWriMo is like the rivalry that exists between a hammer and a nail.  The first year (The Phoenix Initiative) I got done with two days to spare and I held down a full-time job and I worked on a home improvement project... one which, shamefully, has not quite been finished even almost two years later.  I'm sure some of you homeowners can relate.

Last year (The Final Nine) I hit the 50,000 word mark on day 21, then took the next week off so I could enjoy Thanksgiving and have a life for a while, then went out and threw down another 7,000 words in the final two days to tie a big green-and-gold ribbon on top of the whole pile.  Not quite as thrilling a finish, but definitely a more smug variety of satisfaction.

For this November, I am finally going to indulge my NFL jones to the hilt with a project I am (for the moment, at least) calling Lost Sundays.  Many sports stories have been done about teams trying to win the big game, to get the troiphy... but what about the dogs?  What about the bottom-feeders, the teams that seemingly can't ever get a break or out of the way of their own flapping cocks?  How the hell do you end up at the stinking nadir of the league when supposedly everybody is a professional athlete?

Lost Sundays features two teams scraping the bottom of the NFL bucket from the same AFC West division that has spawned my Oakland Raiders.  In this alternate universe, the staggeringly bad Kansas City Chiefs serve as the unwilling dance partners to our protagonists, the seemingly cursed and incurable San Diego Chargers.  Both teams roll into the final regular season game at the old Jack Murphy Stadium in Southern California with identitical 2-13 records... and if you have never followed a team with such a God-awful record personally, let me assure you that this sort of thing does not happen by accident.  Whichever team loses this contest will get the number one overall pick in the next year's draft, where a stud stallion of such ability waits to be picked that offers are already coming in to both teams offering the sun and moon in exchange for the rights to this soon-to-be superstar.

However, those thoughts are the furthest from the minds of our players.  While the respective fan bases would love to see their team dump this meaningless game and thereby secure the rights to this possible savior, the players for the teams know that any perceived lack of effort (or "tanking" as it is commonly known) will probably end their careers... so with their fans firmly opposed to their efforts to win, the teams take the field for one last bloody grudge match with the future of both franchises on the line.

So yeah, that's what I'm going to do.

Annual call:  WHO'S WITH ME?

I've submitted again.  I'm not saying where, but I will say that there's a huge load off my mind.

We're starting the dance again.  Until then, guitar time.

EDIT:  You know, it occurred to me today that I have just over two and a half months until NaNoWriMo rears its ugly literary head again.  Yes, I am already thinking about that Bobsled Run From Hell.  That is how much of a literary dork I am.  I am also thinking this this year's entry will be about sports, so I think I was the only one last year who took a whack at that genre.

And yes, this year's flavor will be football.  Like there was ever a doubt, right?

57,639.

That's my final word count after getting the last scene typed.  57,639 words in twenty-three days (I took six days off in a row on November 21st after hitting 50K), and winner winner chicken dinner, The Final Nine has been finished.

Now that I have pulled it off, can I get an Al Pacino-like HOO-RAH from my peeps?

I'm very hopeful of being medically cleared to return to work on Thursday.  Daytime television has been so bad that I've been reduced to watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians which, aside from having more delectable butt than you can shake a stick at, scores a big fat zero in the "meaningful content" department.  This is what I get for finishing National Novel Writing Month nine days early and five days into my enforced absence from work, but I have to say that I'm very happy with the end product and not just because my dad has finally taken an interest in my writing.

Thanksgiving was a success and a good time was had by all, especially once the dreaded Dirty Goat Stout began making the rounds.  My dad, who does not like dark beer at all (and if you check his fridge right now you'll find a large amount of Coors Light to back this assertion) was so smitten by the substance that he drank two bottles of it himself and became mildly buzzed, which was absolutely hilarious.

The football games sucked, making me smarter than the average bear in my predictions.

So here's hoping that I get the all-clear to go back to work after Thursday, because really, this is driving me insane.  Maybe I should do some work on Underworld... yeah, great idea.  Right after I mow the lawn.

As a parting shot, here is a photo of Mad Evil Chris and I as football-themed Santas delivering high draft picks and half-empty stadiums to the long-suffering fans of our lousy respective teams while hoisting tankards of Dirty Goat Stout (and note the darkness of the brew, beer snobs).  Ho ho ho, my bitches.

52994 / 50000 words. 106% done!

The book itself is not yet done, maybe 2,00 or so words to go, but I hit the mark.

Go me.

44666 / 50000 words. 89% done!

The goal is to be done tomorrow. I had much housework to do today, so the 11 AM deadline has been shelved. If I can get the last 4500+ words in before bed (and I should), I'll have officially finished nine days early, or six days earlier than last year.

Go me.

41710 / 50000 words. 83% done!

My mother said that there was no way I would be done by the time the big screen adaptation of one of the best horror stories of all time, "The Mist" by Stephen King, hits the theaters. It comes out at about 11:00 AM here in Sacramento, so I have until that time to finish up "The Final Nine," or at the very least, make my word total.

Soooooo, 8,000 words and change tomorrow? Yeah, I can do that. Proiving my mother wrong... well Jesus, it's like Christmas.

32384 / 50000 words. 65% done!

Yes, I am putting my time to good use.

So I'm off now for the next two weeks.  The tendinitis in my shoulder has finally become bad enough that I have been banninated from work until I am medically cleared to return, which should be on November 29th.  The good news about this is that in addition to finally having some time to actually rehab my shoulders, ice the hell out of them and get them back in fighting shape, I will also have ample time to complete NaNoWriMo, of which I am current at 61% done.

The bad news is that it's entirely possible that I will go absolutely bugfuck bonkers if I stay around the house all the time.  It also sucks that I can't do any kind of gym work that involves my upper body, which is lame because my chest was getting definition and I was actually having visible bicep muscles.

The good news about this is that it will force me to concentrate more on cardio via the treadmill and crunches and lower back exercises.

The bad news is that I am strictly forbidden, by both my doctor and my wife (guess which one has more authority in my life) to lift anything heavier than 10 pounds.  I am amazed by how many things I deal with on a regular basis that meet this limit, so my amount of housework and such I can do while off for the next two weeks is also limited.

The good news is that I will also be able to catch up on my sleep, which was sorely lacking.

The bad news is that my dreams lately have been about work and my lack of ability to do tasks placed before me, and you don't have to be a budding psychiatrist to be able to figure that one out.

So yeah, here I am and here I will remain, at least for a little while.  Hello, LJ.  I'm--unfortunately, for the moment--back in full force.

29208 / 50000 words. 58% done!

Being almost two-thirds done with only a little more than a third gone by in the month is damned encouraging.

23022 / 50000 words. 46% done!

I should get quite a bit more done today. I've been sick the last couple days, so I'll be heading back to work tomorrow. Game One of "The Final Nine" is now in the books, and I like to think I made a success of things.

My dad actually called yesterday to see how the writing was going, something he has never done before. Dare I say I may be crossing genres and gathering new fans with this one? Stay tuned to find out.

I've also now caught up on "CSI: New York" and "Friday Night Lights." Kickass.

20288 / 50000 words. 41% done!

The idea on this is not to be done in the first week, but to finish in the allotted amount of time *and* still have fun doing it *and* still do things outside of NaNo *and* make sure it's quality material.

Hopefully I'll post an excerpt in a couple days. Until then, keep rolling.

18,242 words, or 36.5 percent done.

It's going well.  Anyone else?

Just over a thousand words into Chapter One of The Final Nine.  This story feels good, kids.

What didn't feel good was the letter I got in my email box today.  See, as a NaNo participant, I get messages from the NaNo team, published authors offering words of inspiration and the like.  It's all well and good, and sometimes there are some genuine words of wisdom in there.  Not so with this morning's treatise by my personal nominess for World's Most Overrated And Asinine Author, Tom Robbins.  Yes, the same Tom Robbins who I lambaste and lampoon on such a regular basis around here.  His message was:

Dear NaNoWriMo participant,

When you sit down to begin that novel of yours, the first thing you might want to do is toss a handful of powdered napalm over both shoulders---so as to dispense with any and all of your old writing teachers, the ones whose ghosts surely will be hovering there, saying such things as, "Adverbs should never be...", or "A novel is supposed to convey...", et cetera. Enough! Ye literary bureaucrats, vamoose!

Rules such as "Write what you know," and "Show, don't tell," while doubtlessly grounded in good sense, can be ignored with impunity by any novelist nimble enough to get away with it. There is, in fact, only one rule in writing fiction: Whatever works, works.

Ah, but how can you know if it's working? The truth is, you can't always know (I nearly burned my first novel a dozen times, and it's still in print after 35 years), you just have to sense it, feel it, trust it. It's intu itive, and that peculiar brand of intuition is a gift from the gods. Obviously, most people have received a different package altogether, but until you undo the ribbons you can never be sure.

As the great Nelson Algren once said, “Any writer who knows what he's doing isn't doing very much.” Most really good fiction is compelled into being. It comes from a kind of uncalculated innocence. You need not have your ending in mind before you commence. Indeed, you need not be certain of exactly what's going to transpire on page 2. If you know the whole story in advance, your novel is probably dead before you begin it. Give it some room to breathe, to change direction, to surprise you. Writing a novel is not so much a project as a journey, a voyage, an adventure.

A topic is necessary, of course; a theme, a general sense of the nexus of effects you'd like your narrative to ultimately produce. Beyond that, you simply pack your imagination, your sense of humor, a character or two, and your personal world view into a little canoe, push it out onto the vast dark river, and see where the currents take you. And should you ever think you hear the sound of dangerous rapids around the next bend, hey, hang on, tighten your focus, and keep paddling---because now you're really writing, baby! This is the best part.

It's a bit like being out of control and totally in charge, simultaneously. If that seems tricky, well, it's a tricky business. Try it. It'll drive you crazy. And you'll love it.

Tom Robbins

Without a doubt, that is some of the worst advice I have ever heard in the writing field and goes a long ways toward explaining exactly why I hate his literary guts.  In other words, DO NOT WANT.