Countdown to Insanity

Is it Friday yet?

That's the question I keep asking myself. It has nothing to do with the end of the working week or the beginning of the weekend and everything to do with getting no sleep and going insane for a 30 day period.

Yes, it's NaNoWriMo time again.

After last year's experience, I'm surprised I didn't completely try to prevent myself from acknowledging that the site or the project even existed. Last year, I was prepared. I had 30 or so pages of notes for a novel I'd been planning to write for years; I'd been carrying them around, periodically adding to them. I had dutifully bought a copy of Anne Lamont's Bird by Bird, and read the first half of it. I had carefully outlined my interweaving plots on index cards and filed them in a flippable notebook with color coordinated paper clips. My freezer was stocked with multiple bags of coffee and a vast selection of Hot Pockets. I had a list of fellow participants with whom to compare notes and send peppy and supportive emails. I was ready.

And then... what happened?

I started out in a blaze of glory and wrote with wild abandon. And the further I got enmeshed in my plot, the worse things got. Last year's plot was fictionalized reality, which meant that when my main character started to lose her grip on reality, I went along for the ride with her. I believe the entire project crashed and burned somewhere around November 28th, when I found myself scrawling "HELP ME SOMEBODY PLEASE" in a notebook stained with red wine, spilled in my haste to drain the bottle. Roger Mexico was in town that weekend for the Thanksgiving holidays, and was out with the boys; he was probably relieved to get away from me, since I was borderline certifiable by that point.

I learned my lesson from last year's attempt. Writing a novel where your main character goes insane midplot is a bad idea, if you plan on getting it completed in 30 days without throwing yourself in front of a bus. Using a plot that you've considered to be your shot at the Great American Novel is also a bad idea, since an setback becomes monumental when the stakes are that high.

So here I am for round two. The bruises from last year have healed, and I'm more determined than ever to finish. Rosencrantz has decided to throw her hat into the ring as well, and we've been keeping each other posted on our preparations for the upcoming month. (Paisley has decided not to join us this year. I believe her exact words were "Hell, no.")

I'm using many of the characters from last year's attempt. This year's novel is a sequel of sorts, so people have moved on in their lives. Some have moved to other parts of the world, some have walked out of the narrative into their own stories. Whether those stories will be told of not, whether they will be comedies or tradgedies still remains to be seen.

I'm not sure where the story will take me. One fact that may weigh heavily into the progression of the narrative - I finally saw Mulholland Drive recently. Alternate realities in the middle of a narrative are fair game, and may serve the storyline well.

Depending upon whether I get my issues reseolved with Blogger or not, I'm still considering posting my progress online on a site I've set aside for this purpose. (Blogger has not been kind to me lately. My archives from August and October refuse to show up on the website, and the other night the site simply refused to publish my post. That problem worked itself out, but my archives are still missing in action.) If the website doesn't work, I will still be taking advantage of the new feature that the good folks at NaNoWriMo have added to their site this year: novel excerpts. In addition to the updateable word count, authors have the option of providing readable proof of their progress. I'll keep everyone posted when new stuff goes up.

(And for those of you brave souls who want to seek out my progress on the NaNoWriMo website, I've decided to write under Myopic this year. Last year, I wrote under my real name and had to reveal my secret identity to complete strangers so they could send me nagging emails about my lagging word count. And for those interested in comparing my lack of progress to Rosencrantz, she will be writing under the alias of Ratatosk. She's listed her favorite authors as James Joyce, Marcel Proust, and Donald Barthelme. I feel outclassed already.)

So tonight, I'll be assembling my notes from the various notebooks I've scribbled them in. The coffee's been bought, my house is somewhat in order, and I'm approaching Zero Hour with an excited apprehension. The madness begins in just over 54 hours....

Inside Pandora's Box

There are times that I think the world is an evil place.

When I'm at work, I occasionally read the news. And it's very seldom that you read anything good these days. Terrorism, war, campaign mudslinging, missing children, hurricanes, police dishonesty, worldwide political unrest. It's enough to almost make you give up on the rest of the human race.

Lately, the news has been filled with stories of a person with a gun. A person who kills without warning, with a frightening randomness. The lead story changed with every new victim, every press conference with the police, every new clue.

I don't know anyone in Montgomery County, in the DC area. Zappagirl's parents live in Virginia, though. She was going to visit them. My boss at work was leaving on vacation as well, first to Williamsburg, then off to visit her daughter in Maryland. Quietly, I worried for them.

A few nights ago, the news was changing faster than usual. A live announcement broke into Late Night with David Letterman, with a description of a car and a license plate number, and the name of a man wanted for questioning.

Soon, I thought to myself as I looked up from my computer. It will all be over soon.

I fell asleep with the television on, and was awakened by the news that an arrest had been made. I mumbled a sleepy thanks to the universe, and passed out until the alarm went off a few hours later.

All the next day, I checked CNN for the latest updates. And as the details unfolded, I learned about a new name in this tragic story.

It seems there was a man from Northern Kentucky, just across the river. A quiet church-going man, a loving grandfather. He drove a truck for a living, and was two weeks from retirement. Once he had lived in the area of the shootings, and still had family there.

I'm sure as he drove along towards his destination that the news of the sniper was on his mind. The news of it was everywhere; it was unavoidable. As he headed into Maryland, he probably shared the same lingering feeling of anger and apprehension and confusion as many others had.

As he listened to the radio, he heard the reports of the license plate number and the description of the car. In the back of his head, he stored that information.

An hour later, he pulled into a rest stop and saw the car. He called 911, he made the report, he blocked the exit with the help of another trucker and watched history unfold. Watched the horrible events of the last month come to a hopeful end as the police swarmed the rest stop and surrounded the car. All because of his actions.

And this man does not consider himself a hero. In his words, "I done my job, what I thought had to be done - but I'm no hero."

I tend to disagree. Because of this man, communities are returning to a normal life. Children are able to play outside again. Going to buy groceries or fill up the gas tank no longer is accompanied by a heavy fear in the pit of the stomach.

And far away from Montgomery County, in my small apartment, I read all this news with feelings of great relief. I will probably never meet Ron Lantz. Our paths will never cross. I will never be able to thank him for what he's done for thousands of people I will also never meet. I will never be able to thank him for what he's done for me.

Because of this stranger's actions at a rest stop I will never visit, the world doesn't seem to be as bad a place to be. The human race doesn't seem to be a lost cause.

Because of one stranger's courage, I have hope again.

Panic

"I hate to say this," said my attorney as we sat down at the Merry-Go-Round Bar on the second balcony, “but this place is getting to me. I think I'm getting the Fear." - Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson

At times, I have a tendency to overreact about things. This is one of those times.

I signed up for NaNoWriMo again this year, and already the fear is seeping in. Last year, I knew what I was going to write. I had page upon page of notes, outlines, plots and subplots. I had a direction, I had a compass. I knew where I was going. And I still didn't finish.

This year, I have no idea. I had an inkling that I would write a road novel, and then I realized I didn't know which way I wanted to point my car. The only direction that looked somewhat appealing turned out to be a dead end, and driving the same small patch of road for 50,000 words seemed redundant. But now I've already committed to the project, signed my name on the dotted line. I need an idea, and I need it fast.

Rosencrantz has also signed on for the project. (By the way, she's just started her own blog. Check it out. It's wild, it's weird, it's wonderful.) She already has a title, a plot, and an outline. Not that NaNoWriMo is a competition of any sort, but I'm already feeling like I'm left behind at the starting line with an engine that just won't turn over, and the race hasn't even started yet.

Perhaps inspiration will hit me unexpectedly like a bolt of lightning, but right now I feel like I'm walking around on a bright sunny day with a nine iron, praying for rain. Nothing. No electricity in the air yet.

I leave for my visit with Roger Mexico in a few days, but even that has me overly concerned. We pretty much played email tag all weekend, and I haven't heard from him since Saturday afternoon. He was headed to New York for the evening to go to the Legendary Pink Dots show (turns out he was able to get the night off after all), so I told him to have a good time and tell me all about the show when he got back. I'm sure he got back rather late that night, but my email inbox remained empty on Sunday and Monday. I dropped him another line this afternoon. Nothing. Nada.

(And no, GeekMan, I'm not ignoring you. I just don't have any finalized plans yet on when we'll be in town. I'm just waiting to hear....)

Now, I know what Roger Mexico's work schedule is like. I know that he's probably been incredibly busy making up work for taking off Saturday night. I'm sure that he'll drop me a line tomorrow afternoon at work telling me that the show was great, and he's been working eighteen hour days since then. He'll tell me I'm freaking out over nothing, and I should just chill the hell out. But that's not helping me at 2 in the morning, when I'm hopped up on coffee and news of snipers picking off random people. (Not that he's anywhere near the Maryland/DC area, but there are crazy people everywhere, not just in the suburbs of our nation's capitol.)

Zappagirl came over tonight, and we watched a trilogy of political comedies. We'd started Primary Colors a week or so ago, and finished it up tonight. We followed it up with Bob Roberts and Wag the Dog, both of which hit a little too close to home, given the impending mess our country is about to walk into in the Middle East. Too many references to the previous Gulf War and manipulative politics for one evening - I'm a little jumpy.

Did I mention there was coffee involved? Yeah, that's not helping matters any.

And now, for some ungodly reason, my computer has decided it doesn't want to work. It can't find Google, for crying out loud. It was working fine a few minutes ago, and now all I'm getting is "cannot find server" messages. Stupid dialup. (Thankfully I was bright enough to compose this somewhere other than Blogger; when I'll actually be able to connect to Blogger to post it is another story.)

I suppose I should look for the customer service number for my ISP. They seem to like to work on the servers in the Cincinnati area late at night, since they figure no one will be online. Yeah, no one but me. Thanks, guys. No really. Thanks. I enjoy sitting here in front of my computer, unable to use it for anything except playing solitaire and mah jongg.

Just checked the phone line. It seems to be in working order, so I'm not sure what the problem is. Hmmm. Hello? Tech support?

And after calling tech support, it seems the trouble is in my computer. Great.

(OK, it seems that restarting seemed to work, but does this mean I'll have to restart my computer fifty-seven times a night? Oh well. I suppose I'll try to get some sleep, and worry about my computer's little quirks in the morning.)

At least I’m not panicking anymore. Now I’m just pissed.

Where Does the Time Go?

Hello? Anyone out there?

(crickets chirping)

Oops. I really had no intentions of being gone that long. (And yes, I know I say that every time I go on hiatus, but it's true.) Things have been non-stop crazy in my life for the past few weeks. And yet, not a whole lot has happened.

Work kicked into high gear and is just now starting to let up. With school starting and every teacher in the known universe trying to book a visit to the Zoo, my phone rang nonstop for nearly a month. We had a "sneak preview" special event for the educators at the end of August, and as soon as we finished up with that, we started planning for the next special event: Wildlife Discovery Days. Things were more than hectic for a while. My supervisor and I worked through lunch, stayed late, and left the Zoo loaded down with still more work to do at home.

The hard work paid off; the whole week went well, despite the fact that it rained on the last two days, and almost all of the schools cancelled on Friday. But on a positive note, most of the schools have rescheduled their visits. I spent most of my week working as a host for the Cat Ambassador Program. I have a special place in my heart for this program - when I worked here previously, the program was raising a new cheetah, and I have many fond memories of Kenya wandering through the office and falling asleep in the chair in my office. I spent most of the week of Wildlife Discovery Days shaking my head in disbelief that I actually get paid to do this. (Come to think of it, I do that a lot.)

(And as I was typing this, two of the trainers from the Cat Ambassador Program just walked past my office with Sahara and Alexa. This is not a normal job.)

When I wasn't working, I spent much of my time hanging out with Zappagirl. She's been going through a rough time lately, and I know firsthand that it's easier to manage with a friendly shoulder to lean on. And since she went above and beyond the call of duty last year when I was insane, being there for her is the least that I can do. Sometimes I'm frustrated that I can't do more for her.

Since Roger Mexico's visit in August fell through (and I had holiday time to burn before the end of the year). I had proposed a visit to see him on an extended weekend in October, hoping that we could go see Legendary Pink Dots in New York together. Alas, that plan fell through - he had to work all weekend, so I changed my flight plans to the following weekend. (Musashi, if you're reading this, I won't be at the show. Have a good time for all of us, though!) For a brief moment, we thought we were going to be able to see Underworld in New York, but that also conflicted with his work schedule. Oh well. At least I'll get to see the Beckett show he did the sound design for. Theater? Watching a show he worked on? Sounds good to me! (And I still have the Underworld DVD on loan from Netflix, so I'll bring that along with me.)

It looks like we will be visiting New York on Saturday, although we haven't made any concrete plans beyond getting coffee and visiting a book store he thinks I might like. Not that it matters. My visit is less about the plans and more about the company I'll be keeping. If I spent the entire weekend doing nothing but hanging out at his apartment watching TV, listening to him work on music, and playing with the cats, I'd still be happy.

I'm still debating whether I want to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. I'm still feeling guilty that I have yet to complete last year's attempt, although I did finally hit the 50,000 word mark. (Unfortunately, I'm only two-thirds of the way through the story.) Part of me doesn't want the stress and the hassle, and part of me is savoring the idea of trying to write a crappy novel in a month. (I'm a masochist like that.) I've been toying with ideas in my head for a few weeks now. In most probability I'll end up giving it another shot. I'm also toying with the idea of posting it so everyone can read how crappy it is. (Why, yes, I'm insane. Why do you ask?) But this time I won't try to write the Great American Novel with deep underlying themes and multiple styles and fonts and points of view. It will be complete unadulterated fluff, something that I can babble about incessantly for page upon page without a worry as to how it will fit in with the framing story.

Oh, who am I kidding? If I write a novel this year, it'll be just as weird and complex as the last one. But this time I'll be smart enough not to write semi-autobiographically and drag myself back through some of the darkest moments of my life. That was my downfall last time, because writing about being depressed made me depressed, and my main character has been stuck in her own personal hell for the last 9 months. Someday I'll get her out, I swear.

But before I start planning on writing a novel in a month, I need to get my butt in gear and start posting here on a more regular basis. I never said consistency was one of my strong points, but I am constantly striving to improve....