Monthly Archives: November 2003

NaNo Go!

We had a NaNo launch party at Bev’s lovely house on Sunday (thank you Bev!), and it was so nice to be able to chat with other authors about the cheerful insanity of writing 50K words in thirty days. Emily and I now have witnesses to our challenge to see which of us hits 50K first; Eric thinks I need a title like Emily’s Dread Pirate Queen of Montreal, but Ceri thinks I’m scary enough all on my own.

I took my NaNo notebook to the Second Cup this morning after I’d dropped my husband off at work, and drank a chai latte while trying to figure out certain events. I’d forgotten how motivating it can be to sit alone in a coffee shop with nothing but a notebook and a pen. Rather than sit there and look stupid, you just begin writing and all sorts of things pop up.

Then I made the mistake of stopping by a bookstore while waiting for the bank to open, and I came home with yet another edition of Jane Eyre, my favourite book. This one is about the size of my hand, has thin paper and gold-leaf edges, and a silky ribbon marker. It will be my bedside copy to read when I can’t sleep. (Yes, pretty books impress me, okay?)

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 4,827

NaNo 2003, Day 2

Yawn. 2,973 words later, it’s so bedtime. I have my first chapter done.

Good thing, too. I don’t think I can stand my heroine like this much longer. Thank all the gods she just did something stupid that will change her life.

The psychic ferret has been introduced. He has not yet been revealed as psychic. That will happen in chapter two.

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 4,008

NaNo 2003, Day 1

I wrote 1,035 words before bed last night. Not bad for forty-five minutes of work. Of course, everyone’s word counts leapfrogged past me today while I was teaching and rehearsing. My revenge is to write while they’re all off at a Hallowe’en party tonight. Muah-hah-hah-hah.

The Elgar Variations are dizzyingly difficult. The Puccini seems to be intuitive, but Elgar constantly changes tempo and rhythm, and thinks accidentals are integral, which sort of defeats the purpose of an accidental. And he obviously wasn’t a cellist – or, if he was, he was a virtuoso who thinks all celli ought to be able to play treble clef at high speed.

Emily, my noble foe, already it begins. Your 3,072 words mock me. Fear my psychic ferret.

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 1,035