I started the month with what I thought was a great idea. It went okay on Day 1 but yesterday, Day 2, it crashed and burned. Most of my 1700 words yesterday were sheer panic, blabbering, and self-recrimination, but then I put in a mood CD that had waves lapping on the beach and a story idea appeared. When I was first writing I wrote a short story about a widow opening a B&B on a Caribbean island, I remembered that I had left her there and decided to go back and make her story longer and deeper. Yay, I have a story idea! Here's a little piece:
I sit with my back against the outside wall of Jonno’s beach bar digging my toes into the sand and watching the sun sink into the sea behind the very tip of Saba out there on the horizon. It has been a long day getting here. I had to fight with the airlines to bring two big suitcases and not have to pay extra baggage fees for each and every leg of the flight. In these post 9/11 days it seems like every passenger is considered a terrorist until proven innocent. I am not a terrorist, just a grieving widow trying to get back to the last place my husband and I were happy and carefree, the last place before some insidious lung fungus took him away from me too soon. Any time would have been too soon for me. We had a marriage in a million. We were a team, through thick and thin, good and bad, and there was plenty of both, we were always in love, always friends, always together.
I have no title and she doesn't have a name yet, but, by gum, I've got a story. Whew.
--Barbara
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Christmas Wish List, part 1
I realized this past weekend that I've been working on making Christmas gifts for my loved ones, but I haven't really given any hints. This post is it.
***I'd like the 2010 Art Gallery Page-a-Day calendar. I'm reluctant to leave it to chance that Goodwill will have them for $3 again because I really like using the art for daily prompt writing.
***Mom made aprons for DD and DIL a couple years ago; I'd like one or two. I have one apron that I wear all the time and it is disgusting, even after I wash and bleach it.
***I like unlined, spiral bound notebooks to write in. The cover can be plain or fancy but I especially like unlined pages.
***I like mechanical pencils in bright colors. I can't have enough.
That's it for a beginning. Please share your lists with us. I will state right now that Durwood and I would rather have something you made than something you bought, and one something is just fine. Piles of presents don't mean piles of love.
Too Big of a Bite?
I find myself wondering if I've bitten off more than I can chew this month. I'm dieting (have been for the last 6 months so it's always on my mind), I'm determined to work out for at least 10 minutes every day, I'm dedicated to writing from an art prompt every day, and I've signed up for NaNoWriMo so I'm committed to writing a 50,000 word novel draft this month. Plus work, and chores around the house, and have a conversation with Durwood every once in a while. Do you think it's too much for one medium-sized middle-aged woman to tackle?
Here's today's art prompt effort: November 2--Odilon Redon, Standing Veiled Woman. She hated standing there like that. Her arm ached from holding it up and her lower back was shooting pains down her legs. She knew that Madame Redon, the painter, would make her famous but why did she have to be so slow at her work? Madame had shown her the colors she meant to use and they were beautiful, a creamy yellow for her mantle and pale pink for her dress, but Madame kept picking up other colors like deep blue green and even red. What was she doing with those bright colors? Madame wasn't making her look like a gypsy, was she? Without moving her body or her head, she darted her eyes to see what in her surroundings were those colors and found nothing. She watched Madame as she worked too. She got nervous when the artist stood frowning at the easel and when Madame would lunge and slash at the canvas she felt as if she were being pelted by blows. This posing was nerve wracking. Wasn't it time for a rest?
Well, that certainly took off in an unanticipated direction.
--Barbara
Here's today's art prompt effort: November 2--Odilon Redon, Standing Veiled Woman. She hated standing there like that. Her arm ached from holding it up and her lower back was shooting pains down her legs. She knew that Madame Redon, the painter, would make her famous but why did she have to be so slow at her work? Madame had shown her the colors she meant to use and they were beautiful, a creamy yellow for her mantle and pale pink for her dress, but Madame kept picking up other colors like deep blue green and even red. What was she doing with those bright colors? Madame wasn't making her look like a gypsy, was she? Without moving her body or her head, she darted her eyes to see what in her surroundings were those colors and found nothing. She watched Madame as she worked too. She got nervous when the artist stood frowning at the easel and when Madame would lunge and slash at the canvas she felt as if she were being pelted by blows. This posing was nerve wracking. Wasn't it time for a rest?
Well, that certainly took off in an unanticipated direction.
--Barbara
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Cutest Trick-Or-Treater
And we didn't even have to give her a treat. In fact, seeing her and her mama were our treat for the day. Sometimes a girl just has to cry but it'll all work out in the end. (She was having a little trouble getting out some pesky gas.)
Post-Halloween Creepiness
It's been windy the last few days. I love it when it's windy. I love the distant roar and the leaves flying up like living things. Even when it was sunny today it felt like fall with the chilly wind teasing the branches and making the birds over correct when they came in to land on the birdfeeders. Yep, it's definitely fall.
November 1--Edward Docker, Making Lanterns. We turned the corner on the dark country road and there they were lined up on both sides of the road as far as we could see. "What are they?" asked Craig leaning forward over the steering wheel, his face pale in the dashboard lights. "I don't know," I said, "they look like tiny pumpkins or dolls heads." The eyes glowed green or gold or orange in the total blackness of the overcast night. Even with the wind sweeping torrents of leaves across the road and rocking the car when it gusted, the lights in the little heads never wavered. We crept along down the toad, the leafless branches of the trees alongside us frantically waving silhouetted against the moon-bright clouds, the rank of eyes tracking our progress from every fence post along the way.
I meant for this to go on but I'm just tapped out.
--Barbara
November 1--Edward Docker, Making Lanterns. We turned the corner on the dark country road and there they were lined up on both sides of the road as far as we could see. "What are they?" asked Craig leaning forward over the steering wheel, his face pale in the dashboard lights. "I don't know," I said, "they look like tiny pumpkins or dolls heads." The eyes glowed green or gold or orange in the total blackness of the overcast night. Even with the wind sweeping torrents of leaves across the road and rocking the car when it gusted, the lights in the little heads never wavered. We crept along down the toad, the leafless branches of the trees alongside us frantically waving silhouetted against the moon-bright clouds, the rank of eyes tracking our progress from every fence post along the way.
I meant for this to go on but I'm just tapped out.
--Barbara
Holy Crap Indeed!
It kind of snuck up on me today, the need to write 1667 words by bedtime. For some reason even though I had only a vague idea of what I was going to write, hadn't really made a plan, I sat down and pounded out 1791 words in one sitting. That's a lot for me at once. As you say, it is crap, but it is my crap and I kind of like it. Whether I can sustain this or turn it into a real story instead of a rambling monologue remains to be seen but I'm happy with my flying fingers today.
I'll post a prompt writing later. I promise. Cross my heart. But right now I need to make soup for next week's lunches. Gotta make soup.
You go, Jennifer! 5170 words! I'd get up at 4:45 too if I thought I could do that, but I'm sure it wasn't the early hour or the pre-dawn dark, but your innate writerly brilliance emerging like a butterfly out of its chrysalis. Ooh, good image, I'd better make a note.
I'll post a prompt writing later. I promise. Cross my heart. But right now I need to make soup for next week's lunches. Gotta make soup.
You go, Jennifer! 5170 words! I'd get up at 4:45 too if I thought I could do that, but I'm sure it wasn't the early hour or the pre-dawn dark, but your innate writerly brilliance emerging like a butterfly out of its chrysalis. Ooh, good image, I'd better make a note.
Holy Crap! It's NANOWRIMO time!
Time for the insanity to begin.. It's NANOWRIMO month. Thank goodness for Daylights Savings Time as I woke up at 5:45 (actually it was 4:45), made a pot of coffee and sat down in front of the computer to start this year's novel. The goal is to write 1,667 words a day for the next 30 days. I guess I did ok since I hit 5,170 this morning! That takes a little pressure off for the work weekdays when life gets in the way. It's a piece of crap, but the intent is to edit later.
But for now, I am proud of what I have done so far.
But for now, I am proud of what I have done so far.
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