Sunday, 30 November 2014

Something a little different ...


I know that this is a review blog. But I also know that being lost in the pages of a book isn’t just about what happens when you’re reading them. It’s also about what happens when you’re writing them. So I am writing a little something extra because this month, while I may not have been reading, I was participating in Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month).
If you don’t know, Nanowrimo has members from the international writing community (beginner to not-so-beginner) spending the thirty days of November trying to write a 50, 000 page novel (or at least part of a novel if you are so inclined to do an epic fantasy, which I generally never am). 2014 is my fourth year in and I am so proud to proclaim that it is the third time I have reached the goal. I actually knuckled down, removed distractions and lost myself in my own pages in order to complete a 50, 000 page novel!
Now I can’t really review this; but I am going to plug the event. There is a strong online community where everyone is supportive and there is a lot of help in order to keep you on track and writing something you are passionate about (not necessarily your idea, but the idea of writing itself is a passion for many; including myself). You can even meet up with the online community in your area and have real face-to-face writing sessions that maintain your focus and encourage your drive to match this personal goal. You are helping writers and you are helping yourself become a better writer through the practice of fast-paced, chocolate-stuffing typing to produce something that even if it was never published, inspired you for thirty days to make a sound, to create something fun, or to just remember what it was like to recapture a passion you had when you were a kid.
And I am incredibly passionate about writing and making and telling stories. I love the nuances of language, the depth of descriptions and the different meanings a story can have for any number of people. Sure, I don’t think what I created this month was profound. But I enjoyed writing again. Making something of my own and being able to be part of a community that shared in that passion. And when you receive pep talks in your inbox from amazing authors (Brandon Sanderson and Jim Butcher to name a couple), it really inspires you to continue writing and caring about the work you are creating.
So if you are a writer out there, I am letting you know you should give it a shot. You can learn more about it all here: http://nanowrimo.org/ You can also sign up for next year and give it a shot! Be brave and take the challenge!
Of course, if you’re looking for a review of a book in this post I don’t have one. However, I am willing to share the beginning of my piece that I completed within the thirty days. Now the beginning I have for you isn’t filled with flowery description, or much of anything really, it’s an introduction that’s supposed to make you think about what the story could or will be. And I must be incredibly proud of finishing this year, because let’s face it, I never share my writing. And maybe you’ll let me know if there’s a reason why I shouldn’t? (And I’m okay with that, FYI).
 

Watching is as boring as it sounds. The job requires you to watch. You stand and watch. You walk around a little. Then you watch some more. And what you’re watching is actually less than average as a subject. They don’t do very much at all. Walk around, complain, eat, defecate and copulate. They then complain about all those things. That’s the worst. The subjects have life, and complain about it because it isn’t the life they want. They should be grateful they are alive at all. Well, I suppose that’s some of their opinions. It’s not mine. Purpose doesn’t matter for this species. Not for them in the long run anyway.
And then watching, as boring as it sounds, leads you to mentally rant just like them. But what else is there except ranting and watching? They don’t hear me. They don’t see me. They aren’t supposed to, but the next Herder is so far away that we don’t really communicate very often. Hardly ever. It’s as though I am on my own in my little nook of the Southern hemisphere, though I am surrounded by a species I am supposed to ensure grows to maturity and becomes ripe.
Not that I know what ripe is either. Not my choice. I just watch. They ripen at different ages, different stages. And I just watch. I don’t know if what I want is for something to change or not. That wouldn’t be a good thing. But then I wouldn’t just be alone on a crowded continent with my own thoughts.
And if I shake my head to stop the rant, I know it will return in a week or two their time anyway.

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