NaNoWriMo 2015

*Under the "Read Me" is an excerpt from the book I just finished. 
** I have a book cover! Below is the cover designed by Pavithra Dikshit. 

I feel pretentious saying this, but I finished my novel.

Yeeep, I wrote 50,000 words (50,298 to be more exact) over the course of one month: November 1st to the 30th. 

It's a writing challenge called NaNoWriMo, short for National Novel Writing Month, which happens to be November. Authors love alliteration. It's an international writing challenge, people from all over the world participate. This is my second year, and last year I dropped out at 31K, so I'm pretty happy I finished this year. 

While I'm proud of this accomplishment, I sort of hate telling people about it. Their immediate next question is, "when can I read it?" to which I reply, "probably never". Because let's be honest, it's a first draft. My finished book will probably look nothing like its current state, and I'm okay with that. It needs a lot of time, love, and attention, when I just can't give it that now. 

Why? Because I've started another book.

I'e been raring to start this one since the third week of November. I read something (probably the most vague statement ever), and it sparked an idea for a murder. Since the idea came to me during Nano, I had to put the idea on a shelf. I've never, ever written a murder mystery before so this one will take significantly longer than 30 days. 

Now that I'm done with Nano, I'm going to get started. Any recommendations of your favorite thrillers? And yes, I know Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Don't kill me, but I wasn't a fan of that book. 

Until next time...

Mia

You Have to Write Every Day

That's the shitty part.
I know, I shouldn't be complaining. A writer?? Forced to write everyday?! The horror! The inhumanity!
But, let's talk candidly here. Even if you love something, you don't necessarily want to do it every day...
For example fitness enthusiasts. They love fitness, eat right, pick certain days for certain body parts (Monday: arms, Tuesday: legs, Wednesday: cardio . . .) but the key thing is that they rest. They pick one or two days a week to rest their body and let their muscles repair. To NOT do the thing that they love most. That's what I FEEL like I need to do sometimes. A mental rest day.
But that doesn't help. That's doesn't help the mentality that writing only comes with bursts of inspiration and periods of writers block. A writer can write. Always. Maybe not wonderful, jaw dropping material, but I don't believe in writers block. It's all in your head. Just.... go around it.
The mentality of the "inspiration writer" is baloney. You should write, something, anything, a sentence, a paragraph, a page, of a plot/character/setting/conflict. Because that's the only way I'm going to get better at this craft is by practicing every day. And dear god, editing.
So I didn't want to write today. That's what this whole blog post is about. Not writing. I'm writing about want to not write. Okay. That's enough now.
Practice makes better. Not perfect. I don't want to be a Hemingway or a JK Rowling. I don't even want to be a Suzanne Collins. I just want to write. And I want to write well. I view my writing as my legacy, my mark on this very large planet.
I wanted to share a little rant. Sometimes when I'm writing for a certain character I get into their mind set, how they would feel in this situation, etc. But mostly I think about what they would be thinking about. What are their day dreams? What do they say inside in reaction to others? What dreams do they have? And most of all: what dark thoughts to they possess, deep in their psyche?

So I started to write a scene. She's flash-backing, visiting her mom in Portland, home from college. But she's writing this flashback in her diary. So it's her, the character, writing this rant about the world ending. This has been on her mind for a long time, the point of it all. No one will remember, and why should they? She is just a small girl in a large planet. All the people who remember her are dead. She doesn't exist, really, to anyone. She's alive but no one knows, so what's the point of living? She's in a dark place in her mind already, so it's easy for her to go on this rant about the world ending, interrupting her own recap of the past.
In this world that's pretty common. There are more people alive, but she obviously doesn't know it. She thinks she is the last person standing, a trope that fascinates me. I've read multiple books where in the beginning the character believes themselves to be wholly alone, which in itself is terrifying.
Anyway. Below is the excerpt.

From Thoughts to Paper: Barnes and Noble Rant

 << the first minute is quiet, but then I realize it's too quiet and then you can't hear the annoying jingle of my car keys>>

So I made a new blog. It was about time, my blogging fingers were getting itchy. I've taken to recording voice memos while driving, especially when I've left somewhere just so I can go home and write. This is one of those times. Below is the excerpt that I wrote when I got home, a short, unedited, probably grammatically incorrect piece of first draft. But then you can see where the idea becomes a story, and a story becomes a character, and then it becomes real. To me, at least. I know the memo above is 12 minutes, but it makes more sense if you listen then read below...... okay. Bye now.