The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about my NaNoWriMo project. The Clock Countdown stands at 15 days, and I’m just beginning to revel in the early stages of complete panic.

As far as novel ideas go, mine is pretty tame.

Girl falls in love, finds she is more than she thought, discovers a whole new identity, and saves the day.

Fascinating….and pretty boring.

I’ve wondered  for the past two weeks, why it’s taken me so long to get the story out of me, (it’s been an idea sitting in my head for over a year now…) and I’m thinking maybe that’s why.

The story itself just doesn’t excite me.

And if it doesn’t excite me, then what hope do I have in tickling a reader?

I know what you’re going to say. There is time to fix it. I know there is, and I will–and that brings me to the point of my blog topic today.

“The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man.”

Somewhere along the timeline of my life, this little nugget branded itself on my heart. For the longest time now, I had no idea it existed within me, or that this was actually something I felt very passionately about. And still, I wonder at exactly what it is that the sentiment means to me–because I can read that two ways…

I’m complicated, I know.

Slowly, it is beginning to emerge as nothing else in my life ever has, and make itself known. And no where is that beginning to be more clear, than in my writing.

I left a friend of mine this evening, with a question hanging in the air. Of course, it was about writing…kinda. The question really had to do with what I would write, if it was possible to make real whatever it was I printed. It’s a heavy thought.

If you could write anything, and have it actually transform before your eyes–what would it be?

There is only one thing I could think of that I’d want. And I have to apologize for dragging you all the way down here and then leaving you hanging by not telling you what it is I’d write. (If you were really paying attention, you already know.) But really–that’s not the point.

The idea is to let your own mind wander and figure out what it all means…to you.

And that, dear reader, is what NaNoWriMo does. I can’t wait to see where the journey leads.

Advertisements

National Novel Writing Month

It’s fast approaching. NaNoWriMo! (Find me here at nanowrimo and add me if you’d like.) 

As I write this, the clock stands at 22 days, 12 hours, 40 minutes, and 38 seconds. That’s not a lot of time to finish my outline so I can write with literary abandon next month.

Don’t worry. I haven’t pulled out and installed my trusty PANIC button yet…

Put down the pen and slowly back away...

I did consult with my favorite writer and the result was–as usual, phenomenal. The story I will hack away at next month involves a complicated network of alternate reality beings. So basically, I have to come up with hierarchy and structure as well as figure out the dynamic between my heroine and my villain. In other words–research, people.

Lots and lots of research.

I’ve also embraced Scrivener. My story now lives in this neat little program, all organized and tidy. It’s a huge departure from the messy halls of my head.

I won’t lie–it took some hand holding to get me to trust it with my story. But I’m now a convert and there isn’t any looking back!

I’m not exactly how I’ll feel if I manage to pull this particular story out of my head and finish it at the end of next month. The only thing that keeps running through my head is a quote I once read by American author Truman Capote:

Finishing a book is just like you took a child out in the back yard and shot it.

It seems a little extreme, but hey–what do I know?