Tips for NaNoWriMo

Well, October is over the half way mark and for a lot of people that means gearing up for this year's NaNoWriMo. If you aren't familiar, November is National Novel Writing Month. Every year thousands of people sign up online and pledge to write a 50,000 word novel in thirty days. With daily word counters, a supportive online community and pep talks from some fantastic writers, it's a great way to blow your writer's block right out of the water. After all, there's no better silencer for the inner critic than a looming deadline. Unfortunately, I won't be participating this year, I'm deep in editing land, but I was a winner for the June Camp NaNoWriMo and so I thought I'd share a few of my tips and tricks for anyone who's considering giving it a try this year.

1) First off, do not fall behind. Hit your targets every day, right from the start. Don't assume that you'll be able to catch up on the weekend when you have all that free time. You won't. Believe me. You just won't.

2) However, if you do fall behind, don't give up. Yeah, I know what I just said, but falling behind doesn't mean you get to throw in the towel. Dig deep, throw in a few very late nighters and you'll be back on track.

3) Have an idea of your story before you start. No, you don't have to have it all mapped out ahead of time (unless you want to) but have a general idea of the characters, the plot. It'll keep you from staring at a blank page, wondering where the hell you're going with all this. Use this time before the start date to chew on your story, let it start building in your head and then let the momentum take you.

4) If your story just isn't working, change it. NaNoWriMo is the perfect chance to experiment with your writing. Think about it, with no time to care about the rules, you can be free to just create. (Because really, that's what it's all about.)

5) Please remember: Although it's called National Novel Writing Month, at the end you will NOT have a finished novel. What you will have is a rough draft and a very satisfying feeling of accomplishment. Don't get me wrong, completing a 50,000 word manuscript in a month is extremely impressive, but don't forget that there's a lot of work to follow. I won in June 2012, and I'm still editing. And frankly, I will be for a while. Every rough draft needs a ton of work before it's suitable for an agent, a publisher and the general public.

6) Have fun! I know that sounds like a cliche, but it really is fun. Incredibly stressful fun. But as your fingers race over the keyboard, pounding out word after word, an undeniable feeling of elation begins to envelope you. It's magic!

All right, good luck and God bless! I'll see you on the other side.

The Random Bad Movie Generator

The other day I was talking to a fellow at work about bad movies. Apparently, he hadn't realized that ABRAHAM LINCOLN, VAMPIRE HUNTER was a book first before it was a movie. (And yes, I realize we probably should have been a little more productive with our time).

"Oh, really?" he said, "I just assumed it was a bunch of writers, sitting in a room picking random words out of hats. Like, okay name: Abraham Lincoln. Random noun: Vampire. Profession: Hunter."

I laughed. "Good thing they didn't get Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Gynecologist. Although, that I might have been able to sit through."

We had a good laugh, but it got me thinking. What if that was really how they got ideas for movies? I decided I had to give it a try myself, so I did. I got three bowls, one for famous historical figures, one for random nouns and one for professions. This is what I came up with. (And by the way, if any of these spark a story idea for you, please feel free!)

Joan of Arc, Bacon Teacher
George Washington, Cloud Embalmer
Julius Caesar, Eggplant Waiter
Thomas Edison, Toenail Biographer
Queen Victoria, Snake Pirate

I will admit, that was a lot of fun. I'm most intrigued by Queen Victoria, Snake Pirate and George Washington, Cloud Embalmer. Now, if I really wanted to challenge myself, I'd write stories to go with them...

Great Beginnings

A few days ago I responded to a writing prompt on a Wattpad Workshop led by Alice Kuipers. It was about writing great beginnings, which is a skill every great writer needs (and one I'm not sure I've mastered yet). How many great books have been put down and never finished because they failed to pull you in right at the beginning? I have so many books I want to read that if one doesn't pull me in within the first couple of chapters, I give up and move on. And those are the lucky ones to have made it that far. If I'm standing in a bookstore, trying to decide on a book, I'll read the first page. If I'm not immediately filled with desperation to know what happens next, I don't buy it.

So, the challenge was to write the beginning of a story or novel using the phrase "A storm is on its way" and try to make it irresistible with only 400 words. Alice was kind enough to give feedback on the entries, but I thought I'd also like to share my entry here and let you be the judge of whether I was successful or not. Tell me, have I created an enticing beginning? Enjoy.

“A storm is on its way.”

I wish I could get that line out of my head. That and the way she’d looked at me when she said it. She tried to play it cool, bending over my palm, frizzy black hair falling across her face. But I could still see the frown lines decorating her face, the creases in her forehead. Her mouth tight and straight as a pin.

“It can be a good thing,” she reminded me. “Storms bring renewal, they cleanse.” But we both knew it wasn’t that kind of storm.

I tried to remind myself that I didn’t believe in fortune telling as I walked home, trudging along the sidewalk. Fall was in full swing, the leaves dancing across the sidewalk like kids at play. I’d only done it for fun, I told myself. They’re all fake anyhow. It was how they made their money. They made you want to come back and learn more. They made you desperate.

Despite it all, I couldn’t rid myself of a growing sense of foreboding. Every shadow seemed to be reaching for me, their sharp fingers stretching out long and narrow. Every object seemed full of malice. The swings at the park seemed to shriek, the mailbox on the corner gaped at me with its open, hungry mouth.

When I got home I locked the door behind me, taking the stairs two at a time, pushing my bedroom door closed behind me. It was all just make belief. That fortune teller couldn’t actually tell the future. I moved towards the window and peered out around the curtain. It was bright and sunny, not a cloud in the sky. It should have reassured me, but it didn’t. A storm was on its way, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.

300

This is my three hundredth post. I feel like I need to do something momentous to mark the occasion, but when I thought about writing a piece of flash fiction to celebrate, all that came to mind was the movie 300. Do you remember when it first came out and everyone was talking about how visually stunning it was? Now, if you watched it, the only thing you'd notice is how epically corny it is. Okay, I shouldn't speak for everyone. There are probably people out there who still like it. Where was I going with this? Right, three hundred. This is post number three hundred and I couldn't be happier. I have 31 followers and hopefully by the time I reach my thousandth post I'll have a hundred. (Although to be frank, I'd much prefer to have a thousand followers. Insert shameless plug here: follow my blog!) So, I was left with my conundrum. How to properly celebrate reaching the big three hundred? I agonized and agonized and finally just decided to do a piece of flash fiction anyway. So, I guess the moral of the story is: the answer to your question is usually the first thing that springs to mind. You can try chasing down a better one, but you'll probably just end up going in circles. Enjoy!

300

She sat back in her chair, closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the wall behind her. The lights overhead caused stars to burst beneath her eyelids like fireworks. She massaged her temples and took slow, deep breaths. With a sigh, she opened her eyes and sat forward, shuffling the sheets of wrinkled paper in front of her into order. 

She leafed through them slowly, her cramped, erratic handwriting filling each page and spilling out into the margins. She'd numbered them as she went; the only sign of order on the crowded pages. She caught snippets as she skimmed along but didn't stop to read her reasons. She knew them all by heart. 

She turned to the last page and ran her finger over the number at the bottom. 300. 300 reasons. She waited, let the quiet press in on her. It was right there in her own handwriting. 300 reasons why she should leave. 300 reasons why this would never work. 300 reasons to get up, take the suitcase waiting by the door and take herself away. She could start somewhere new. This could all by a faded memory. 

She traced the number one more time, felt the impression it made on the paper. 

"Don't be a fool," she whispered. 

She stood up, went to the door and picked up the suitcase. Outside, she pulled the door shut behind her and fit her key into the lock. She stopped. Her suitcase sat quietly on the step beside her, adding nothing. She stood, the sun warm on her back, hand on the key. She couldn't turn it. She couldn't lock the door. 

She pulled the key from the lock slowly and slid it back into her pocket. She picked up her suitcase and went back inside, down the hallway and into the bedroom to unpack her things. She may have had 300 reasons to leave him, but she only needed one to stay. She loved him.

There you have it! I hope you liked it, because it was either this or a list of three hundred reasons why I'm awesome. So, I think I clearly made the right choice. Hopefully, this has inspired you to follow my blog as well as perhaps come find me on twitter, @MelanieKCole. Either way, I appreciate you taking the time to read my scribbles and I always welcome your comments. Thank you for celebrating my three hundredth post with me, may it bring good luck to you all day long.

Behind the Curtain Flash Fiction Contest Entry

Welcome one and all to my continued efforts with Submit-O-Rama and my contest entry for the Behind The Curtain Flash Fiction Contest. So far, I'm on track with submitting once a day and today's no different. So, without further ado, I give you today's submission: my entry to the contest. Enjoy!

Behind the Curtain

 

The theater is filled with fog. It spills out across the stage, falls down into the orchestra and reaches out across the seats until every thing is cloaked in mist. The dancers pirouette in perfect unison, graceful limbs eerily white against glittering costumes.

They are too far away to get a good look at their faces, painted like porcelain dolls. But I watch them move, bending and twisting to the music. It seems impossible, such graceful dancers, their movements so in sync.

The music is as ephemeral as the fog, creeping through the dark theater, filling my ears. It circles the dancers like a nest of serpents.

At the end of the show, applause erupts from the audience as though they just woke up and found themselves standing and clapping. I stay behind when they leave, flattening myself against the ground and crawling beneath the seats as the janitors start cleaning up.

I climb down into the orchestra pit, pushing against the big black door that leads backstage.

The musicians are gathered on the other side, clutching their instruments in skeletal hands, blank featureless faces staring at one another despite their lack of eyes, as though chatting after the big show.

I creep past, staring back at them in fear, but they don't seem to notice me. I should leave now, but I have to see the dancers. I want to know how they can move so beautifully, in such perfect unison.

I find them behind the curtain, just off stage. They stand motionless, as still as the furniture around them. I approach, despite the hairs raising on my arms, and gently tap a dancer's alabaster arm.

She doesn't move, doesn't flinch, her flesh icy cold. I come around to peer at her face, but there isn't one. Her make up wasn't done up to look like a doll. She is one. They all are. And on their limbs are thousands of delicate strings, disappearing up into the rafters.

I turn and leave as quickly as I can, anxious to avoid meeting their puppet master. I don't breathe until I'm safely outside in the fresh air, striding away. I don't look back and I never return.

It's never a good idea to peek behind the curtain.

Contest entry details and other entries can be found below. And as always, your feedback is always appreciated in the comments section below. 

Thanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving Monday here in Canada. Which means I have the day off; just one of the many things I'm grateful for. No, that doesn't mean I'm going to bore you with a superficial rant about being grateful, making lists of happy things like so many people do on Thanksgiving. That's not to say that I'm ungrateful for all that I have. I'm very grateful. I just don't want to bore my faithful readers. Because let's face it, those posts suck.

Instead, I'm here to give you a bit of fun on this happy holiday, something to guide you into your naps with that stomach full of turkey and mashed potatoes. I've come today to give you a piece of flash fiction. Enjoy!

The thing people had trouble understanding, was that she was as cruel as she was beautiful. They saw her perfect bow lips in that vivid shade of red, her ginger hair in its intricate braids piled high upon her head, and they didn't see anything else. They missed the coldness in her eyes, the cruelty in her perfect smile. She led and they followed. Without ever knowing where she was taking them. 

They say it's a lot like boiling a frog. You stick it in temperate water and then slowly turn up the heat. The frog doesn't realize it's in boiling water until it's too late. The same happens when you're in her grasp. You don't realize you're doomed until you already are. If only they'd known she needed the sacrifice to be willing. They might have resisted. But then again, who knows? She was awfully beautiful...

I hope you've enjoyed this latest edition of flash fiction. I found the picture on pinterest, it comes from Lime Crime Makeup. I will see you all on Wednesday, and in the mean time: Happy Thanksgiving!

Advice for my Twelve Year Old Self

There is a prompt in The Writer's Idea Book by Jack Heffron, in which you picture your twelve year old self and come up with a list of questions they would ask you about the future and your future self. Next, you're supposed to answer those questions. It's a really neat prompt, and I had a lot of fun with it. It also got me to thinking about what kind of advice I'd give my younger self if I got the chance. So, I wrote it down. I highly suggest you try this exercise for yourselves (as well as pick up The Writer's Idea Book and give it a try), but in the mean time, here is my own list of advice for my twelve year old self.

1. Start saving money. Immediately. The world is going to get way more expensive, and it will be a lot harder to get started. Start saving for your down payment now, because fourteen years from now you'll have a mortgage, a dog and a job that doesn't pay as well as it needs to, and you're going to wish you had a lot more money put aside.

2. Don't listen to your auntie when you tell her you want to be a writer and she tells you they don't make any money and that you should do something else. The other careers you end up in don't make any money either and they don't make you happy. Stick with writing, you're going to end up there anyway. Your love of the written word doesn't fade over time, it just keeps growing. It's okay to follow the impossible dream.

3. If the popular girls don't like you, you're doing something right. I know you already know that, but I just wanted to let you know that you're proven right later on. Because you have a wonderful husband and a great life, and they're knocked up with multiple strangers' babies. Or in rehab.

4. Be ambitious. Don't look for the easy career, the quick fix or the simple answer. Dig deep. You have a lot of potential, so don't give up, tap into it!

5. I know everyone thinks you're lazy and that you have a bad attitude, but you're not and you don't. Well, it's kind of true (and that doesn't change), but not when it comes to the things you really want. Figure out what you want and go for it! Believe me, you'll work yourself near to death for the things you love. And if you start now, there's no limit to what you'll accomplish.

That's just a few pieces of the advice I'd give my younger self. And you know what? They're applicable now, too. What would you tell your younger self?

A Little Something Funny

I originally found this picture on Pinterest, and it led me back to Rachelle Gardner's website. I thought I'd share it with you to help us all through another work day. I'm sure every writer has felt like this during the editing process at some point or another.

Charles Dickens And His Editor

The Wattpad Workshop

I don't know if any of my fellow writers out there are the same as me, but I find that if I don't challenge myself frequently (with courses, workshops, writing prompts, etc), then my ambition grows stagnant. I don't feel the urge or the inspiration to write, and my time gets taken over by other things. Suddenly, I'll realize it's been weeks, even months, since I wrote anything.

So, in an effort to prevent laziness and boredom from taking over, I've decided to take part in Alice Kuipers Wattpad Workshop. She's doing a series, the first of which deals with inspiration and writer's block. We're only one week in but I already love it. Our writing prompt for this week was to write from the perspective of someone who's had a brain injury in the part of the brain that controls imagination and ideas. I had so much fun writing it that I thought I'd share it with you. Let me know what you think!

The clock is ticking in the corner. I look at it, try to feel something for the sound it makes. I can remember vaguely a sensation I used to feel when I heard it, the way it used to stir things inside me, things I can now no longer recall.


I sit up and shake my head, turning to stare out the window instead. The rain is pelting down against the window, showering the grass and sidewalk in waves. The sky is grey. The clouds heavy, hovering just above the trees. An optical illusion, I tell myself, as I watch the rain fall.

The feeling of familiarity remains. Rain used to create a similar reaction to the ticking of the clock. But there is no stirring inside, no rush of emotions. Instead, it is simply pretty.

The drops of rain thud against the roof, the percussive sound joining with the clock. Occasionally, the crack of thunder adds its bellow and I sit, listening as I stare out the window.

James should have been home by now. He said he's be home from the gym by four o'clock. His workouts had grown longer and more frequent since I'd come home from hospital, one of the many, almost imperceptible changes in our relationship since the accident.

I would catch him watching me with a strange look in his eye, one I didn't recognize. I know I'd changed. He'd told me so. And there were the feelings of longing, of loss for something I couldn't identify.

I realized it was possible that he was no longer at the gym, that he'd never gone there to begin with. I knew there must be a reason why he wasn't home when he said he'd be. But I couldn't for the life of me think of what it could be. So, I sit and wait, wondering why I feel so empty inside.

There we have it! As always, your thoughts and comments are welcome in the comments section (and are greatly appreciated!) I hope you enjoyed my little attempt, and are enjoying this slightly fiction heavy week. Have a great day!