NaNoWriMo Pact

Bill's Commitment

For those of you who don't know, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month which takes place during the entire month of November and 50,0000 words are completed in 30 days. I learned about it as a graduate student at Baylor University from my favorite author, S.L. Veihl (author of the Stardoc novels and the blog Paperback Writer). She and her blog inspired me to try my hand at writing and it's taken over ten years of fits and starts before I found a path that I have started to beat back.

NaNoWriMo is the ultimate challenge for me and I've been putting it off for when my life is less crazy... fewer obligations... more time to fully commit... Strangely, these are all excuses I hear from people who put off having kids. The reality is there is never going to be a right or perfect time for me. I will always have excuses for why I should put it off next year.

I'm not doing that anymore. I am committing now, today. Come November 1, 2016 I will start my novel. I may not finish. I may not get to 50,000 words, that's 1,666.66 words a day for 30 day (Yikes!) but I'm going to commit.

#8 Postcard - Strike

     The man with the hypnotizing voice, the one the broadcast billed as Morgan Freeman, James Earl Jones and Alan Rickman all rolled into one, cuddled his head in his arms oblivious to the chaos around him as the presidential election drew to a close. He was scheduled to go on air in five minutes and calm the world's fears.

     "What did you give him?" the station manager gritted between her teeth.

     "Just something for his headache.” The programmer dug through her purse. "Oh, oops."

     “I’ll get coffee and you keep trying to wake him up.” The station manager stalked out to the break room only to discover the coffee machine was broken. 

     Decision made, she clipped back to the studio and shoved the host upright. The sound of palm popping cheek shocked the crew and brought the host sputtering awake protesting abuse. 

     Her strike three.

***
For this writing prompt I found the website Writing Prompts that Don't Suck! The prompt is as follows: "Write a story in which a broken coffee maker has a huge impact on the world around it."

Week 1 of #twiction by @JennStories

2016 October 8-16

• What would it take to soar, to see more than the shores of the world? To see mountains and peaks rather than anchors deep?
• Ruby slippers, Moulin Rouge scarlet lady, rosa American Beauty, and crimson tension. Film's red herrings are the cherry on top.
• The Bride scooped pebbles instead of birdseed from her cleavage. Staring at her hand the Groom said, Let me help with that.
• The Mad Scientist's only friend watched in awe as his who-know-how-many-th experiment transported all the friends who left back.
• Kids room empty, bed unmade, toys scattered down the hall of silent picture frames. The scent of alcohol soaked the CPS order.
• He chewed his cheek to keep from smiling and be accused of smirking while watching her pace, violently cleaning as she spewed. 
• He cheered, fingers hooked in the fence behind homeplate as James crossed and came behind to pick up his crutches. 
• Mom, what are we going to do? The news broadcast forebodingly blared. Honey, we help. Humanity at its best is selfless.
• OMG!...You permed your hair...Poodle head!...Poo head! - Laughter echoed off metal lockers and tiled walls.
• Mr. Itoldyouso raged from his side of the fence, gesturing at his damaged roof as the Treehugger family planted a memorial acorn.
• They are not pets and toys, you know. Max needs to learn that lions and rockets are real and dangerous. Santa won't bring them.
• The protester warning of the hospital's chronic staph infections tripped in front of the ER and was rushed inside for treatment.
• The nubile piano prodigy blushed and under lash flirted; praise gushed from peers while the past prime critic adored from afar.
• Instead of electric blue, her hair was nuclear green. Her pale scalp was divided forehead to nape. Never trust a student stylist.
• Folklore cities changed by cold iron & steel. Creature intuities caged and heel. Urban mythologies revealed as relevant & real.
• 24 hour stomach virus. Easiest not-really-ill, need a sick day excuse for missing the deadline Ms. Type A forgot, with sympathy.
• Spitfire bangs punctuated the air like angry exclamation points. Emerging, I saw my welcome committee in the sign's sunlit holes. 
• Old people chit-chat, playing chess with thin air. RNs shake their head and say, There-there. Ghosts sneer unseen.

Prompts are from @DailyPrompt on Twitter. My responses are @JennStories on Twitter.

Twitterature... Twiction...

Curbside Message, Sacramento, CA

Have you heard of these terms before, because I hadn't until yesterday. Twitterature or twitter literature. Twiction/TwitFic or twitter fiction.

Is it possible to tell a story in 140 characters or less? 140 characters! That's not a word limit, it's a character limit which averages out to be about 12 words. The average English sentence is 16 words or 160 characters. How is a story told in 140 characters?

"How to Tweet Like a Pro in 140 Characters - Or Less" talks a bit about this. The author states that writing tweets actually makes people a better writer because "every sentence is a complete idea with a minimum of fluff and needless words."

There are several tricks to conserving characters when writing twitter literature or twitter fiction.

1. Use contractions freely. 
2. Try to avoid "and" "or" "but" as well as other conjunctions.
3. Drop pronouns, especially "that"
4. Stop using the "I" it makes the sentences more declarative. 
5. Use numbers, don't spell them out.
6. Don't double space between words.
7. Drop the very last period.
8. Use hashtag #twiction because it's shorter than #twitterature

Another tutorial for writing Twiction was found on this Teen Twiction website. Sometimes a twitter story is summed up in one tweet. For example, Ernest Hemingway once said that his best story was written in just six words: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

Some authors connect tweets together to formulate their story. In this case, the story is more of a micro-fiction series.

So why am I talking about Twiction? Because I'm venturing into the twitterverse as @JennStories where I'll be attempting to write twiction. I figure like anything else, it's going to take practice and I might as well start now.

I am a Storyteller.

When people ask me what I do, I know they are asking me my profession. I am a Museum Director, that's the title I have been assigned by my employer. But that's not all of what I do or all that I am. Even the title I've been assigned doesn't tell anyone what I do at the museum. It's difficult to find one term that expresses who I am and what I do.

A week ago I had dinner with a friend and wanted to talk to her about some of the conflict I am feeling in relation to the writing and photography I am submitting. The root of my conflict lies in the fact that I feel I needlessly abandoned my art because I judged myself 'not good enough.' When it came time to chose a college degree leading to vocation, I chose to pursue anthropology and abjured art. I enjoyed history and museums, but it was not at the same level. For 16 years, I kept art (painting, photography, creative writing) on the periphery. I never disengaged completely but did not allow myself to fully immerse either.

#7 Postcard Fiction - Ring Off

     April dug around in her purse, the gym bag hindering her movements as she shoved the door open to exit towards the street. Her finger tips brushed over the silicon case and she was dialing before the phone was out of the bag. With angry rapid fire words, April told of her mother about a stolen engagement ring, the stupid gym and its rude gym owners, which gave way to tears as her thumb rubbed her empty finger.

     "Chica! Hey, Chica!"

April turned and saw a rough Hispanic man with spider web tattoo on his neck. Her head whipped forward again and she clinched the phone tighter, picking up her pace. 

     "Wait!.. Hey, Chica!"
     April scanned for her car measuring the shortening distance as she dug back into the purse for her keys.
     "Oh, come on!...Flaca, tirame un hueso." April heard footfalls coming closer and faster.
     "Oh my god, Mom. There's a guy following me." A hand grabbed April's shoulder as her mother told her to run. She swung the gym bag, connecting and causing her attacker to stumble back.  As she prepared to scream, April saw the man holding out her diamond ring.