First Post NaNo Story

Managed to write over 1000 words today. Of course, like NaNo itself, it was an assignment–there’s a Yahoo group for NaNo writers, and the task was to write something for the Holiday Season.

Naturally, I started a story about robots.

I think it might actually be, if not good, at least okay. You know, if you’re reading an anthology, my story might fit between two really good ones and be like a wafer-thin mint between courses. So you’d read it and think, “Huh,” and then go to the next good one.

Or explode. [Shrugs] reader’s choice.

Yeah Holidays Whatever

I’m sure I wrote about this last year, but Christmas depresses the Living Talisman out of me. Not sure why, but right after Halloween, when the Muzak starts and the decorations go up, my spirits go way down. And they don’t recover until, well, I guess much of ever. But I continue to depress each Holiday Season, so I must recover somewhat at some point. Maybe Arbor Day.

This year I had NaNo to concentrate on and so I skipped a lot of the prelims, but it just seemed to hit all the harder come December 1st. I understand there’s even an excuse for this, called “Seasonal A[something] Disorder,” or SAD.

What I don’t understand is it’s not just depression, I seem to be feeling anger as well, which just isn’t right by any stretch of any thing.

Of course, being angry at Thera for issuing sonic blasts at 1:30 in the morning has nothing to do with the Holiday Season.

Milk Run

Okay, so I bought milk a couple of days back and decided I would have a glass today. And I tear the little plastic ring off, and when I take off the cap, there’s the milk, right there (in the container). Where’s the little foil piece they put on?

I look, and it’s kind of stuck inside the cap. So I’m thinking either manufacturing defect or maybe someone put poison in the milk (at least this one container). It would be possible to pry the cap off without breaking it, but the foil container is like waxed on or something, you couldn’t fake that.

However, I’m pretty tired and I’m thirsty for milk so I decide to drink it anyway, and I did. And I lay down on the couch reading a book of short stories, and there’s this voice that says, Man, what if you just drank poison? Is this all you’re going to do?

So, after arguing with this voice for a while (“You could be one of those statistics, you know!”) I decided to take measures. I find a slip of paper and write “Check the Milk” on it, thinking all the while, Mention The RUN. I put it on the stove (next to the refrigerator).

Then I tidy up the place a bit. I’m thinking if I don’t show up to work and they can’t call me (because I’m dead from poisoning), they might call the police and I figure I should make it pretty easy on everyone. That’s why I wrote the note, so the police would check the milk and find the poison and they’d know what was what, here. And I tidied up because who wants to break in to someone’s house and not only find a dead body, but also a mess? That’s not really in the holiday spirit, is it.

I thought for a while about writing a text document on the computer and leaving it on the screen. It would go into a little more detail about how this was not a suicide and so forth, maybe have my mom’s phone number and some instructions for posting about my demise on Blogger.

Ultimately, though, I thought I’d rather have the nap and not get all involved in some text file because you know me, it would take forever and there’d be all kinds of theorizing and little asides and maybe even footnotes and stuff, including instructions for how to create a Blogger account, and as mentioned I was kind of tired. I was even more tired at this point, in fact.

So I had the nap and that worked out fine. And as you can see, I’m not dead so I’m glad I didn’t waste a lot of time with some text document that wasn’t even relevant in the end. I mean, even less so than most of what I write. And I got a tidier living space out of the deal, too.

Sometimes evil intentions result in a greater good, I guess.

Ice Storm

Well, we’re having rather icy weather today. Had to chip my car out of ice around a quarter-inch thick. I hate winter.

Decided to gather up all my NaNoWriMo entries here and put them in order in an essay. Kind of makes interesting reading, mostly as a tally of my rising enthusiasm for the challenge.

Traditionally, there should be a third paragraph to most entries. This paragraph fulfills that function admirably. I’m thinking of giving it an award.

Report on Probability B

Writing Work: 0
Painting Work: 0
Recording Work: 0

Those are my numbers since the end of NaNoWriMo. To be honest, after November, I’ve felt so drained of creative energy that I haven’t tried any of them, though I have projects in mind for all of them.

Of course, I wrote my little piece on No Face, below, and I have written two lengthy movie reviews, but those don’t count. As Truman Capote once famously observed, that’s not writing, that’s typing.

It’s the writing I’m most concerned about. I haven’t looked at any of my old projects, afraid that I’ll just stare at the screen and nothing will appear. If that’s the case, however, so be it; if I can only write one book a year, in November, well, that’s certainly better than nothing at all for six or seven years. It may take longer than a single thirty-day period to rehabilitate me.

The level of concern has not risen to anxiety, yet.