L’esprit d’escalier

So, we won’t talk about my October word count.

NaNo starts tomorrow, and I’m giving it another shot. I know 50,000 words is out of the question, unless my boss decides she wants to give me the month off or something. My current goal is 25,000. It’s less than 1,000 words a day, so I’m fairly certain I can write more than that, but I’d rather surpass my goal than struggle towards it and get discouraged.

I have, oh, fourteen hours to pick a project. In no particular order:

• Night Owls – a little outside of my usual style, because the tone is lighter. A vampire, a stolen book, and a guy who may or may not be a werewolf. Kind of fun, and I have an idea where I’m going with it. I’m only a few pages in at the moment.
• Grailchild – I started this a long, long time ago, and stalled out because the story just didn’t want to be wrestled into shape. If I go with this one, I’m starting pretty much from scratch, trying it from a different point of view. There’s this little girl; she’s sweet and smart and just about six years old. Her soul, however, is ancient.
• Untitled – this is the hardest one to describe. It was my 2004 NaNo project, and the one that I got more done on than any other – 26,000 words, before I lost steam. It was initially supposed to be a sort of steampunk thing, inspired by a panel on “Death as a Character” at 2004′s WorldCon. Neil Gaiman was talking about near-death experiences, and the idea sort of came to me. By the time I started writing, it had morphed from steampunk to regular fantasy. There’s a boy, and his name is Karris. He’s good at healing people, and he’s part of the revered caste of magic-workers. He knows a secret that could start a revolution. Another one that I will likely have to rework, but not necessarily start from scratch – the beginning I have is slow (Why? Because I started it during NaNo, and every word added to my final word count. Ha!)

If you want to keep me honest, here’s my profile. They have a new site, and it sounds like the software is giving them hell (and the 90,000 users aren’t helping.) So, if it takes a while to load, be patient.

Tonight, I need to tweak my writing playlist (or make three new ones, because I can tell right off that the vampire one would have faster music than the other two…) Song suggestions happily accepted!

We went to see 30 Days of Night last night.  I spent most of the movie curling up into a tighter and tighter ball in my seat, while my husband and Hill tried crawling in my lap from either side. 

So.  Good.

It takes a lot for a horror movie to get that kind of reaction out of me.  The last one that truly did it (and did it well) was 28 Days Later.  I saw that with a co-worker one sunny Friday afternoon in the summer.  Neither of us could believe the sun was still shining when we walked out of the theatre. 

Before that, it was The Ring - we got out of the theatre after the late show, looked at one another sheepishly, and went to an all-night Bickford’s so we wouldn’t have to go home and go to bed.  

(I suppose I should give a nod to Saw, but that didn’t so much freak me out as it made me uncomfortable.  Creepy imagery, squirm-worthy situations, but nowhere near the impact of The Ring or 28 Days Later.)

Anyway.  30 Days of Night.  If it takes a lot for a horror movie to impress me, it takes even more when that horror movie is about vampires.  Pretty goth kids biting each other is overdone, and hardly scary.  Most of Anne Rice’s vampires just need a good slap.  But these ones?  Sure, some of them looked kind of goth-y, but I certainly wouldn’t want them biting me.  There were a couple of predictable moments – you know someone’s getting bitten and hiding it – but I didn’t mind, especially the way the revelation and the aftermath came about.

Usually, I prefer reading the book or graphic novel before I see a movie.  There are always things you just can’t bring from the page onto the screen, and I hate having an actor’s face forever in my memory.  Molly Ringwald is not the Frannie Goldsmith I had pictured in my head.  Nor is Tom Cruise Lestat, nor Claire Danes Yvaine (as great as she was in Stardust…) 

For 30 Days, though, I’m glad I went in not knowing what was coming.  I didn’t have that safety of “Oh, I know what’s next” to keep me distanced. 

It’s one of the few movies I’d probably see again in theatres.

That’s how much I liked it.

Back in the day, when I was a college-going lass, there was a tiny Dunkin’ Donuts on campus. It could fit maybe three customers at a time, and you’d see lines out the door between classes. It was also open late, so when I got tired of studying (or, more commonly, when I had to write a paper that was due at 8AM, which I’d known about and put off for two weeks, and needed caffeine to see me through ’til sunrise), I’d call downstairs to Greg’s room and drag him out on my quest for coffee.

During the month of October, they made this thing called Witches’ Brew. It was heaven in a styrofoam cup – half hot chocolate and half cinnamon coffee, and oh my god, it was the best thing ever.

So, this afternoon, I was in need of…something. I didn’t know what. I’m still trying to be (relatively) good, especially since tomorrow night’s Halloween party will involve food that is bad for me and alcohol. Booze tends to take up a ton of Weight Watchers points. I don’t even want to think about how many calories are in my mom’s friend’s dill dip.

I figured I’d go across the street and see if the nice people at Dunkin’s would humor me.

I think they would have! However, their hot chocolate machine was broken. Sadness. I got a cinnamon coffee anyway, which is still pretty good. It wasn’t until I sat back down at my desk that it dawned on me – we have hot chocolate here. I ordered a medium, so there’s way too much in the cup right now for me to go make it right now. But when I’m down to half a cup, there’s a packet of Swiss Miss in the kitchen waiting for me.

Hey, it’s Friday. Anything to get me through these last couple of hours before the weekend’s here, right?

I have a hojillion things going through my head, and at least two bigger posts I haven’t had a chance to write yet (the ghost tour in North Conway and a snippet about the Ren Faire). But, for now, little things.

After being absolutely awful for two weeks – anniversary weekend and then a general just-being-bad this past weekend, I so didn’t want to get on the scale yesterday. I’m doing Weight Watchers. It worked for our wedding, five years ago, but, well. We went on honeymoon in New Orleans and counting calories there is ten kinds of sin. Then we moved out of our condo and into our house. To call it a fixer-upper is a massive understatement. The previous owner smoked.

And smoked.

And smoked.

There was a thin layer of nicotine everywhere, and even though my mom and my mother-in-law spent our first weekend there elbows deep in Simple Green and other cleaners, it was still there. Especially in the kitchen cabinets. So, for two months, until we could afford to rip them out and put new ones up, I didn’t cook anything very much more complicated than macaroni and cheese and soup, because I refused to put my dishes on those toxic shelves.

Then, of course, it was Christmas-time, then the new year, then my birthday, and… yeah. Somewhere in there, I stopped with the weight watching.

So! I started again a couple of months ago. At first, I thought I’d skip my weigh-in yesterday so I wouldn’t be discouraged. I had to have put some weight back on. Then I thought, “Suck it up, you pansy.” Because, really, you kind of have to be honest with yourself if you want a diet to work. Pretending it’s not there doesn’t make it go away. I got on the scale.

No idea how, but I’d lost a pound despite my crappy eating. Go me!

–

This is the time of year when I’m supposed to be reading next season’s stuff, so I can actually sound like I know what I’m talking about when I sell the books to buyers in January. But I’m having this mad urge to go back and read a bunch of my favorites. Somewhere in between the new stuff, I want to squeeze in:

• The Stand – it’s been several years. I used to read it every summer.
• The Sandman collection
• A Game of Thrones and the rest of the Song of Ice and Fire series.

–

I got my watch battery replaced yesterday. I’ve gone watchless for way too long, and it’s kind of nice to be able to just look at my wrist and see the time, rather than fishing through my purse to find my cell phone and hope it’s charged.

Greg gave the watch to me for our wedding. I stopped wearing it for a while because I think in the mad de-nicotining, I got some kind of cleaner on the band and my skin got all irritated. I switched out the band, even though I shouldn’t have. (The watch is a Movado. I totally broke the warranty…)

In a fit of organizing Monday night, I found the old band and put it back on the stopped watch. I now understand why jewelers wear loupes. Holy eye strain, batman. I though a couple of years of not being worn might have, I don’t know, made whatever’s on the original band dissipate.

During my lunch, I went to this little mom and pop watch repair place in the jewelers’ building and had them put in a new battery (if the warranty wasn’t broken before, it is now. Yes, I know. I suck. But I didn’t want to wait two weeks while they sent it away for a ten-minute battery replacement…)

I didn’t ask for a new band.

Today, Day Two of Having My Watch Back, my wrist is bright fucking red and itchy. I had to take it off (my watch, not my wrist). I’m debating whether I should go for another leather band (which I’d prefer) or save up for a metal band, on the off-chance I didn’t get anything on it and instead I’m allergic to some treatment they put on the leather. Because I can’t imagine I’d have worn this while we were scrubbing the walls. I’m usually smart enough to take off my jewelry when dunking my hands in chemicals.

Ugh.

So, how’s your day going?

Or I will be.

The Decemberists are coming to Boston.

November 3rd and 4th, a Saturday and a Sunday.  The Orpheum Theatre.  I almost deleted the Ticketmaster spam this morning, but then I thought “what the heck,” and scrolled through to see who’s in town.

Now I just have to find someone to come with me.

I’m not much of a moviegoer.

This is likely because I’m a snob. Shit blowing up for two hours bores me. I’d rather get my teeth drilled than sit through any kind of Dumb and Dumber imitation. Most horror films coming out are formulaic, and have been for a long time. Love stories have to be damned good to catch my interest.

This doesn’t mean I only watch indie films or intellectually challenging movies – I have Stargate in my DVD collection. It’s fluff, but it’s good fluff.

Okay, better-than-average fluff.

Oh, and James Spader’s in it.

I’m not as big a movie snob as I am a book snob, but it still surprised me how many movies coming out this fall I’m interested in seeing. The previews at Stardust added several to my list, many of them adaptations of books I loved, which scares me a little, since it’s so hard to take everything on the page and translate it to film. Or, at least, to translate it well.

I’ve had to cross The Dark is Rising off my list. I sat up and went squee when we saw the previews. (“Will Stanton? Where do I know that name from? Seeker, Seeker…hmmm… OH MY GOD OH YES PLEASE.”) But an interview with Susan Cooper has made me decide to wait for video – they upped Will’s age and made him American. Other reviews have convinced me to spend my ten dollars elsewhere. I’ll probably rent it, just to see, but the need to see it in theatres is gone. Even though Christopher Eccleston’s in it.

The Golden Compass, on the other hand, looks gorgeous. Armored bears! Dust! Lyra’s Oxford! The Witches!

OfficerGleason’s going to shake his head in disappointment, but… Elizabeth: The Golden Age is on the list. I think I have a date for it, though, since I doubt the guys will see it with us.

This’ll earn me his forgiveness, though. Mmm, Beowulf, mmmm.

I haven’t heard much about The Mist. It was the first Stephen King story I ever read. Now it’s a movie. The movies based on his books have been hit and miss. The Shawshank Redemption was amazing. Dreamcatcher was not.

I Am Legend. Again, shiny. But can they pull it off?

Then there’s Sweeney Todd.

And last night, I saw a trailer for Martian Child – John and Joan Cusack. And Toby! It’s based on a book by David Gerrold. Now, do I go get it and read it first, or hold off, since my pile of books is ever-growing? Reading the intro chapter on the site really makes me want to go get it. I need to find a way to read for a living

…jaysis. I’m up to $70 worth of movies already, and I know there are more I’m forgetting.

Giving up sandals for boots was easy.  I like boots.  I own far too many pairs, and as soon as there was a hint of chill in the air, I was online, searching for new granny boots.  I bought some in black; now I want them in brown, but the choice is between them and a bookshelf/hutch sort of thing for the kitchen.

Sadly, the boots will have to wait.

But admitting it’s cool enough to wear boots is easier than admitting it’s cool enough to start wearing a jacket.  I finally sucked it up today and put on my black raincoat.  It’s a new raincoat, one I bought on sale at the beginning of the summer.  I really like it (although it could use a belt or one of those clips you stick on the back to cinch the waist a bit; it’s a little big…). 

But putting it on means I’m conceding the end of summer.  Granted, it’s October 9th.  It’s been fall for a while now, and it’s probably my favorite season, so I’m not exactly whining.  It’s just that I went through my closets and drawers a couple of months ago and got rid of stuff I didn’t wear or didn’t like. 

How many things have I bought and kept because “well, it’ll do for now…?”  I’m realizing I gave a ton of fall clothes to Goodwill, and now I have less autumn-type stuff than I thought I did.  Plenty of summer, plenty for winter.  Not a lot in-between.  Which means a bit of shopping.  I’m a terrible shopper (unless it’s shoes.  Then I’m your girl.)

Reason number eleventy-billion and two why I need to open a bookstore: I’d control the dress-code. 

At least I get to break the denim duster back out of the closet. 

(You got it, you got it)

I went walking at lunch.  They were there. 

I have a good job. For the most part, I love my company, and the people I work with. We have a great benefits package, more vacation time than I sometimes know what to do with (I’ve used almost all of it this year, but in 2006 I had to take a bunch of time off late in the year because I was in danger of losing carryover days. I know, poor me, right?) I’d like to make more money – who wouldn’t? – but every time I’ve looked, the only things I really qualify for that pay more are high-pressure sales jobs.

Yes, I am a sales rep. But I’m a very laid-back one. I probably could push harder for some things, but booksellers tend to dislike being strong-armed. I tell them what I like, what I think will do well, and they take it into consideration. It’s worked for five years. The idea of going to sell some other product somewhere else and having someone constantly looking at how close I am to hitting my quota makes me shudder.

Plus, I don’t think there’s anything else I could sell convincingly. So, really, if I leave here, my next job won’t be in sales unless I’ve hit the lottery and opened my own store.

I’m having one of my random wish-I-was-somewhere-else weeks. Despite all the pros of this job, I’m dwelling on the long days (11 hours, when you factor in my commute) and wishing I worked closer to home. I keep looking to see what openings are available elsewhere, especially at the college I went to. Six months working there, and I could start taking classes again, which I’d love to do, given the time and (what else?) money.

But the pros here still outweigh the cons. Unless something stellar (and bookseller-y) opens up close to home, I just need to suck it up and buckle down. There are things I could do to feel more productive at work and at home. It’s a matter of getting in the right frame of mind and doing them.

However, until I can kick my own ass into that mindset, I’m going to be at my desk, brooding and bleh.

I don’t know if this is a rant, a whine, or some strange kind of pep-talk, but it feels at least a little better to articulate whatever this feeling is. Best name I can give it is work-related wanderlust.

Wanderlust, by the way, is an awesome word.

We’re coming up on another National Novel Writing Month.

I’ve participated off and on every few years, and as November rolls around, I start thinking, I can do this.  Writing just under 1700 words a day for 30 days isn’t that hard, is it?  I think about all the emails I send out over the course of a day, the blog posts, and the amount of words I must type chatting with my friends.

I’ve done… all right… in the past.  The goal is to have a 50,000 word novel finished  by November 30th.  50,000 is more novella-length than novel, really, and what you have at the end is going to be very rough first-draft quality.  You’re not supposed to edit as you go, and that’s what trips me up.  I like being able to reread what I wrote and tweak as I go.  Yeah, I know, I can get bogged down and not progress when I do that, too, but to just fly through and never look back… ugh.

A lot of participants use “padding techniques” to up their word counts – give your main character two names (Mary Sue!) so that every time you refer to her, it’s two words instead of one.  Add a dream sequence.  Don’t use contractions.  At least one adjective for every noun!

…all things I’d edit right the fuck out on December 1st, and likely things that would make an editor cringe, too. 

I’ve gone as far as 26,000+ words in 2004.  The thing that kills my momentum is having to travel to sales conference every November, and therefore falling behind by at least three or four days.  I know, excuses, excuses.  Other people make up for lost words by doubling up on weekends, or going nonstop through their time off at Thanksgiving – why can’t I?

I don’t have a very good answer for that.  However, the breakneck pace of Nano means that if I follow the rules and write without looking back, chances are what I see on December first is going to be awful.  Salvageable, maybe, but something I’d spend more time reworking than if I’d done it at my normal pace, with my normal care.

Believe me, I’ve been there.  I have at least three pieces from three different Nano projects sitting on various hard drives.  All of them at least decent story ideas, but needing so much rewriting it’s disheartening. 

Which leads me to this:  I’m doing Nano again this year, but in a modified sense.  I won’t kill myself getting to 50,000.  My goal is to get into the habit of writing more, and seeing progress on a project.  I figure the best thing to do is start early – take time during each night in October and write, then take the average word count and set that as a Nano goal.  Maybe up the count a bit, as a challenge.

Now I just have to figure out whether to go back to one of the old ones or start something new…