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Over the last few months people have written in and asked what kind of a book The Graveyard Book is, whether it's for kids or adults, all that sort of thing. And I haven't answered because it wasn't actually finished, and I figured I'd find out when it was done. And it's done now.

I think The Graveyard Book is a book for pretty much all ages, although I'm not sure how far down that actually starts. I think I would have loved it when I was eight, but I don't think that all eight-year olds were like me.

It has a protagonist who is about eighteen months old in the first chapter, four in the second chapter, six in the third, and so on, until, by chapter eight, he is all of sixteen years old. There's no sex in it and no swearing. There is some really scary stuff in there, and a few of the people (all adults) who have read it have written to tell me they cried in the last chapter.

But it's not a children's book. It's a book that I think children will enjoy, but there's also stuff that's there for adults too. It's a book about life and death and making families. It has ghouls in it, and the Hounds of God, and the Sleer, and the Indigo Man, and a lot of very dead people.

It's not that easy to describe. I'm reminded of Kim Newman's review of Anansi Boys, which began "Anansi Boys is one of Neil Gaiman's books for grown-ups, which means that it's a lot less ruthless than the material he produces for children", and it's a very true observation. From that perspective, it's definitely one of my children's books.

I finished writing it a few nights ago -- although I'm currently obsessively reading it and fiddling with it, cleaning up typos and places where what's written simply isn't what I meant, or where sentences are clunky, or where it needs help, or where I contradict myself, or where continuity goes a bit odd (the graveyard's Egyptian Walk was the Egyptian Alley the first time we visited it; I just noticed a character who doesn't smile grinning widely, and I am painfully aware that I start too many sentences with "And then" so I'm searching for them and leaving the ones I like and rewriting the rest (or, more usually, just deleting 'And then' from the start of the sentence.)

This came in yesterday and made me smile...

Dear Neil,

I was completely captivated by your short story, "The Witch's Headstone." Is this a one-off, or is there a full-length book about Bod and Co. upcoming at some point? I really hope so, as the premise and characters are wonderful!


Thanks,
Kate

'The Witch's Headstone' is actually chapter four of The Graveyard Book. So yes, the full length book about Bod and Silas and the rest of them is definitely on the way. 30 Sept 2008 in the US, a few weeks later in the UK.

And the next one was,

I was thinking the other day about the novel writing process. When you write a novel, do you start with chapter 1 and write all the way until the last chapter chronologically, or do you skip around. For instance, you're writing chapter 7, but you have a great idea for chapter 11, do you then go on and write your idea for chapter 11, eventually ending up in chapter 12 with the plan to eventually come back to chapter 7 and try to steer events toward that end?

Mostly I start at the beginning and keep going until the end, because it makes it easier to find out what happens next. Also I come from a comics tradition in which I can't skip ahead and write the last part because someone's waiting for me to write the first part right now so they can draw it.

The Graveyard Book, though, had a few false starts over the years, and didn't work. So I wrote Chapter Four first, to get a sense of what was happening in the middle (easier because each chapter is a self-contained story) and what Bod was like when he could talk, and what the voice of the book was (again, a bit odd, as each chapter has a slightly different voice, but it gave me a feeling for what I was doing that made starting at Chapter 1 easier).

If I have an idea for Chapter 11 while I'm writing Chapter 4 I'm likely to scribble down the idea (because I forget things) but less likely to write the whole scene. Some writers do. I don't.

The truth is, as the truth about so much is in writing, that there are no rules, and even a writer who normally does things one way doesn't have to be consistent. You do what produces pages. You keep moving forward. If I'm really stuck on a scene I'll sometimes skip to the next scene I DO know how to write, and often by the end, the solution to the one I was stuck on is obvious, or I can't even remember why it was a problem.

Neil,

I'm glad to KNOW for SURE that you are working on a new novel. But I have just one question. Is it going to be scary, funny, action, or drama?


Write me back,

Joseph Deane - #1 Fan

All of the above.

Lots of scary. Some funny (some of the funniest stuff is also the scariest, though). A fair amount of action. Some drama. No kissing. Late nights. Fish and chips. A werewolf, a vampire, an Assyrian mummy and a small pig. A knife in the dark.

...

I just learned that my old friend Steve Whitaker is dead. Steve was a terrific artist and a good guy, kind, helpful, generous, all that -- he's best known in the US for his work colouring V for Vendetta.

He would have been the colourist on Sandman but he never turned in the sample pages he was given to colour, because they weren't quite perfect yet, and by the time he was nearly satisfied with them someone else already had the job. I learned a lot from that. I learned a lot about comics, about the history of comics, about strip cartoons, from Steve. I wish he'd been willing to draw more, to let it go, to feel more comfortable making mistakes in public. Mostly I wish he'd done more comics.

Here's a bio and tribute. He was 52. Too young.

...

Lots of you wrote to say,

Hey Neil,

John Kovalic's "Dork Tower" web strip features an appearance by a familiar pale fellow. I laughed my head off.

http://archive.gamespy.com/comics/dorktower/archive.asp?nextform=viewcomic&id=1342

Oh, and frequenters of Amazon with purchase histories including your books should keep an eye on their Gold Box personalized section. Random stuff keeps popping up there at 10% off Amazon's normal price (5% off Gold Box discount + 5% off for pre-order), including Absolute Sandman Vol 3, The Dangerous Alphabet, and The Graveyard Book.

Bill^2

...

And although it doesn't officially come out for another ten days, Odd and the Frost Giants is now out there in the UK, as I learned from this:

Hi Neil,

I just finished reading "Odd and the Frost Giants" and find it a nice little piece. Clearly structured for the younger readers and I am already looking forward to reading it to my 7 year old daughter. I just wanted to tell you that I did thoroughly enjoy it.

Greetings from Edinburgh
Dietmar

Here's the Amazon Uk link. (The Amazon US listing is a mistake. It won't be out in the US this year.)

Another National Novel Writing Month challenge DONE and COMPLETED!

Though the challenge is over, my work is not. I still plan on continuing with this story. My goal is to finish it in December, then tuck it away somewhere out of sight until March when I will drag it back out and start revising the monster.

But don’t worry, I won’t subject you to any more excerpts; I’m not that cruel. *grin*

I noticed my hits went down this month. Was it because of the boring excerpts? Do ya’ll just not like me anymore? *sniff* Though I don’t mind, really, I am curious. Was it me? Or was it just a busy month? (Don’t answer that if it’s me. *grin*)

At any rate, thank you for being patient with me this past month. NaNoWriMo is extremely important to me and I learn so much about my writing self each and every time I partake. I think the excerpts were a wash (but how would I know? I had the comments turned off so I’m speculating?), which means I think I won’t post them next year - I’ll just post periodic progress reports.

I won this snazzy certificate:

which I’ll print out and stick in my cute little pink notebook. I ended up with 148 pages, though as I mentioned, that number will grow in the upcoming weeks as I finish this sucker.

For those of you that would like to finish your novels, I found another site called National Novel Finishing Month (NaNoFiMo) where you can sign up and find support and encouragement to finish your novels. (They are not affiliated with NaNoWriMo in any way). A bunch of us that went through NaNo together are still trying to decide whether we want to use the NaNoFiMo forums, or the Write Stuff forums. I’ve started a new thread on the WS forums for this very reason and I think it would be a bit more private and intimate over there. I’m about 80% sure we’ll most likely use the WS forums at this time, so if you would like to jump in, take a project you’ve been working on for a while (and it doesn’t have to do anything with NaNoWriMo - it can just be a project you’ve been meaning to finish for some time), and Git R’ Done, then register at the Write Stuff forums, introduce yourself and then jump in with both feet. There most likely won’t be a set goal, but participants will be expected to list their personal end goal and daily goals in order to be held accountable.

I’m evil like that. Mwhahaha.

I know December is busy, but what month isn’t? I know it sounds crazy, but it actually helps to do something like this when you know you’re going to be super busy. It sort of goads you into meeting your goals and you find you don’t have time to sit and watch TV “for just a minute.” So, if you’re serious about wanting to finish a project, keep tabs on Write Stuff - we’ll let ya’ll know where we’ll be and how to get involved.

And now? I must finish my errands and get some writing done before picking the kids up from school.

(Don’t you think that red balloon looks a little suspect?? Is it just me, or is that thing nasty? Gah … I need some fresh air!)

National Novel Writing Month--November--is no time to blog!

I'm at 47,000 words on my most recent novel, thanks to the blitzkrieg of NaNoWriMo. My back aches. My wrists are sore. My eyes feel like dried up bits of pain in my face. And my characters keep going off on tangents instead of getting on with the story so I can wrap things up by 50,000 words.

Looks like I'll still be writing into the 60's. Aargh.

So although there are some rants and drones that have come to my brain at times during the last few days (especially today, with our illustrious congressmen passing a resolution to stifle free speech and invite another haole American to "go back where he came from"), they'll have to wait.

Must novel on!

I’m only 3,994 1,787 words away from crossing that finish line.

I bet you’re glad.

Come on, you can tell me.

UPDATE:

I was able to squeeze another 2,500 words out this morning. I’m a bit ahead of the game at this point but I don’t have time to sit and savor my victory. I have chores, grocery shopping, blog entries for the week, emails to answer, websites to update and walking to get in before the day is done.

But dang it, I’m getting closer! BOOYAH!

The story is straying, as I suppose a lot of stories are at this point. I still don’t feel like there is enough tension and I’m spending too much time establishing personalities, but it feels like the story, as a whole, is gelling a bit more than it was at 30,000 words. I’m honestly going to try and keep this pace up next month because I’ve learned that when I really focus and put my mind to it, I can easily crank out 2,000 words in an hour. I also learned that surviving my first NaNo while hosting a major family dinner is doable and that after this? I honestly don’t have an excuse NOT to write. If I can crank out the word count during all of this madness, then I can certainly handle any other situation thrown at me.

Now that I’ve reached 40,000 words, it’s all downhill from here. Writing the remaining 10,000 words is chump change compared to making it to 40,000.

50,000 words, here I come!

Well, well, well. It looks like the character I had started out thinking was my main character (MC) is now turning out to be my antagonist. And my MC is now turning out to be a male - a Harley Davidson, tattoo bearing tough guy. Who knew?? I just finished a scene with Wayne and Janae - his love interest - it was hot, sexy and totally innocent (aside from the innuendos *koff*). And I must say, I love this character. He’s fun, a bit goofy and a total blast to shadow. How’s that for an interesting twist? Though I’m not exactly thrilled with this new development, I think it might make more sense. My original MC was most likely going to turn into a bad seed and I can’t recall the last time I read a book where the protagonist ended up being the antagonist by the end of the story - and readers buying it.

To see a map of the setting and find out more about the characters, READ THIS PAGE.

(Comments will be turned off for each NaNoWriMo excerpt that appears this month, not because I don’t value your feedback, but because I can’t afford to get distracted with details at this point. Thank you for understanding).

________________________________

“So, where do the nude pictures of yourself come into all of this?”

“Well, I’m dry. I can’t think of anything else to write about. And I need to keep posting on a regular basis and attracting visitors to my blog or my sponsors will pull their ads and I’ll be out of a job, so to speak. I thought, well, I thought if I posted nude pictures, I’d attract a whole new different clientale and would continue to make money.”

“Does blogging mean that much to you?”

“No. Not the blogging part of it, really. But I do enjoy getting paid to write. I’ve always wanted to be a writer and well, this allows me to do that.”

“But aren’t you directing people away from that talent? I mean,” he paused and licked his lips. She watched his actions carefully and that made his groin twitch. “If people are busy looking at pictures of you, they won’t really read anything you might have written. And it really wouldn’t matter what you wrote, it could be the next great American novel, people who click on those sort of sites are only there for one thing and one thing only.”

“”To get their jollies.”

He had laughed. He hadn’t heard that phrase in quite some time. “Well yeah, so to speak.”

“So, you don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I didn’t say that,” he hedged. “You’re an attractive woman, Janae. And there’s nothing wrong with flaunting what you’ve got, but,” he paused and formulated his thoughts carefully, “if you want to be taken seriously, as a writer, then this move might actually hurt you in the long run.”

“In other words, it’ll tarnish my image.”

“Well, it could.”

“That’s what Paula said, too.”

“Paula?”

“My sister.”

He nodded. Paula must have been the other woman he saw hanging around the place.

“I don’t know how you feel about people agreeing with your sister, but I have to say, she’s right.”

Janae huffed and Wayne laughed again.

He laced his fingers behind his head and smiled at the memory. He really couldn’t recall when he’d had more fun with a woman. He began to imagine just what those pictures might look like when he heard a soft tapping.

His whole body tensed. Was it the mysterious shape in the woods to hunt him down? He slowly lowered his hands and bent over to reach under the bed. He pulled out a ball bat and silently slipped out of bed. He stood at his bedroom doorway and held his breath.

Yes, there it was again. A definite, but soft, tapping sound. He quietly tiptoed to out of his bedroom and followed the sound. At first, he thought it was coming from his back door, but when it sounded again, he realized it was indeed his front door.

He moved through the dark house and steadily avoided bumping into any furniture. He paused, just on the other side of the door and lifted the bat.

*taptaptap*

He slowly moved his hand to the doorknob and grasped it tightly within his palm.

“One,” he took a breath and his body tensed. “Two,” he turned the doorknob. “Three!” he threw open the door and raised the bat.

“Oh my God! Don’t hit me!” A figure slunk away from him and Wayne hesitated at the female voice.

“Janae?”

“Wayne?”

“What the hell … what are you doing out here in the middle of the night? You could have slipped and fell. Or whatever the hell is lurking out in the woods could have gotten you. Or I could have bashed your head in with this bat!” He snorted in annoyance.

“I know. I’m sorry,” came her soft voice. “It’s just … well,” she stepped closer and Wayne caught a whiff of her perfume. His senses immediately went into overdrive. “I, I don’t like being alone. In fact, I hate it. It scares me.”

“Why would being alone scare you?”

“It, it just does. Can I come in? I’m freezing.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. Come in. Watch the step.”

Janae stepped in and Wayne closed the door. She was close enough he could smell her shampoo and it was doing funny things to his insides.

“Let me light a few candles. Don’t move or you’re likely to fall over something.”

“All right,” came her meek reply and Wayne had a sudden, and quite fierce desire to protect her.

He felt his way around the room and finding two fat candles and some matches, he lit them up. The light flickered and gradually grew in size so that it cast a soft, and very intimate glow around the room.

“Why are you here, Janae?” He pulled the afghan off the back of the sofa. He had always made fun of the afghan to his friends, after all, his mom made it for him, but secretly, he loved to wrap the thing around him when he watched TV. He draped it over Janae’s shoulders and she smiled at him.

“Paula called. She won’t make it back tonight. In fact, she probably won’t be back until the roads are cleared off. And according to her, that will most likely be a while. Apparently, the town looks like they were hit by a bomb. Tree limbs are down everywhere and have pulled down 75% of the city’s power lines down. Everyone is without power and emergency personnel are overwhelmed trying to keep on top of everything. She said the governor will most likely declare our area a national disaster, or some such thing.” She paused and bit her lip nervously. “I really don’t like being alone, Wayne. Could I please sleep on your sofa? I promise I won’t be in your way and to the best of my knowledge, I don’t snore.”

Wayne chuckled and shrugged. “Hell, why not? I can’t, however, promise that I won’t snore.”

She giggled and nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Um, well, let me make the sofa bed up for you.”

“Oh. You have a sofa bed? I just thought …”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You thought what?” His heart fluttered and he could feel the blood rushing to his lower regions.

“I don’t know why you having a sofa bed surprises me, but it does. You didn’t exactly strike me as the kind of guy who …” she waved a hand. “Nevermind.”

“Who thinks that far ahead?” He finished for her.

She burst out laughing. “That’s actually exactly what I was thinking!”

He grinned and tossed the pillows from the sofa to a chair. “I have a brother who likes to travel. Which is really a kind way of saying he’s homeless and a bum.”

She laughed and helped him pull out the bed. “Seriously?”

“Well, he’s an okay kind of guy. He’s not really homeless, but he likes to travel so much that he’s never home so technically, he’s home less.” He grinned at his play on words. “Anyway, he comes through this part of the country quite a bit and when he does, he stays with me.” He stood and looked at her for long moments. He didn’t think it would be possible, but she looked even more delicious in the soft candlelight.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

He walked down the hallway, opened the linen closet and pulled out some sheets and an extra pillow. He didn’t have any extra blankets, so he pulled off the one he had borrowed from Melanie and returned to find Janae examining his bookshelves.

“As you can see, I’m very well read.”

She laughed and nodded. “I see that. You must know everything there is to know about mechanics.”

“I do. Ask me anything.”

Again, she laughed and put her hands up in surrender. “Uncle. I believe you. Do you read anything besides these type of books?”

“You mean like Henry James or Raymond Carver?”

She lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

“Never heard of them.” He grinned, obviously teasing her and she laughed once again.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in, wow, ages.”
________________________________

(This excerpt is directly from my draft and has not been edited).

In October before NaNoWriMo started, I had my idea, I had it mapped out in my head, and I had the characters outlined and thought through. In short, I was more prepared than I'd ever been before (except maybe once) for a novel-venture.

A couple of days into it, I realized that this was not the right time in my life to tell the particular story I had set out to write. It'd take too long to explain, so suffice it to say that someday I am still planning on writing that story, it just needs to be at a different age. I'm not giving up on that story, I'm just saving it for the future. Because I really, really love the characters and the plot. Yay.

Not wanting to give up on NaNoWriMo, I did something really stupid. I preceded with a tried-and-true way to fail (for me anyway): I started writing without ANY outlining of characters or a basic idea or anything. Just started writing. For awhile it didn't go too badly. But deep down I knew that I would fail because I, personally, as a writer CAN. NOT. write without any prior planning. I just can't. And I knew that.

There you have it. My grand NaNoWriMo fiasco. But I managed to have fun, get some good dialogue written (maybe I'll use it for something in the future) and learn some new stuff about myself as a writer.

The past two Fridays I've hosted NaNoWriMo chats at the readergirlz forum. Last week I asked the very dedicated and devoted NaNo-er Marlena, What's been the most surprising thing to do with NaNoWriMo that's happened to you so far? And her answer was so amazing and inspiring that I wanted to share it with you all:

"I realized that I can be a writer.

I've always wanted to be something in my life...and an author. Like, when I was in kindergarten I wanted to be a vet and an author. And in third grade I wanted to be President and an author. And in eighth grade I wanted to be an astronomer and an author. Writing has always been something I feel completely at peace doing, but I've done verrry little writing in my free time because I've always been afraid that I would fail, that I wouldn't measure up to all of the great authors that I love and read so much of.

NaNoWriMo gave me the push to actually WRITE, and write A LOT! I feel so much more confident and I've realized that I want to do this for the rest of my life, that I've found my passion. And that's a pretty awesome feeling.

And once I stayed up writing until 2AM and woke up at 6:30AM and wasn't tired all day, just really wanted to write again. That was pretty weird."

Pretty great, I'd say. Go Marlena! I also asked her my staple question for authors - what is your favorite thing about being a writer?

She said, "My favorite thing about being a writer (other than the can-work-in-pajamas part) is that, after I've written my goal for the day, I feel like I've done something that brings me closer to the authors of the books that I love...like I'm part of that whole connected writer universe of inspiration and perspiration and such. And also I feel like I can see myself doing this years in the future, and hopefully inspiring teens like I am now to just try their hand at writing, even if they're afraid, or that my future books might possibly make even a small impact on somebody's life, like so many books have on mine."

***If you are doing NaNoWriMo (or, hey, even if you're not) come to the last two chats! The dates are November 23rd and December 1st, both at 5PM Pacific/8PM Eastern, at the readergirlz forum.***

The last character to meet on Fox Court is Sharon Hanks. Sharon has some sort of joint disease (to be determined at a later date) and has been prescribed medicinal mar ijuana to ease her pain. Her boarders, three college-aged kids, think she’s uber cool for smoking weed and occasionally try to con a joint or two out of her at times. I wanted this character in the story for comic relief more than anything. Sharon is an idiot when high and makes a lot of off-the-wall stupid comments.

To see a map of the setting and find out more about the characters, READ THIS PAGE.

Writing progress: I’m dragging. I’m so tired I’m seeing double. If I can just last through Thanksgiving, I should be able to catch up on my sleep and really start cranking out the word count. (Should being the operative word here).

(Comments will be turned off for each NaNoWriMo excerpt that appears this month, not because I don’t value your feedback, but because I can’t afford to get distracted with details at this point. Thank you for understanding).

________________________________

“Okay, I’m leaving now,” he pocketed the cash. “Did you think of anything else?”

Sharon looked out of the window again. “You can’t go.”

“What do you mean I can’t go?”

She nodded toward the window. “Have you looked outside lately? It’s really snowing hard now. I don’t want to take a chance on you getting stuck.”

Zane walked to the window and whistled. “Wow. Not only has it been snowing, but it’s been icing, too. You should see this. The snow looks shiny and hard; the street lights are bouncing off and searing holes in my eyes. Oh! My eyes!”

“Oh please, Zane. Stop being so melodramatic.” Sharon slowly got up out of her chair and moved to look out of the window. She pointedly ignored Zane’s compassionate expression as she hobbled toward him.

God, she felt old.

He wasn’t kidding. The ground looked hard and as slick as an ice rink.

“This is not good,” she mumbled thinking fast. Exactly how much food did they have in the fridge, anyway?

“You’re telling me it’s bad. If I don’t have milk to put on my cereal in the morning, it won’t be pretty.”

“Do you have Hogan’s cell phone number?”

“No.”

“Ms. Hanks?” Lacy had returned.

Sharon turned around a little too quickly and sharp needles of pain shot through her knees.

“His backpack is still in his room.”

Now she was starting to get worried. Hogan wasn’t the type of kid to cut class. In fact, he was one of those kids who took insane pride in grades.

“He probably just cut tonight,” Zane said.

Both Lacy and Sharon looked at him.

“Or … not,” Zane said quietly.

“Maybe he had to work late?” Lacy provided helpfully.

“Maybe. Hey Lacy, do you have Hogan’s cell phone number?”

Lacy’s expression froze. “Why?”

“I just want to check up on him. See if he’s okay.” She shrugged when Zane snickered. “I feel responsible for you guys, you twerp.” She turned back to Lacy. “So, do you? Have his cell phone number?”

“Uh,” Lacy shuffled her feet uncomfortably. “Sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“Well, he’s given it to me so many times, and I’ve thrown it away so many times, I don’t know if I have it or not.”

“Can you go check, please?”

Lacy’s shoulders slumped and she glared at Zane. “If you so much as breathe a word of this to Hogan, I will castrate you.”

“Oh yeah? Well that means you’ve got to touch it and that baby, is all I want.”

“Oh gross.”

“Stop it you, two,” Sharon interjected. “This is serious. Lacy, go look. Zane, you’re not going anywhere.”

“We don’t have any food, Ms. Hanks.”

“We’ll find something.”

“Look,” Zane put his arm around her and assumed a charming smile. “I should go now before it gets any worse. Because if it keeps up like this?” he nodded toward the weather outside, “then we’ll be snowed in for days and all that will be left behind will be two female bodies and a very satisfied Zane.”

She poked him and chuckled. “You’re terrible.” But he had a point. She looked out of the window again and then up at the black, black night. It wasn’t going to let up any time soon. And what if he was right? What if it got so bad that they were stuck inside for days and days? She didn’t have enough food to feed herself, let alone three college kids. What would their parents do then? Even though they were all in their twenties and legally responsible adults, she still felt like she needed to take care of them.

She studied Zane for long moments before asking, “You’ll be careful?”

“As careful as an unhappy housewife with birth control.”

Sharon grimaced at his analogy. “I’m serious, Zane. It’s going to be pretty slick out there. You can take my Explorer. I just had snow tires put on so you should be able to get around okay, but drive slowly because it will be slick.”

Zane smiled and patted her shoulder. “Thanks for worrying mom. I’ll be careful.”

Sharon was giving Zane the keys to her car and more money when Lacy walked in.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“He’s going to the store to stock up on supplies in case we get snowed in.”

“Ms. Hanks, have you looked outside recently?”

“I know, Lacy. But if he doesn’t go now, he might not get to go later when it gets worse. Now Zane,” she turned him around so that he was looking her in the eyes, “promise me you won’t take any unnecessary risks out there. You’ll go straight to the store and then come straight back here.”

“Geez, I promise. It’s not like I’m going off to war or anything.”

“Okay. You have your cell phone?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s fully charged?”

Zane gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, Ms. Hanks. Please don’t worry. I’ll be back before you can finish your first doobie.”

“Oh, very funny.” She pushed him to go. “Hey, you haven’t said anything about my medicinal, um, smokes to your parents have you?”

“Are you kidding me? If they knew you smoked weed, they’d rip me out of here so fast all you would see would be my clothes.” He winked at Lacy.

“Okay, fine. Get out of here and be careful. If you dent my car, I’m going to have to kick your ass.”

Zane laughed and headed toward the door. He waved at them both without turning around.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to let Zane out in this weather?”

“No. But I honestly think if we wait until morning, we won’t be able to get out.”

“You think it’ll be that bad?” Lacy chewed on her fingernail and stared out at the snow.

“I think we should be prepared in case it is,” Sharon nodded. “Did you find Hogan’s number?”

“Yes. I had to go through my trash, and that was pretty disgusting, but I was able to find the last time he wrote it down for me.”

Sharon noticed Lacy was blushing. “You secretly like him, don’t you.”

Lacy sputtered a laugh and then looked dubious. “Of course not!”

“Uh huh.” Sharon nodded, but was not convinced. She picked up the phone and dialed Hogan’s number.

She began drumming her fingers on the table as she impatiently waited for each ring.

“He’s not answering.”

“That does sound unusual for Hogan. He’s usually pretty good about answering his phone.” Lacy dug in her back pocket and removed her cell phone. “Hang on a second. Maybe he’s screening calls. Let me try and call him – I bet he would answer if he saw my number.” She dialed his number and waited.

Both women continued to stare at each other as they waited to see if Hogan would pick up.

After several rings, Lacy snapped her phone shut. “There is definitely something wrong here.”

Sharon snapped to attention and picked up her phone once again. “That does it. I’m calling to see if there have been any accidents in the last several hours. I can’t stand …”

A loud squeal followed by a horrendous-sounding crash interrupted the women.
________________________________

(This excerpt is directly from my draft and has not been edited).

Wayne Lewis is a Harley Davidson kind of guy. He likes fast motorcycles and fast women. Although Wayne looks tough with this tattooes and piercings, he’s actually a big teddy bear with a huge crush on his neighbor Janae. If he could only work up the courage to approach her.

To see a map of the setting and find out more about the characters, READ THIS PAGE.

Writing progress: As you can see by my word count widget in the sidebar, things are going slow right now. I’ve been so busy with life that I have not had much time to sit down and do any writing. Hopefully, I can catch up and actually get ahead before Thanksgiving because I know I won’t get any writing done Thursday and Friday we’ll be busy putting up our Christmas tree. Life actually won’t start slowing down until Saturday - then I’ll have time to frantically get caught up.

*sigh*

(Comments will be turned off for each NaNoWriMo excerpt that appears this month, not because I don’t value your feedback, but because I can’t afford to get distracted with details at this point. Thank you for understanding).

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Wayne Lewis had been sitting at his kitchen table, cleaning a carburetor when he saw the attractive woman across the street exit her house. He didn’t know who she was, but she was one fine looking woman. He liked how her body moved – the muscles firm and sleek. He had actually spied on her numerous times this past summer, her and the other woman, working out in the garden, their skin glistening under the hot sun and perspiration making an attractive beeline between their shoulder blades.

He wasn’t exactly a peeping tom, in fact, he always thought men who stooped that low were wimps, but he couldn’t help watching this woman. She puzzled him. One minute she was confident and proud, the next she was almost timid in her actions and, dare he say it, naïve? She fascinated him and after all these months of watching her, he hadn’t worked up the courage to approach her.

He snorted at himself in disgust. Him, Woo-‘em Wayne, as his friends called him, couldn’t approach an attractive woman. Wouldn’t the guys in the shop love to tease him about that one.

He heard, rather than saw, the front door slam, and he knew exactly what had happened before the attractive woman had. He put down the carburetor he had been working on and reached for a nearby towel. Now would be the perfect opportunity to introduce himself. In fact, she would most likely be so grateful that he helped her that she would invite him in for some coffee, or hot cocoa maybe. He would help her build a fire, they would sit and talk for hours, she would realize what a great guy he was and invite him to dinner. They would share a delicious meal together, they would realize how much chemistry they had between them and they would end up having sex.

He was going to get laid by his hot neighbor.

He began whistling under his breath as he reached for the carburetor fluid and cleaned the grease from his hands. As he washed up, he twisted around to see what she was doing. She was lowering the logs in her arms by the front door. He figured he had a few moments to freshen up before her body succumbed to hyperthermia. In fact, that might end up being a better deal, then he could take her in his arms and warm her up.

His grin widened and nearly touched his ears. What perfect timing.

He rushed into his bedroom, peeled off his sweats, donned some of his old Levis, pulled on an old ratty sweater over his head and stuck his feet into his combat boots. He pulled a brush through is unruly blond locks and splashed some cologne on his neck and cheeks.

He was ready.

He shrugged into his Harley Davidson jacket, scooped up his thick downy jacket for her and opened his front door.

He paused. She was no where to be seen.

Confused, he continued to stand there allowing cold air to curl around his body and sneak past him to battle the warmth within his house.

“What the …” His friendly smile had deflated into confusion. Had she gone around to the back of the house? Maybe she had left the back door open? Just as he was about to cross the street to look for her, he saw movement in the large front window.

She was inside, bent over and obviously trying to get a fire going.

How did she get back inside?

Mumbling, he quickly went back into his house and closed the door. He threw the thick jacket on the back of the sofa and shimmied out of his HD jacket.

“Well, that was a waste of perfectly good cologne.” He scowled as he caught a whiff of himself and went into the kitchen to fix himself some coffee. He had promised one of his buddies that he would have that carburetor rebuilt and ready to put in by tomorrow. He supposed he had better get back to it.

He flipped the on switch on the coffee maker and went back into his bedroom to put his sweatpants back on. His groin was tight and uncomfortable and he cursed under his breath for the lost opportunity.

What now? What excuse could he use to meet her? He supposed he could just go over and introduce himself, but the timing seemed all wrong. If he had wanted to do that, why didn’t he do it shortly after he moved in?

Feeling cranky and on edge, he poured himself a cup of coffee and resumed his previous task.

After thirty minutes of cleaning the same part three times, he threw down the machinery and snorted in disgust.

“Man, this sucks. Now I can’t concentrate.” He pushed back from the table and moved back to his bedroom. He shut off the light and positioned himself at his window. From this vantage point, he had a clear view of nearly every one of her front rooms. And judging by her routine, those were the rooms she kept mostly to. He pulled the drape across his body and peeked around the edge. She was back at her desk, but she wasn’t typing. She was staring out of her window. He had a moments panic when he thought she might have been staring at him staring at her, but then he relaxed when he realized that she was most likely staring at the reflection of herself in the window. The skies had darkened considerably in the last hour and it was overcast, gloomy and growing steadily blacker by the minute. The sleet had been joined by snow and by now, huge flakes fell as well as thin shards of ice.

It would be nasty in the morning.

Wayne watched the sky dump stuff on his lawn for a bit before turning his attention back to the woman’s house.

His jaw nearly hit the windowsill by what he saw.

________________________________

(This excerpt is directly from my draft and has not been edited).

I’m stuck. I need your input on something. Why would there would be a dead body, a missing young woman and a mysterious shape in the woods?

In addition to the weather giving my characters a hard time in my NaNo story, I’m throwing in a strange element lurking in the woods. Only, I don’t know, at this point, what that strange element is.

Let me explain the situation:

Something is killing off the good folks at Fox Court. Characters are seeing a shadowy shape lurking in the woods and shortly after these sightings, someone either ends up dead, or missing. I need a scary … something. Human? Non-human? Animal?

And here’s where I need your help:

Tell me - What scares you?

Be scary and be specific. What’s your worst nightmare come alive?

I’d like to do something a bit different, but definitely scary. Any and all ideas are welcomed. I’m hoping your ideas spark some of mine and I can logically explain what’s happening to the people of Fox Court.

Other than this little delimma, my writing is going well. Thank you for being patient with my excerpts. I don’t know if leaving the comments off is annoying or not, but it sure helps me to stay focused on the task at hand.

The graph you see in the sidebar …

… gives you a sneak peek at how I’m doing. The light green squares are days I barely make my word quota, the red squares are days I don’t write at all, and the dark green square - well I kicked butt on that day. lol

I’ve printed out my work - 69 pages so far (that’s what I’m looking at in the picture). It’s very satisfying to hold that work in my hands and know I WROTE all of those pages.

I’m finding it more and more difficult to find time to write. I write fast, but you know how that goes - writing is like surfing the Internet, you only intend to sit down for 30 minutes and POOF, three hours have gone by and real life is thumping you on the head to get your attention.

We’re having a great time over at the Write Stuff NaNoWriMo forums. In fact, we have a word war going on right now between me, Andrea, Square1, Jodi and Paul.

Here’s the word war graph (I’m take2max):

Word War (This is meant to motivate us to keep going!!)

As you can see, I’m in the running, but not in the lead. I must sabotage the other writers get busy writing!

I’m nearly at the halfway mark. I can’t believe this month, and this challenge is half over. By the end of the day, I should have 25,005 words. If you don’t see that amount in the word count widget in the sidebar, you are encouraged to stick your head through my monitor and make funny faces.

I need to get back to work. I hope your day is going well and please, don’t forget to answer the above question! I really need your input!

Many thanks.

There's a NaNoWriMo Write-In this Sunday at 2PM at Coffee Care.

If you're writing your novel this month, or thinking about it but haven't yet started, come. Bring your laptop and be ready for some word wars! Or at least have an extra plot bunny or two to share.

I’m not really sure where I’m going with this character, but all I know at this point is that she’s the cul-de-sac slut.

To see a map of the setting and find out more about the characters, READ THIS PAGE.

(Comments will be turned off for each NaNoWriMo excerpt that appears this month, not because I don’t value your feedback, but because I can’t afford to get distracted with details at this point. Thank you for understanding).

________________________________

Janae Valentine watched the Canon kids being dropped off after school over her computer monitor from her office. She watched as the oldest girl slid out of the mini-van’s passenger seat then opened the back sliding door to help her brother and sister out.

As soon as they were safely out of the car and they had waved the van on to its destination, the oldest girl promptly ignored her siblings and headed toward the front door of their house. She reached into her sweater, grabbed the cord from around her neck and inserted the house key into the lock. She let herself in and then quickly shut the door before the two younger children could catch up with her.

The littlest girl stomped her shoe in a show of temper and the boy opened the door and stepped inside. She could tell he was yelling something, but she couldn’t hear his words.

Janae didn’t exactly agree with the whole latchkey kid thing, but she supposed, if parents didn’t have a choice, they didn’t have a choice. Besides, the oldest girl looked like she was either in the 7th or 8th grade, so she was probably old enough to handle things until the parents came home.

She turned her attention back to her computer monitor. She was currently experiencing writer’s block and it was making her extremely cranky. She hated it when words didn’t easily flow and she sat back and crossed her arms in a show of irritation.

“This is insane. Think Janae! How hard is it to come up with something witty, sexy and totally off-the-wall?”

“Pretty hard if you’re you.” A slender young woman entered the office with a tall glass of iced tea in each hand.

Janae smiled and gladly took one of the glasses. “Ah, you’re a God-send, Paula.”

“Yeah well, me and God?” She crossed her fingers, “we’re tight.”

Janae laughed. “Whatever.” She swung around in her computer chair to face her friend. “So, this blogging thing. It sucks.”

“It only sucks today because you’re having trouble writing anything. Most days, you love it and you know it.”

Janae shrugged. “I guess.”

“What. Are you kidding me?” Paula nodded toward her computer. “Most people would love to be in your position. Blogging for a living? Hello, can we say the perfect job? You get to write, stay home and pretty much be a pain in my ass.”

Again, Janae laughed. “Thanks Paula. I don’t know what I would do without your humor to cheer me up.”

“You would lose readers, your advertisers would pull their ads and you would be broke and working at a job that you hated, like the rest of us poor saps.”

“True. True. Spoken like a typical stiff.”

“So, it’s bad?” Paula asked as she plopped down into an overstuffed print sofa.

Janae allowed the ice cubes to clink around her glass for long moments before answering. “I think I’m finished.”

Paula took a sip of her tea and studied her over the rim of the glass. She swallowed. “You’re serious?”

Janae nodded and cuddled the cold glass between her palms. “I’ve been doing this for a solid three years now. Two of which I’ve been paid. I honestly can’t think of anything else to talk about.”

“You could talk about stuff that’s happening in the world.”

“Yeah, me and about a gazillion other people.” She sighed and took an absent sip. “That’s what made me unique, Paula, my ability to insert humor into everyday, mundane things. But let’s face it – a single girl only has so much to talk about. I don’t have the luxury of talking about a spouse or kids, or even bitch about my in-laws. And I’m at an age now that the whole dating scene is just turning pathetic.”

The women were quiet and lost in their own thoughts for quite some time, silently staring out of the window. The steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the corner softly divided the silence.

“You could always quit the blogging thing and get a job.”

“Doing what?” Janae placed her tea on a coaster on her desk and scooted closer to a nearby arm chair.

“Well …” Paula’s facial features twisted into doubt.

“Exactly my point. What does a 32-year old woman with an English degree do with her life?”

“You could always …”

Janae held up a hand. “Don’t say it.”

Paula gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s an option, Janae.”

“No, it’s not,” Janae snapped back and then immediately regretted raising her voice. “I’m sorry. It’s just,” she paused to run a hand through her long mahogany-colored hair, “I have no interest in teaching. None. At all. I don’t even like kids that much, if you want the truth. They’re messy, noisy and irritating and the thought of being forced to stand in front of them, day after day after day and force feed them something they don’t want to learn and I don’t want to teach them makes me suicidal.”

“A lot of people are forced to work jobs they don’t want to work. It’s called real life.”

“Well not me.” Janae pouted and crossed her arms. “I’d rather sell nude pictures of myself on the Internet than teach snot-nosed brats.” She suddenly sat up straight. “Hold the cream … that’s not a bad idea.”

Paula blinked at her. “You’re not serious.”

“Why not?” She pushed herself out of her chair and walked over to the floor length mirror near the bookcase. “I’m hot. I could do it.” She pushed her chest out and threw back her hair.

“I repeat. You can’t be serious.”

“It would certainly boost my ad revenues.”

“And most likely destroy any decent image you had of yourself.”

“Who cares about that?” Janae ran her hands down her torso and molded her hands to her trim body. “I work out – too much actually. And I’ve had numerous comments from men, and women,” she shot over her shoulder triumphantly, “encouraging me to show more skin.” She cocked her head to one side and critically studied her image. “I hadn’t really thought about it before, but I think this body could make me rich.”

Paula rolled her eyes and repositioned herself on the sofa so that she was lying down. She threw an arm across her eyes and mumble, “Wake me when you get a clue.”

________________________________

(This excerpt is directly from my draft and has not been edited).

This portion is told from Melanie Canon’s POV. I really enjoyed writing this section. Perhaps I could relate? Hhmmm….

To see a map of the setting and find out more about the characters, READ THIS PAGE.

(Comments will be turned off for each NaNoWriMo excerpt that appears this month, not because I don’t value your feedback, but because I can’t afford to get distracted with details at this point. Thank you for understanding).

________________________________

Melanie Canon groaned out loud. She paused in the middle of beating some eggs for breakfast to look at the TV screen.

And nearly dropped her egg beater.

“Whoa. Did I just hear what I thought I heard?” Melanie’s 13-year old daughter, Abigail, walked into the room. “Is school cancelled?”

“No, honey. They are just warning us that a winter storm is on the way.”

“Is that … bad?”

Melanie focused on beating the eggs, her actions perhaps a bit more aggressive than the task called for. “No. It’s simply that time of year. We always get bad weather right now. I’m sure it’ll be nothing. The weather people always predict it’s going to be worse than it actually is.” At least she hoped so. She couldn’t afford to be trapped inside their house for God knew how long and take care of three kids. She had a million and one things to do.

“Cool.”

Melanie sighed and poured the eggs into the frying pan. “Where are your brother and sister?”

Abigail didn’t answer and Melanie counted to five. She still needed to feed the kids, take a shower, pick up the new menus from the printers and make it to work before the first delivery. If no one was there to sign for the delivery, they charged an extra two percent docking fee.

“Abby?” She tried to keep her voice even, but she knew it sounded cold and harsh. She tried again. “Abby honey, I really need to get going today. Can you please round up Eric and Kendall so we can get a move on?”

Abby huffed and pushed out of her chair. “I always have to do everything!”

Melanie rolled her eyes and scrambled the eggs with one hand and popped in two pieces of bread in the toaster with the other.

“Hey there good looking.” Beck Canon kissed her lightly on the cheek before grabbing a cup of coffee.

“Morning,” she mumbled. She tried very hard not to resent the fact that Beck could have cooked breakfast for the kids while she took a shower. She was getting used to not getting any help.

“Mmm, eggs.” Beck grabbed a plate, a spatula and before she had time to protest, spooned nearly half of the eggs onto his plate. “Just what the doctor ordered today.”

“Beck!”

Beck paused, his fork midway to his mouth, a bewildered expression on his face. “What?”

She glared at him for long seconds before tossing her short hair back from her face and busied herself breaking, and whipping more eggs.

“I need to leave town tonight, honey.”

She froze. Lord help her, she was going to kill the man. “What?” she said, without turning around to face him.

“Yeah. There’s a problem with the store in Clinton and I need to get over there and straighten it out.”

“Can’t your manager do it?”

“Well, that’s sort of the problem.”

She turned to face him. Beck smiled around a mouthful of eggs.

“Beck …” she began.

He held up a hand. “I know this is bad timing, Mel, but I need to go. Clinton is one of my biggest stores and if management falls apart, then I lose credibility AND sales. And if I lose sales, then whose going to help finance your hobby?”

Hobby?! Melanie felt like screaming. When was the man ever going to take her new business seriously? She opened her mouth to tell him, in no uncertain terms, just where he could put his money when all three kids came stumbling into the kitchen, all in various modes of undress.

“Stop pushing me!”

“Then move!”

“I’m moving! My legs aren’t as long as yours and …”

“Blahblahblah, move it sister, or I’m going to pick you up and dump you in your eggs.”

“Abby, stop picking on your little sister”

“But she is SO SLOW, mom. It drives me nuts.”

“What’s for breakfast?” Eric asked.

“Eggs and toast,” Melanie answered absently as she settled Kendall in a chair and placed a glass of juice in front of her.

“Again?” Eric whined. “We have that everyday”

“No we don’t, dork. The last time we had eggs and toast was last Wednesday.”

“Hey! I’m not a dork!”

“You are SUCH a dork.”

“MOM! She called me a dork!”

“Abby, stop calling your brother a dork,” Melanie automatically said, her voice flat and robotic. She gave Beck a dirty look. “I don’t suppose you could take the kids to school today?”

“Nope.” Beck continued to chew and watched TV. “Hey, did you know a snow storm is coming our way?”

No shit, Sherlock, is what Melanie felt like saying, but considering the kids were within earshot and she had made a vow to their marriage counselor that she would give 150% of herself to the man, she swallowed her irritation and forced a smile. “I heard.”

“A snow storm is coming?” yelled Kendall.

Melanie winced as Eric whooped with delight.

“We still have to go to school today, though.” Abby offered in a depressed tone of voice.

“Oh man! No fair!” Eric said with his mouth full of eggs. Bits of food flew out and hit Kendall on the cheek.

She squealed her alarm and quickly grabbed a napkin. “Ew! Gross!!”

Abby laughed, Eric grinned, Melanie sighed and Beck ignored them all.

If this storm is for real and they end up canceling school, I’m going to kill myself, thought Melanie.

________________________________

(This excerpt is directly from my draft and has not been edited).

As you can see, this is by InkyGirl, Debbie Ridpath Ohi. You can see more of her work here. Inkygirl

Are you spending too much time agonizing over every sentence of your novel? Do you have a deadline?

Thousands of writers are killing themselves right now over National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), trying to write 50,000 words in a month. A number of our readers are taking the challenge, including Jodi Vander Molen, The Writing Geek and Monica Flores.

Jodi weighed in with some overwhelmed thoughts: "I have heartburn. I find myself crunching word count numbers a lot. I usually write poetry, not exactly a quantity sport. What was I thinking?"

This is what I say--The beauty of NaNoWriMo is that you stop worrying about crafting perfect sentences and pitch-perfect dialogue. You just write and write, and let the novel figure itself out. That's a difficult, rewarding route that most writers never take. 

Novelist J.A. Konrath is struggling to complete 50,000 words in 24 days--pounding out another installment of his Jack Daniels crime series. He has some words of wisdom for writers stuck in the early stages of the process, swamped by plotting. These are words to live by:

"Think about the worst thing that can happen. After you've written a character for a few dozen or hundred pages, and have gotten to know her like a family member, you're going to better understand her goals, fears, and motivations. Think about the most horrible thing that can happen to her, then make it happen."

I'm thrilled with my NaNo progress so far! Not only do I love this story, but I know the characters so well, they've been taking over. Most of the story has been flying onto my computer on its own. I almost feel guilty counting those word count sprints.

I do have to leave my WIP for at least an hour or two tonight, so I can polish a manuscript before running it through my weekly workshop/critique group. No major changes, just some tweaks after reading it in my local group last night. I feel like I'm getting so close to sending STEP MONSTER out, that I want my subs to be as perfect as possible. I also have to make some changes to a YA I'm bringing to a retreat on Saturday.

Here's my NaNo progress:

Reading along …
(And NOT editing. Which is HARD).

Here’s another excerpt from my NaNoWriMo 2007 project entitled: Broken Silence
I recorded this excerpt if you’re interested in listening. If not, or would like to read along, you can click the “more” button below.

(Click the arrow to play
Length: 9.36)

Charlene Kidder’s POV excerpt

To see a map of the setting and find out more about the characters, READ THIS PAGE.

(Comments will be turned off for each NaNoWriMo excerpt that appears this month, not because I don’t value your feedback, but because I can’t afford to get distracted with details at this point. Thank you for understanding).

_____________________________

Chapter One, Section Two - From Darrell Rowe’s POV
The Storm is Coming

He had moved on.

He had been forced to get on with his life.

Darrell sat down on a bar stool and focused his attention back on the television set in his living room.

“The National Weather Service has just issued a severe winter advisory for Nash County until eight a.m. tomorrow. Residents are advised to take precautions.”

He sighed and placed his mug down on the countertop with exaggerated care. Judging by the radar pictures, this was going to be one hell of a storm. He glanced at the clock – 5:45. If he hustled, he had just enough time to drag out his generator and bring in some wood before he had to be at the radio station at 7:00.

After washing out his mug and placing it face down on the drainer, he stuck his feet into some worn, scuffed galoshes, shrugged into a heavy squall jacket and headed outside.

His breath caught in his throat as the bitter cold winds rushed past his face. His eyes began to tear up and he blinked rapidly. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees since last night.

He zipped up his jacket, dug his dark brown leather gloves out of his pocket and began to walk to his shed. He noted a square of cheery, yellow light on his lawn and looked toward the Kidder house. He could see the woman standing at the sink cupping a mug of hot liquid between her hands and the top of the man’s head, presumably sitting at the table. He assumed they were married. He really didn’t know a lot about them. He really didn’t know a lot about any of his neighbors, and that suited him just fine. He had enough interaction with people at work. All he wanted to do when he got home was relax and veg out for a while.

He reached his shed and removed the padlock. He never locked the shed; he never saw a reason to. He lived on a cul-de-sac in a brand new suburb about seven miles from Ashberry. In fact, his cul-de-sac, Fox Court, was the only place in the entire area that had any houses. He thought it was a little odd that Fox Court had filled up first, but he just figured people wanted to stack their claim on a more private area of the development before others moved in.

As a result, the cul-de-sac felt isolated, cut off from the rest of the world and if something was taken from his shed, he figured he knew where he could find the thief, one of his neighbors. He shrugged as he opened the door. If you can’t trust your neighbors, then who could you trust?

Darrell pulled his riding mower over to one side of the shed and removed the tarp covering his generator. He scooted the contraption to the doorway and paused to catch his breath – the sucker was heavy.

The last time he had had to use it was two years ago. He had been living in a rental house on the west side of town, the poverty-stricken side of town, as locals had dubbed it, and they had lost their electricity, again. Every time a thunderstorm rolled through Ashberry, their side of town lost power. And they were usually the last ones to get their power back. He supposed city officials didn’t think the poorer folks needed their electricity as badly as the upper-class.

That had been the biggest reason he had moved into this house – he was tired of buying gas to run his generator. And considering he was the only one in the neighborhood who could afford a generator, his house was usually grand central station until their side of town had their power back. Not that he minded having his neighbors around, but he wasn’t all too thrilled having to worry that something would be stolen, or “borrowed” as a lot of folks called it.

He began pulling it free of the shed when he heard a voice.

“Hey there neighbor.”

He looked up and saw the Kidder woman standing just outside her back door, a bag of trash in one hand.

“Morning.” He dragged the generator to the side of his shed under the awning he had built to protect various equipment from the elements.

“I’m assuming you heard about the snow storm coming in?”

He finished positioning the generator under the eave before swiping his hands and turning to face her.

“I heard.”

“Do you think it’ll be bad?”

“I’m not sure. It sounds bad.”

She nodded and walked toward her trash can. He turned and went back into his shed as she dumped the bag.

She was attractive, he thought. Nice looking in an understated way. He was rather surprised at her neat appearance given it was six in the morning. He grabbed his gas can and exited the shed. He was surprised to see her still standing there.

She had her arms crossed over her chest. She looked more defensive than cold.

“Do you think we’ll need a generator?” She was biting her lip and Darrell watched, fascinated for long seconds. He jerked himself away from la-la land and shrugged.

“It never hurts to be prepared.”

“Glenn, my husband,” she said, almost as if apologizing, “doesn’t think it’s going to amount to anything.”

Again, he shrugged. “It might not be anything. Weather patterns are so unpredictable in this region.”

She nodded, hesitated and then moved toward him, her hand outstretched. “Charlene Kidder. I don’t think we’ve ever actually met.”

He switched the gas can to his left hand and wiped his right palm against the side of his sweatpants. He shook her hand. “Darrell Rowe. It’s nice to meet you.” Her hand was warm, firm and very soft.

“You too. It’s funny how you live next door to someone for a while and never take the time to introduce yourself.”

He smiled politely. “Everyone is so wrapped up in their lives. It’s hard not to take our neighbors for granted.”

“Yeah.” She nodded her agreement and then rubbed her upper arms in an effort to generate warmth. “Is it just me, or has it gotten colder?”

He looked around their backyards before answering. “It has definitely gotten colder. About twenty degrees, I think, from yesterday.”

“We have the strangest weather.” She chuckled softly and smiled.

Her face was much more attractive when she smiled. “Ah, but it never gets boring.”

“Well, that’s certainly true.”

“I take it you guys don’t have a generator?”

“No. We’ve never had a reason to buy one. I suppose if we lose electricity, we’ll just use candles and our fireplace.”

Darrell ran his gaze quickly over her backyard. “Do you … do you have firewood?”

She glanced behind her and then sighed. “Uh, no.” She then gave a self-depreciating laugh. “I guess we can’t use our fireplace if we don’t have firewood.”

“It helps.” He grinned at her and watched her blushed. He liked her.

“Well, maybe I can get Glenn to bring some firewood home today.”

Darrell pointed to the trees behind their houses. “If not, we could always chop a tree.”

Again, she laughed and nodded, her head momentarily lowering to cover her embarrassment. “There’s that.”

They continued to stand, for long moments, awkwardly trying to avoid looking at each other.

“Well, I better get going. I need to get to work and fill up this gas can.” He held up the can as if to prove he wasn’t making up an excuse to get away from her.

“Right. Same here.” She nodded once and offered a friendly smile. “Well Mr. Rowe …”

“Darrell, please.”

“Oh. Um, Darrell then.” Color suffused her cheeks. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“You too, Charlene.”

She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look before offering an uncomfortable nod and turning to go back into his house.

He smiled at her back and can in hand, moved back toward the house. He moved through the kitchen, placed the gas can just right inside the door to the garage so he wouldn’t forget it on his way to work and moved to turn the TV off.

“Again, a winter advisory has been issued for Nash County.”

Darrell paused to look at the updated radar screen. The icy blue blob indicating snow and ice had grown to an alarming size.

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(This excerpt is directly from my draft and has not been edited).

This is my third year participating in National Novel Writing Month. Each year's experience is different.

The first year, I was totally manic. I had planned a lot--had the rudiments of an plot outline, basic characters with traits figured out, and a novel "cover" with a photo of the scene. I had made a hard-copy chart to keep track of my daily progress. I had files with research on technical issues and details. And I read and posted in the NaNo forums a lot.

On top of work and home, I was busy, busy, busy. And I wrote on schedule, using the holidays to get ahead, and finished on 11/25 with 61,000+ words.

I had put out signs trying to get others to join me, but without luck. And when it was all over, I hosted my own success party where I drank with a few friends, who read out portions of my "completed" printed out novel.

That first year was a great experience. And I love that novel (which I'm still editing!)



The second year, I had planned less, but had some basics in hand. A map of my locale, some news clippings for inspiration. I'd re-read my favorite books on writing and had plumbed my new copy of Chris Baty's NaNo book.

And thanks to the efforts of our local Joeten-Kiyu Library, I had two writing buddies who came to the weekly write-ins. Joe Race finished his first NaNoWriMo novel that year. Julia Allen, then working at the library, made some progress with words on paper, but was more the organizational guru for us.

My novel that year felt flat on first reading, although I liked the beginning. I haven't gotten back to it, but I think it has potential to be worked into a worthy second novel.




This year, I haven't planned at all. I decided on my basic story back at the beginning of Nano 1, when all three books were crying to be written and I had to see which one would be written first, then second and now the third one. I start with a premise. And this year, that's all I had on November 1!

Well, that and more Saipan Nanoers! Joe Race, Nancy Nielsen, Connie Nakamura, and "Marianas Life" are all in the writing marathon for the month. Ken Kramer is thinking about it (and may have started by now).

Having buddies in the Nano online community means I have others urging me on to increase my word count. I am woefully behind this year (now about a 1 1/2 days off target), but I have a few organizational tricks I've learned over the years (like keeping a character chart as I write, so I don't forget whose eyes are grey, and who moved to Oregon and Korea and such). I also use a Chris Baty tip-- I draw--with crayons and kindergarten style. So far this year, I've mapped out one party scene and my main character's home and yard. Coffee Care has brown paper on the tables, with handy crayons available, and these are perfect for this part of the process! (Also the wireless is a nice feature!)

I've also returned to that first year necessity of writing badly--lots and lots of words on the page, to (almost) make the word count quotas. Oddly the freedom to do this adds an energy to the writing and makes it better in some ways.

And of course, I'm using the "dares" from the NaNoWriMo forums again. Nanoers dare each other to do things in their novels--like add talking squirrels and recite ridiculous lines. I love these (although I won't take the talking squirrel dare) because they add a touch of whimsy and the unexpected that can lead to better overall plotting.



It's not too late to join NaNoWriMo. There are people who write a 50,000 word novel in a week! The goal is 50,000 words and a beginning, middle and end to the "novel." There's time to do that--or at least get started.

And all I can say is I love doing this. It's a taste of the writing life, all crammed into one 30 day period. Yay!

Hard at work.

I’m now up to 9050 words. Things are still progressing nicely and my characters are starting to feel real to me.

Here’s another excerpt from my NaNoWriMo 2007 project entitled: Broken Silence

You can catch up and read the prologue here.

To see a map of the setting and find out more about the characters, READ THIS PAGE.

(Comments will be turned off for each NaNoWriMo excerpt that appears this month, not because I don’t value your feedback, but because I can’t afford to get distracted with details at this point. Thank you for understanding).

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Chapter One
December 27, 2007 (Morning) – Fox Court

“OW! Cut it out!”

Charlene Kidder rubbed her backside and rolled over in bed to look at her husband. Glenn was lying on his back, his mouth slack, and his facial features completely relaxed; he was fast asleep.

A droplet of spittle slowly spilled over the side of his mouth and slid down his chin.

Charlene made a disgusted face and then sighed. “We have to seriously do something about your kicking, Glenn.”

She wrestled with the covers, assumed a more comfortable position and closed her eyes.

She had so much to do today. She needed to do laundry, go grocery shopping and then devote the rest of her day putting design ideas together for Ashberry’s Chamber of Commerce’s website.

The Chamber of Commerce was her latest client. She had actually bid on this job and was pleasantly surprised when they decided to hire her. This would be a much needed boost to her website design business.

She wasn’t sure how she could tastefully incorporate a bucktooth hillbilly into the city logo, though. Maybe if she used certain colors, or hired an artist to make her a more modern, less hickish character She didn’t want …

“OW! Son of a …” She twisted her torso around to glare at her husband. “Damn it, Glenn, cut it out!” She gently kicked him in the shin which only served to make Glenn jump, momentarily cease his incessant snoring and roll over.

Charlene sighed and threw back the covers. There was no way she was going to get any more sleep with kung fu beside her. She might as well get up and start working on that to-do list.

She stepped into her brown moccasin slippers, nabbed the robe off the foot of the bed and slipped her arms into the frozen cotton.

“Geez, it’s cold today,” she mumbled under her breath while making her way out into the hallway. She paused in front of the thermostat – 62 degrees. No wonder her blood was gelling, Glenn turned the dang thing down too low again.

She scowled and made a mental note to “remind” her husband, yet again, to stop messing with the temperature. Not everyone ran hot like he did.

Charlene padded down the hallway, past a bedroom, the master bath, through the family room and into the kitchen. She sniffed. No intoxicating coffee smell this morning.

She glanced at the clock: 5:12.

She stifled a yawn and hit the on button on the coffee maker. She didn’t like getting up before the coffee had brewed; it messed up her whole day. She frowned and popped a bagel into the toaster. She didn’t like her routine being messed up. She was used to waking up at 5:45, performing her morning hygiene routine, pouring herself a huge mug of steaming vanilla bean coffee, toasting her bagel and fetching the paper off the front porch.

Everything was all screwed up this morning and she felt a finger of irritation tickle the back of her throat.

She walked to the front door and yanked it open. She could tell the weather was turning colder because the front door stuck. It jerked open with small squeal of protest.

“Yeah well, tough.” She grumbled at the door. She hugged the robe closer to her body and peeked out of the storm door window.

No paper.

“Damn it.” She closed the door with a very decisive click and returned to the kitchen. It was going to be a terrible day, she just knew it.

Her mood lightened a bit as she walked back through the house and could smell the fresh aroma of brewing coffee. Her mood further improved when she noted the toaster had toasted her bagel to perfection.

She allowed herself a small smile as she opened the fridge.

The smile slowly dissipated as she noted they were out of margarine.

“Damn it, Glenn.”

The man used half a tub on his toast everyday. She hadn’t realized they were out or she would have made a special trip to the store yesterday in order to ensure they had some for today.

She continued to mumble unkind things about her husband as she fetched her favorite coffee mug, a large eggplant-colored ceramic cup, poured herself some coffee and reached for the sugar bottle.

She lifted the bottle and held it over the cup.

Nothing.

“Damn it, Glenn.”

She filled the bottle up to the within ½ inch from the top and poured exactly three seconds worth of sugar into her brew. She then refilled the bottle to the specified level and replaced it in the cupboard exactly two inches to the left of the coffee canister.

She hooked a finger around the handle of her mug and walked to their butcher block kitchen table. She sat down and took a tentative sip of her coffee. Hot, sweet and oh so satisfying.

She could feel her nerves relax somewhat as the caffeine raced through her body. She gazed out of the window to their large backyard and thought about Glenn.

“You would think, after 25 years of marriage, the man would know not to mess with my routines,” she grumbled.

After several long moments, she sighed. She missed her paper. To distract herself from her broken, and very important, routine, she leaned over and switched on the small television set sitting next to the phone.

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(This excerpt is directly from my draft and has not been edited).

I had actually recorded this, but it cut me off before I finished and I don’t have time to re-record it so I’m afraid you’ll just have to live with not seeing my ugly mug, lol.

I’m up to 4,110 words now. Not a bad start. I wrote a bit more than I had expected to today - hopefully, I can write a larger cushion this weekend. I’ll post another excerpt Monday.

Here’s another excerpt from my NaNoWriMo 2007 project entitled: Broken Silence

This is a continuation of the prologue posted yesterday.

To see a map of the setting and find out more about the characters, READ THIS PAGE.

(Comments will be turned off for each NaNoWriMo excerpt that appears this month, not because I don’t value your feedback, but because I can’t afford to get distracted with details at this point. Thank you for understanding).

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She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. She would remain calm. She wouldn’t give the son-of-a-bitch the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

“Darrell …” she gulped down her emotions and tried again. “Darrell. I just wanted to say, before we die, that …”

She allowed the rest of her sentence to trail off as a sound in the distance caught her attention.

It was a siren – several sirens, actually.

She laughed in relief, looked up at the floor of the car and said, “Thank you God. Thank you very much.”

A tapping sounded in her ear again and she looked over. She was no longer afraid. They were going to be rescued; they were going to live.

“Can you hear me?” A voice shouted from outside.

Charlene flashed a lopsided grin and shouted back, “Perfectly!”

“Great. Look. We’re going to have to pry this thing apart, and it will take a little while, but I want you to know that we will get you out of there, okay?”

“Okay!”

“What’s your name?”

“Charlene Kidder!”

“Is there anyone else in there with you?”

“Yes! My …” she paused. Her what? What exactly was Darrell to her, anyway? “My neighbor,” she finally yelled back.

“What’s your neighbor’s name?”

“Darrell Rowe!”

“Is he hurt?”

“I’m not sure. He’s not moving and he hasn’t said anything since I regained consciousness!”

“Are you hurt?”

“I can’t feel my left arm, but other than that, I think I’m still in one piece!”

“What’s your situation in there?”

“I’m trapped. Darrell is on top of me!”

“Right. Okay, the firemen are here with the Jaws of Life. Hang tight and we’ll get you out of there.”

“I’m not going anywhere!”

She could hear the man outside her window chuckle before moving away. She then heard several male voices after that and she relaxed. They were going to be all right.

Forty minutes later, she was lying in an ambulance.

“Does this hurt?”

“Yes. And if you do it again, I’m going to punch you in the face.”

The paramedic laughed and nodded. “Fair enough. From what I can tell, you’ve broken your arm. Everything else seems to be in fair working order.”

She gritted her teeth and concentrated on not fainting. “Fair? Are you trying to tell me I could be in better shape?”

The man laughed again and simply shook his head. “I’m going to give you a little morphine to help with the pain and stabilize your arm, but I can’t do much more until they x-ray you.”

Charlene nodded and shifted her eyes toward the back of the ambulance. “My … friend. Is he …?”

The paramedic shook his head. “I’m sorry …”

Charlene gasped and blinked back tears.

“ … I don’t know what sort of condition your friend is in.”

She expelled a sigh of relief. There was still a chance that Darrell was all right.

“Mrs. Kidder?”

“Yes?” She looked toward the police officer that had appeared in the doorway.

“Do you feel up to a few questions?”

“Now?”

“Do you have a more pressing engagement?”

She smirked and rolled her eyes. “Swell. I get stuck with the wannabe comedian.”

The police officer chuckled before heaving his big body into the back of the ambulance.

“How is Darrell?”

“Darrell?” the officer asked as he sat down on her left.

“Darrell Rowe, the man who was trapped with me in the car.”

“I …” the officer shifted his eyes away from her. “I don’t know.”

He was lying. She could tell. “Please tell me. Is he okay? Was he hurt? Is he alive?”

The officer chose to focus on the last question. “The last time I checked, he was alive. But he has sustained serious injuries.”

“How serious?”

“How is she?” the officer addressed the paramedic, ignoring her.

She allowed him to dodge her question … for now.

“In surprisingly good shape,” the paramedic answered.

“I better be. I spend enough time exercising,” Charlene mumbled under her breath.

“Well, that too,” the paramedic chuckled. “Her left arm is broken from the shoulder down and she might have a slight concussion judging by the size of her pupils, but considering she was trapped in a car in the shape of a slinky for several hours in this bitter cold, she’s doing surprisingly well.”

The officer nodded. “Thanks.” He turned his attention back to Charlene. “So, Mrs. Kidder, what happened?”

“That’s a good question.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve been trying to figure out what the hell happened for the past eight days now.”

“Eight days?” The officer tilted his head to one side in confusion. “You were in the car for eight days?”

“No. We were only in the car for about,” she shrugged. “I honestly don’t know how long we were in there. The past 24-hours are sort of a blur. It could have been under an hour, it could have been several hours, I honestly don’t know.”

“Wait, back up. You said eight days.”

“Right.”

“Eight days ago … what?”

“Exactly.”

The police officer sighed and looked toward the paramedic as if he could supply the coherent answers he needed.

“She’s doped up.”

“You gave her something?” the officer asked, annoyed.

“Well, yeah. She was in pain. She broke her arm.”

“And I asked him real nice,” Charlene slurred and grinned like a monkey hoping to charm the zoo keeper out of an extra banana or two. “I’m not feeling any pain now, though.”

“That’s apparent,” the officer said under his breath. “Okay, stay with me. What happened eight days ago.”

Charlene sputtered a laugh and gave the officer an incredulous look. “Have you been out of town?”

The officer, not finding her amusing in the least, continued to stare at her, stone faced.

She released a long-suffering sigh and said slowly, “The ice storm.”

“Right.”

“The ice storm from hell,” she mumbled.

“I know about the ice storm, Mrs. Kidder. I’ve been working double shifts ever since the fucker started.”

Charlene gave an overly exaggerated wince. “Such language!”

The officer expelled a sigh and tried a different tactic. “What caused the accident?”

“The Shadow.”

“A shadow caused the accident?”

“Not A shadow, THE shadow.”

“I’m not following.”

“Can you clarify what exactly THE shadow is for me, Mrs. Kidder?”

“I wish I could, officer. We’ve been trying to figure that out for the past eight days.”

“Back to the eight days thing again, eh?”

She gave a few enthusiastic nods and the officer ran a hand over his face.

“I’m not going to get any straight answers out of her, am I” the officer asked the paramedic.

“Probably not until the morphine wears off.”

“Fine.” The officer stood and crouched over Charlene. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

“Sounds good to me,” Charlene replied. “Oh hey, before we talk again, you need to make a trip to Fox Court.”

The officer hopped off the back of the vehicle and turned to look at Charlene. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“There are four dead bodies over there.”

The paramedic shrugged at the officer’s confusion and shut the ambulance doors.

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(This excerpt is directly from my draft and has not been edited).

Okay, my word count is now 1,843 words. I would have written more, but as you can see, I got sidetracked with character sketches.

I’m excited. The prologue turned out better than I thought it would and I think it sets the tone for the rest of the story nicely. We’ll see how the next section goes.

Thanks for your encouraging words!

Here’s an excerpt of my NaNoWriMo 2007 project entitled: Broken Silence

Blurb:

How well do you know your neighbors?

When a major ice storm cripples, and traps, the residents of Fox Court, they are forced to leave the solace of their homes, forego creature comforts and interact with their strange, and dangerous, neighbors. Fear and doubt escalate when people die, children disappear and a strange presence materializes in the ravine. Soon, it becomes apparent that they must not only survive the inclement weather, they must also survive each other and live to tell the world what happened at Fox Court.

To see a map of the setting and find out more about the characters, READ THIS PAGE.

(Comments will be turned off for each NaNoWriMo excerpt that appears this month, not because I don’t value your feedback, but because I can’t afford to get distracted with details at this point. Thank you for understanding).

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Prologue

“Are we dead?”

Charlene Kidder slowly opened her eyes and blinked in the darkness. Why was it so dark? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

It hurt to breathe.

She opened her eyes once more and tried to blink in what was happening. Something heavy was lying on top of her and her head was pressed against something firm, but pliable. She took a few moments to test various extremities – first her toes and then her fingers.

She couldn’t wiggle the fingers on her left hand. In fact, she couldn’t even feel her left arm at all.

An injection of pure fear shot through her body and she tried to sit up, only she couldn’t because of the object on top of her. She fought back an overwhelming urge to scream and swallowed her claustrophobia. She forced herself to calm down and focus on exactly what was happening.

She turned her head, as much as the confinement allowed, and noted she was in a car – an SUV of some sort.

She also noted that she was looking up at the floorboard; her head was resting on the roof of the car.

Confused and more than a little frightened, she tried to move again.

Her body refused to cooperate.

“This is bad. This is very bad.”

A groan sounded above her and the timbre vibrated throughout her body.

She gasped. She suddenly remembered.

Everything.

“Oh my God, Darrell??”

She shifted under Darrell’s weight hoping that the movement would stir him to consciousness. “Can you hear me? Darrell?”

The man groaned again, only this time the sound was barely above a whisper.

“Are you hurt?”

She bit her lip and fought the urge to cry. Sobbing her eyes out wouldn’t get them out of this situation. She needed to think. She wiggled her toes again and took comfort in the fact that her legs appeared to be working. Now, if she could only get Darrell off of her.

“Darrell. I’m going to assume you can hear me. I need you to scoot over so I can slip out from underneath you. I’m,” she gave a little wiggle and winced at the spear of pain that snaked through her left arm, “quite stuck.”

She paused and waited for Darrell to move.

He did not move.

“Darrell?” her voice was squeaky and unsure. She cleared her throat and assumed a more authoritative voice. “Come on, Rowe. Move your ass. We need to get out of here.”

The silence was unbearably loud.

Darrell’s prone body was deathly still. Charlene’s lower lip began to quiver as she realized their situation was more serious than she thought.

She took a shaky breath and forced a steeliness in her voice she was far from feeling. “Now you listen to me, Darrell Rowe. We have come too far and been through too much for you to die on me now. We were close, we ARE close, to escaping that hellhole once and for all. Now we need to move, and fast, or The Shadow will find us and you know what that …”

A rustling outside the vehicle drew her attention and she abruptly stopped talking. Her heart skipped a beat and her bladder felt unbearably tight as she listened to someone approaching the car. The soft sound of crunching footsteps was very close to the window beside her.

She slowly turned her head toward the window … and screamed.

A pale face was staring back at her. She tried to blink the blurry features into focus but it was no use, it was like trying to make out a bad reception on an old television.

The face peered closer and she screamed again when she heard a soft tapping on the window – the window mere inches from her nose.

This was it. She was going to die. She was going to die and it was going to be painful and gruesome, just like all the others.
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(By the way, this is straight from my draft and has not been edited)

This bit on writing just in from NaNoWriMo:

It's a bit like being out of control and totally in charge, simultaneously. Tom Robbins

Why in the heck would you write 50,000 words in one month? There are so many good reasons, and I surfed the Internets and asked our readers why they will undertake this wacky task.

Tomorrow is the first day of "National Novel Writing Month" (NaNoWriMo), an annual international writing marathon staged on the Internet. Thousands of writers have already signed up for this mind-boggling contest, and these are a couple inspiring reasons why:

Novelist J.A. Konrath is leading the pack, struggling to complete 50,000 words in 24 days--if completed, this will be the seventh book in the his Jack Daniels crime series.

Jodi Vander Molen is going to write because she was inspired, no joke, by The Publishing Spot. She writes about her family, "They tell me that instead of focusing on what I didn't do, I should focus on what I want to do ... They both tell me to not worry about writing anything good, to think about the process, like Manny hitting baseballs for hours on end."

The Writing Geek hopes to expand on a few short story ideas and Monica Flores has the most practical reason: "I'm joining for the first time this year because I need the looming threat of a deadline to actually make me finish this piece." No matter why you are doing NaNoWriMo this year, welcome to our site--now tell us why you write.