If you haven’t signed up for NaNoWriMo yet, there’s still time. You have all of today to procrastinate, but tomorrow is time to buckle down and get started. So far I have three different story ideas calling to me, but they are just that–ideas. No plot, no outlines, no character sketches, just three different ideas knocking around in my head.
I made it! Thirty days, thirty pieces of writing created from a prompt of three words. Some I liked, some I didn’t, but I made it through and that was the goal. I ended up creating more words than I would need. Here are the unused words:
ocean, woman, man, hatred, trails, mountain, shoelaces, tree, summer, Japan, lottery, gravy, plaza, duplicate, pants
I’m considering continuing with some sort of daily writing exercise, so let me know if you enjoyed this month-long peek inside my brain.
Now I’m gearing up for NaNo because November 1 is just two weeks from today. I still don’t have any solid idea of what I’m going to write. A couple of the story snippets I posted for the days of genius really appealed to me, so I might use them in the novel. Or I could always write a sequel to last year’s novel. Either way, I’m sure that on November 1, I’ll be writing something.
I’m thinking about posting my NaNo novel as I write it, but I’m not sure I’m that brave. After all, the order of the day for NaNo is velocity, and the novel I wrote last year is in pretty bad shape. A few hundred words a day with each day being unrelated is one thing, but nearly 2,000 words a day that are supposed to form a cohesive novel is something entirely different.
It was time. The pontoon bridge had been deployed at 0300. Now all we had to do was cross it, drive deep into enemy territory, find the exact location of the camp, take out the bad guys, rescue the hostages, and drive back out, all without the enemy finding out our position or intent. Piece of cake. Like taking candy from a baby. Easy as pie. Add various other clichés here.
I may be sarcastic but I’m also realistic. This was basically a suicide mission, which is why it was volunteer only. The jungle made locating the base difficult, especially since they kept moving it. Tonight’s mission was the hostages best chance for rescue–maybe their only chance.
Our team was small even though nearly two dozen had volunteered. I had hand picked each member to give us the best possible chance. We were going and we were coming home. Simple as that. I would do my best as CO to make sure every man came back safe. We’d been over the plan enough times that each man knew exactly what his job was. Now it was time to put the plan into action.
Writing prompts: time, candy, pontoon
I led the last dog back to its crate. While I loved my job at the veterinary hospital today had been especially trying. We had four emergency cases in critical condition come in this afternoon so I had been going non-stop for close to six hours.
My phone rang from somewhere in the depths of my purse. I almost let it go, glad to finally leave the office, but my conscience reminded me that it could be an emergency. I flipped it open without bothering to check the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Kate, where are you? I’m standing out front but you didn’t answer the door.” My best friend Jen’s voice came through the speaker.
Shit. I was supposed to be going to the opera tonight with Jen. That’s what my brain had been trying repeatedly to remind me about today. I looked down at my blood stained clothes and cringed. I needed a shower and a change. It was twenty minutes home and a least twenty for the shower and wardrobe swap, then thirty or more to the event center. I was pretty sure it started at eight thirty, so I was going to be at least thirty minutes late.
“Kate? You there?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m just leaving work.”
“Kate!” The whine in her voice came through perfectly.
“I know, I know. It’s been a crazy day. You go on, I’ll catch up. I should be less than half an hour late.”
Writing prompts: dog, opera, hospital
The couch spring pressed uncomfortably against my spine. The ancient couch may have once been a shade of blue but now it was a dingy gray. There were obvious sags where the cushions had been compressed over and over by the countless women sitting in this same office. The wall across from me had peeling paint that might have been yellow and a magazine rack barely clinging to the wall. The magazines were all at least four years old.
The telephone rang, and rang again before the receptionist finally picked it up. She, too, looked like she had been here too long and seen too much. Her drab green sweater was worn in places and ill-fitting on her plump frame. Her voice was harsh as she spoke into the receiver, a result of too many cigarettes. Though working here for as long as she had would drive anyone into vice.
The little bell above the door tinkled merrily, a stark contrast to the gloom of the rest of the office. The door swung open to admit a young woman. She was bundled against the cold, dry winter air that followed her in. She looked scared, under all of her heavy clothing, as all did when they entered for the first time.
Her eyes locked on to mine and she looked startled to see someone here that shared her fate. She smiled timidly at me. I scowled back, angry that she could still smile, even in a place like this. She dropped her eyes and her shoulders hunched under her coat. I felt a flash of vindictive glee that I had made someone else’s day just as shitty as mine. That’s right, sweetheart, life’s a bitch and so am I.
Writing prompts: winter, spring, telephone
