Thursday, November 01, 2007

In Which It's November and That Means I'm Writing Every year since 2002 I've been signing up for nanowrimo and this year is no different. The only difference is that this year I went into it not feeling well and not having had enough sleep. I I had insomnia again on Tuesday night so I took something last night to help me sleep. It helped. I slept. I even overslept. And still, I managed to get today's 2000 words typed and done. My goal is to type 2000 words per day because I know that there will be bad days, days when I will feel too sick to write or think. Rather than fall behind, I'm going to try to stay ahead. That said, there is a bit of my nanovel below.
Aries Horoscope for week of November 1, 2007 A top official at the European Robotics Research Network predicts that humans will "be having sex with robots" sooner than anyone expected -- probably within four years. I hope this little shocker will help motivate you to follow my astrological advice for the coming week, which is to flee in the opposite direction of that trend. Start by phasing out any robotic, machine-like behavior that may have crept into the way you make love. For that matter, deprogram yourself of any automatic, lifeless habits that are infecting your approach to expressing intimacy, tenderness, and togetherness.
I walk into the kitchen. “Waverly, we need to talk.” I open and close the refrigerator in one motion. “We’re moving to Georgia.” I’m standing with my keys in my hand. My mother is talking. “I’m transferring to an office in Marietta.” I can hear the words but they don’t make sense. I haven’t even had time to put down my keys. She’s sitting at the kitchen table. “I need to move closer to Walter.” My mouth is dry. “I’m pregnant.” The shaking starts somewhere inside. Soon I’m shaking all over. “I know you weren’t expecting this.” I am looking through her. I can’t see my mother. I can only hear her words. “I wasn’t planning any of this but now that it’s happened, I need to move so the baby can be closer to the father.” I am holding onto my keys. I am holding on. “Say something.” I say nothing. I walk out of the kitchen, go to my bedroom, slam the door behind me. I’m still shaking when I try to open my hands, fisted against my mother’s words, but my fingers are stiff and it hurts to let go. My keys have cut a line into my palm. Red. Angry. I drop my keys and then drop myself across my bed. I start to cry, trying to drown out the tentative knock on my door. I don’t say come in. Eventually my mother walks away. Eventually, I stop crying.


  1. Ann,

    Thanks. But I ended up hating what followed. I just couldn't get it right. Still doesn't feel right. This was the best part of it. Now I'm off on something else and will probably drop it altogether as well because right now nothing I write feels right. Which is strange. Usually nano gets me away from that "inside my head" stuff. This year . . . not so much.