Finally reached the end of the month and came out a winner
With my winning certificate, the third in three years.
And the chart with the number of words written for the 30 days.
There will be more when the novel is finished in the next day or so.
Month: November 2019
NANOWRIMO Day Thirty
It’s the end.
The last day, but not the last of the story.
Yes, I have almost managed to complete novel in 30 days, but with a few side trips, and changes to the plan on the run, it is mostly written.
The good news?
I’m going to stick with it until I’ve finished, so there will be a few more journal entries to cover the last chapters.
Had it been the length I had originally planned, it would be finished.
I managed to get through the back chapters last night after some distractions, and now its just two, possibly three more, and then one or two for the epilogue, which will be epic.
At the moment the story is about 73,000 words long and will finish closer to 80,000,
It’s been at times a trial, a lot of hard work, but it has been worthwhile. Without the push that NaNoWriMo gives us, it might never have happened.
It’s now three from three, books that will eventually be published.
Is there a reason to get out of bed?
I sometimes wonder if there is.
Is that depression speaking, or am I just tired from all the late nights?
Unlike most writers, authors and bloggers I don’t have a day job. You could say it’s one of the benefits of getting old, this retirement thing, but after a while, not having a reason to get out of bed starts working on your subconscious.
The idea of having a job, and going to work, is a good reason to drag yourself out of bed every morning. And because of this, the idea of sleeping in takes on a whole new meaning.
You know, I’ll just lie here for a few more minutes, and then I’ll get up. Having turned off the alarm, the eyelids flutter, and before you know it, half an hour had passed, and you wake up in fright, knowing you’re going to be late.
In retirement, that doesn’t happen. There is no alarm, there is no guilty pleasure in spending those extra minutes in bed.
Of course, this tardiness, or lack of desire could be because I find I do my best writing in the dead of night, often not getting to bed before 2 a.m. Last night it was a little later because of a story I’m working on came to life with a new idea.
It had been stagnating because it’s part two and whilst I had an idea about where it was going to go, in the end, we’re off in a different direction, and the words flowed. You just don’t stop writing when you hit a vein.
But this isn’t always the case. This morning I have an excuse to stay in bed, but most others I don’t.
Perhaps I should find something else to do, something that will give me that same reason I used to have to get up every morning.
Or maybe I should be more organized in my retirement life, you know, set a schedule and do things according to a timetable. I was never one for being organized, but perhaps it’s time to start.
Just let me lie here for a few more minutes and think about that.
We all seek to escape from reality, for a brief moment or maybe longer
And that’s where escapist entertainment comes in.
Television in the form of a comedy, dramedy, or drama, in series format or just a good movie, gives us that temporary respite from everything that’sd going on around us.
For a longer respite we turn to a book, sometimes an action-packed thriller where the plot could be only too real or a flight of fancy that just borders on the unbelievable. Or maybe a good romance, just to remind us, or reinforce the notion that there can be a happy ending.
But the trouble these days is finding the time as more and more everyday stuff impinges on our lives, making less time for everything else.
Stories have got shorter, e.g. the advent of the ‘novella’.
Mills and Boon head the right idea, making their romance novels fit into 187 pages, not too long and not too short. I don’t know how they did it, I tried writing one, and no way would it fit into 187 pages, but then it did sneak off into the thriller category.
It might be why science fiction and fantasy books are so popular. If we’re going to leave this world for a while, why not go all the way to another world. Things have to be better there, don’t they?
It’s probably why I can come up with so many ideas about being anywhere but here, in this reality. It is probably one of the most boring existence because I cannot work, and in retirement, other than tormenting grandchildren, gardening, which I never really liked, and house renovations, which there are only so many you can do, there’s very little else.
It’s probably why most of us don’t read or view real life. We already have that, we don’t want to be reminded of it.
So…
Time to get back to my other reality.
“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems
A single event can have enormous consequences.
A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.
A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?
A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.
A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.
After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.
From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.
NaNoWriMo Day Twenty Nine
I’m in the middle of writing a new chapter, one that goes back a little in time, but helps set up events that occur later towards the end.
And true to form, it’s going a little off track.
There is scope for it to be a pivotal point in the story but it’s not quite working out that way.
I’m doing this while I’m waiting for my usual Friday grandchild collection from school. Here I have to get here a half hour before puck up time to get a favourable position in the queue.
So it’s a good time to do some writing.
And it’s where I work on one of my stories matched to a photo as inspiration.
Not today.
There are pressures in getting the NaNoWriMo project finished and it’s getting away from me.
This part is not as easy as I hoped, so back to the job. Hopefully there will be better news tomorrow
It’s all about how you are going to ‘sell’ your book
There’s the cover, and, of course, the description.
Probably one of the hardest things for a first-time author is not so much the writing but what is needed after the book is written.
You need a good description. Short, sharp, incisive!
There’s a ream of advice out there, and I have read it all.
And, still, I got it wrong.
Then there is the cover.
I wanted simplistic, a short description to give the reader a taste of what’s in store, and let the story speak for itself.
No.
Apparently, a good cover will attract the reader to the book.
When I tendered my books on various sites to advertise them, sites such as Goodreads, and ThirdScribe, all was well with what I had done.
Then I submitted my books to a third site and they rejected the covers as too simplistic and the descriptions mundane, and wouldn’t post them.
Wow.
There’s a huge blow to the ego. And just the sort of advice that would make a writer think twice about even bothering to continue.
But…
Perhaps the person who wrote that critique was being cruel to be kind.
At any rate, I am changing the covers, and rewording the descriptions.
Will it be a case of ‘what a difference a cover makes’?
A book review
Life at the end of the Rainbow, by Jenny Andrews
Poetry is like art, its beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
But, while art can be very subjective, poetry often has a special meaning, to both the writer and then the reader. In turn, for each of us readers, a poem will have a different meaning, some will see what it represents, and others may not.
And, whilst I have not read a lot of poetry over the years, that changed recently when I subscribed to several blogs and discovered this whole new class of literature.
This view was strengthened when I came across a volume of poems by Jenny Andrews, titled Life at the End of the Rainbow.
For me, each poem is an insight into an extraordinary life, where the author sometimes lays bare those raw emotions, which, at times, we will find ourselves drawing parallels.
In a sense, I think we have all been to this mythical place called, The End of the Rainbow, and sometimes need a gentle reminder that it took a lot of ups and downs to get there.
This is, to my mind, a remarkable piece of work.
I, for one, can’t wait to see what the next stage of the journey will be.
“Second Thoughts”, a short story
Get me to the church on time.
It was a tune out of My Fair Lady, and it was in my head the moment I woke up that morning. And this day was, to quote some immortal’s line, was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
But, somehow, it didn’t feel like that and lying under the warm covers of my bed, perhaps for the last time at my parent’s home, the last place I thought I’d find myself, I began to consider how it was I had ended up in this situation.
It was not a question of who the bride was, we had been friends from an early age and used to joke about getting married, but at the age of six or seven, that was a concept rather than something we might act on in the future.
Except that was how it panned out, and, not for the reasons one might think would lead to such an eventuality.
Yes, we were close friends till the early teens, then my family went in one direction, New York, and her family went in another, San Francisco, and in each place both families built successful businesses.
Josephine, the intended bride, and I met off and on over the next fifteen years, some of that mutually when we were at university together, and, I might add, living together. Even then, there had been no suggestion of permanency because we each had to go home to eventually work in the family business.
In those few years, it had been easy because there had been no expectations by either of us. We simply came together, stayed together, and parted at the end both happy to have enjoyed the experience.
Then, several events changed the course of our lives.
My father died unexpectedly at a crucial point in the company’s expansion, and without his direction, it began to flounder. Then, Josephine arrived in New York to open a branch of her family’s business, and just happened to arrive on the day of my father’s funeral.
I thought it a coincidence and was grateful for her support at a time when I needed it.
A month after that, one of the lead investors in the new expansion plan pulled out, as was his right because the loan had been contingent on my father overseeing the project. It was the end of a very bad week, and instead of being the last to leave the office, I left early, called up an old friend, Rollo, who had followed us to New York, and we went to his favourite bar.
He suggested a night on the town was called for and I agreed with him. I think by that time I’d had enough of the problems for a few days. But with Rollo, I learned no invitation was without its twists and turns, so when he said his sister was bringing a friend, I had to act happy even if I didn’t feel like it. Her friends could be a little strange.
Another coincidence, the friend was Josephine. Hearing from her once maybe, but twice in the same week, I didn’t think so, so I let it pass. Yet despite my reservations, in the end, I had to admit I was glad to see her because the last thing I wanted to do was entertain a quirky woman I didn’t know.
Long story short, Josephine’s family business came aboard as the replacement investor, but not without some rather stringent requirements, and though no one on either side would admit it, it was suggested that perhaps Josephine and I would make an excellent match. After all, we were childhood friends, had lived together without the problems that sometimes came with it, and we would be working very closely together.
I proposed, she accepted, and everyone was happy.
Well, not everyone.
I was down in the dining room getting breakfast, before the wedding, when Rollo arrived. It went without saying Rollo was going to be the best man.
Curiously, he was neither surprised nor shocked to learn of my proposal, but it was a surprise to learn, in a roundabout way, he wasn’t exactly happy for me. It was not anything I could put my finger on, but more of a feeling I had. And, to be honest, before I had proposed to her, I was sure that Rollo had feelings for her, and at times I thought how much more sense it would make if they were together.
I’d even asked him once or twice if he liked her, and he just said they were friends.
The other side of that equation was his sister, Adrienne, who was, I thought, charming, funny, and sometimes a little offbeat, which is why I was drawn to her. Over time, I think I may have developed feelings for her, but by the time those feelings were rising to the surface, I was advised that a woman of Josephine’s standing was more my type.
My mother could be very annoying at times, and whilst she might be looking after her son’s best interests, she was also looking after the company’s interests as best she could. I suspect Josephine’s parents were the same, hoping their daughter would marry advantageously.
Rollo, being on the outside, had summed it up perfectly, ‘if this had been the eighteenth century there’s no doubt you two would be the perfect match’.
“You look as happy as I feel,” I said when I saw him.
“It’s going to be a big day, church wedding, in Latin of all languages, then the society event of the year. What’s not to be happy about?”
Put like that, I shrugged. “A registry office, burger and chips at the local diner, then a few days in the Catskills would have sufficed.”
“And on what planet do you think you are right now?”
I didn’t answer. I simply poured another cup of black coffee and sat down. It was a large room, with seats for a dozen, and I was the only one up. I had expected a room full of family members, of which at least twenty were upstairs right now recovering from last night’s festivities.
Rollo poured some tea into a cup and sat opposite. “OK. What’s wrong? Wedding day jitters?”
Could he read my mind?
“It just doesn’t seem right. I mean, it seems we have been on this track forever, but you know, there’s something missing.”
“Love?”
Exactly. It was another of those thoughts I had just before I got out of bed. I liked her, maybe I loved her once, when I didn’t really know what love was, but now? I don’t know what it was I felt about her. I had been expecting those mythical thunderbolts to strike, but as the days, weeks, and months wore on, it just didn’t happen.
It was almost if we were going through the motions.
“It feels like it’s going to be a marriage of convenience.” There, I said it.
And I expected Rollo to start having a fit. Instead, he concentrated on putting three spoonful’s of sugar into his tea and stirring. And stirring. And stirring.
“Say something,” I said. “Anything. Tell me I’m being stupid, tell me to get out of my funk and screw my courage to the sticking place, or whatever it is you say in times like this.”
“It’s not like you to drop a bomb like this at a time like this…”
I felt he had more to say, the good part where he’d call me an ass, and then tell me to get my shit together. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“But…”
“But I rather get the impression this wedding might not be going ahead.”
“It has to. God knows how many people have put themselves out to be here. It was, my mother said, a logistical nightmare.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened.”
“You’re supposed to be arguing for the wedding, not against it.”
“I would if I knew your heart was in it. But it isn’t, is it? I think you’ve spent so much time trying to please everyone else, that you have forgotten about yourself. I know you’re not happy. I also happen to know that Jo isn’t either.”
“You’ve spoken to her?”
“Just before I got here. Call her. You two need to talk. In the meantime, you’re going to have to repay a huge debt after I somehow manage to sort this mess out. My car’s outside. Leave now, and I’ll let you know when it’s safe to return.”
“Where will I go?”
He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll know by the time you get in the car.”
It was reckless and would cause a lot of pain and anguish for my mother, but I considered how much more pain it would cause to Josephine if I didn’t call it off.
I made the call on the way upstairs to finish dressing.
“I’m assuming you’ve spoken to Rollo?” She didn’t wait for me to speak.
“You feel the same way?”
“It started out with the best of intentions, but I can’t help thinking if we were right for each other we would have married after university. We are best friends, Alan, and I don’t think it’s ever going to progress from there. I know you feel that too, it’s just the pressure from our families has managed to mask our true feelings.”
“Do you have any idea what sort of storm is about to erupt?”
“Everyone will get over it. There’s too much at stake on both sides for there to be any real or lasting consequences. I guess Rollo is going to have his work cut out for him. I’ll see you one the other side.”
She didn’t say what other side, but I suspect it meant when the dust had settled.
I literally ran downstairs, mainly because I heard movement and didn’t want to run into anyone, and out the door towards Rollo’s car.
Once again I had to admire the fact he had exquisite taste in cars, and the one he’d brought was no exception, a Lamborghini, yellow, fast, and he knew I wanted to drive it.
What I didn’t expect. His sister, Phoebe, sitting in the passenger seat.
© Charles Heath 2019
NaNoWriMo Day Twenty Eight
I never thought I would get to this point, where there’s almost a complete novel.
It is quite remarkable that it is possible if you decide to focus, to get a novel out in a month.
What it does tell you is that proper planning is really a necessity if you want to succeed.
But…
It’s not the be-all to end all.
I’m not going to stop flying by the seat of my pants, but it’s given me another insight into the writing process.
I’m up to the business end of the story, and it requires concentration, and, it will not be the first time I have written a page or two, gone back to reread it and make an adjustment.
I have to be careful not to be overly critical. After all, it is only the first draft and I’m not looking for, nor should I be expecting perfection.
It won’t be, but I can always hope.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 