I found it ironic that, in the current real estate market, it still took us less time to sell out or house than to close on our new one. You’d think that banks would be falling over themselves to sell their all-but-foreclosed houses — at the asking price, no less — but this was not the case.
Like after the last move, we’re clanging around the area, trying to familiarize ourselves with the new neighborhood. Thing One is starting in a new school. And I had to figure out my commuting arrangements. But unlike six months ago, we actually have room to unpack. No more living out of boxes! Hallelujah!
After living in a state of about-to-move/moving for almost a year, it’s harder than you’d expect to just settle in.
“Relax,” I tell myself. “You’re home.”
Happy Boxing Day!
This was possibly the best Christmas ever.
The food was excellent. The gifts were wonderful. The kids stayed in their pajamas and played nicely together all day. And my beatuful gamer wife and I spent the day wandering our respective irradiated wastelands on our computers: she in Fallout 3, and I in STALKER.*
If only every Christmas could be so relaxing.
* Technically, the game is a called S.T.A.L.K.E.R. – Shadows of Chernobyl, but there’s no way I’m typing all those periods in the middle of a word, and I’m not sure how to spell “Chernobyl.”
I finished my Nano novel yesterday. Which, yes, is the second week of December (a week later than I’d predicted), but it’s done, done, done.
Just over 51,000 words, which means that in the process of the impending re-writing and editing, I should try to add another 10-15K, so it’s actually saleable. Looking back on my slim volumne of pulpy prose, that shouldn’t be a problem. I was over halfway done before I realized that I’d never bothered to describe any of the main characters, so that should be another 3K right there. (Although in my defense, I just finish reading a horror-scifi novel in which none of the characters had more than a few words of description apiece. It was a movie tie-in, but still.)
Done. It’s a good feeling. I’m looking forward to feeling it again.
This is the last full week of November, the home stretch for NaNoWriMo, and I’ve got 44,000 words in the bank. They’re not all good words: Many are mispelled, grammatically incorrect, or strung together in sentences that would my tenth-grade English teacher weep. But there 44,000 of them, and that’s all that matters.
Only 6000 more by next Monday to “win” NaNoWriMo.
That might happen. We’re going to be on the road for the next five days. While we’re bringing the laptop computer, but I suspect the moment the car stops moving we’ll be asleep, up to our ears in joyful family festivities, or both. And that’s okay. There’s no prize for winning, aside from the glow of satisfaction. And I can get that the first week of December, if that’s when I get around to finishing the thing.
I should point out how wonderful my beautiful literary agent wife has been through all of this. She’s been extremely supportive, even going so far as to take the girls out for two afternoons of fun last weekend, leaving me home alone to write for a while on Saturday and Sunday. I made huge strides those days, and owe her a debt of thanks… A debt that can only be repaid by taking the girls out for two afternoons of fun some weekend.
On the NaNoWiMo forums, I found a post recommending this awesome site: Write Or Die.
The site is not a text editor, but it has a field where you can type. And if you stop typing for more than a few second (a range you can edit), the site reminds you to keep writing. This reminder may come in the form of gentle pop-up, an annoying sound effect, or (if you’re hard core) deleting your words before your very eyes.
Like many, I find it hard to turn off my internal editor and just put words on the page. Which makes Write or Die a great tool. For anyone else in my boat (welcome!) I can’t recommend this site enough. I expect to be using it quite a bit the rest of the month.
Like a passive-aggressive computer A.I., I’m still alive. Unlike said A.I., I’ve been filling the past couple weeks by researching and purchasing a new computer to replace the PC that was dying on me and preparing for NaNoWrMo, so there hasn’t been a lot of time and energy left for blogging.
Even now, I’m wrapping this up so I can finish off the outline for my NaNoWrMo novel, which I’m starting on Saturday (November 1, of course).
Last night, while Thing One was taking her bath, Thing Two stepped into the bathroom and asked, in her broken three year-old English, “Do you want to see something sad?”
“Okay,” said Thing One.
Thing Two produced three Powerpuff Girls dolls and a stuffed poodle. She arranged the four toys on the bathroom floor, each lying on its back (the poodle’s legs sticking up in the air), then joined them on the floor. She lolled her head and stuck her tongue out.
“We’re dead,” she said, and closed her eyes.
“I’ll always remember you,” said Thing One with a fake sob.
“The moment the blades came out, the party folks backed off to give us some room. Duels didn’t happen every day, but they were common enough with this crowd that they knew the score.
“As we maneuvered for position, occasionally swinging at each other, we gradually moved to the front of the ship. It was more wide open up there, more flat. It’s what they used for a dance floor sometimes. And I started to wonder what I got myself into.
“I’d been a decent swordsman that last time we’d met, though it was more luck than skill that kept me alive that time. But my two years with the sand-walkers had really honed my skills. Those boys don’t mess around when it comes to sword training. And the constant attacks by the dune apes meant I got to practice for real almost ever night.
“But Slaggorn was no ape. And as I found out later, he’d spent the last two years fighting border skirmishes against Myratas. So while I was getting good, he was getting even better.”
“Half way through the party, old Slaggorn tracks me down where I’m shooting the breeze with the baroness. He’s smiling and insulting me without really insulting me — you know, nothing you can officially take offense at — and I just blow him off. I never was much good at the social games those lords and ladies like to play. I’m ignoring him, but I can tell he’s getting mad, so then he starts in on the baroness.
“Now, the baroness, she knows how to play these word games. She starts sparring with him, upping the ante, until she’s got him cornered. He either has to shut up and walk away, or step across that line and say something truly insulting. Either way, with all those fancy folks standing around watching, Slaggorn wasn’t going to get out of there with his honor intact.
“If he were a calmer man, Slaggorn would have graciously admitted defeat, offered a toast to the baroness, and spent the rest of the party on the far side of the boat. But if he were a calmer man, he wouldn’t have been Slaggorn. And he was mad. He didn’t pause for more than a second before he dove across that line.”
The old man finished off his bottle and reached for another.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He insinuated that the baroness had killed her father when she chose to marry the baron. Gave him a broken heart, he said. And then he said her father was better off dead, because he couldn’t see what his daughter had done to the family name.
“I couldn’t let that stand. I challenged that pompous ass to a duel. Reckon I had my sword in hand before he even accepted. If he’d said no, I probably would have run him through then and there.
The old man laughed and handed me a beer. I saw three empty bottles already sweating on the floor next to his chair.
“Fallin’ off the roof was nothing,” he said. “Now falling out of the doggone sky – now that’s a fright.”
I smiled and leaned back. That was all the encouragement he needed.
“This is when I was… overseas, of course. I was on one of them flying boats they had over there, like I told you about. Well, this one was the biggest I’d ever seen. It was like an aircraft carrier — huge! You could have three or four football games going on at the same time on that thing.
“Well, the baroness was holding one of her masked balls on this thing, and of course she invited Slaggorn. Out of courtesy, mind you — I told you about the tussle him and me got into back in the desert — nobody thought he’d show up — but the S.O.B. not only shows up, he brings his full retinue and makes a grand entrance!”
He chuckled to himself and took a long pull on his bottle.