Skip to main content

Still Writing...

I'm back.


In the same room
same chair
same laptop, now a little more worn.
same document.

It's another cloudy, cool Sunday.
Drizzle outside.
Ideas inside.

And I'm writing.

It's the quintessential full circle moment here. This is how my #NaNoWriMo began a year ago, and I'm happy to report that I AM still writing! Since Tuesday, I've only written 1,879 words, but I know where I'm going. On the side, I've mapped out a plot that actually has parts, even if not all the required parts just yet. I've detailed characters to give them dimension and so I don't forget who has which quirk, of course! All of this gives me direction. I have yet to have a moment where, as I sat down to the keyboard, I hesitated and felt empty, lost with no purpose. Yeah, I missed a day or two this week; it was one of those kinds of weeks. But I'm still going!

Pride - I think that's the feeling here. And some shock. Didn't know I could do this!

Determination is the other emotion. I am determined to get this thing into something that works. Something that flows and grows and moves people. Parts of it move me, but maybe that's because so much of it is me. Will others feel it like I do? I don't know. I've shared it only with one so far. 

Next hurdle - dialogue. It's so hard to mimic actual conversation, especially when it's supposed to be teen convos and, well, I'm not exactly teen any more! (Yeah, that was only a year or two ago, right?) I do hang out with teens practically daily, so this shouldn't be that hard exactly. Guess I need to tune in a little more and see what I can glean.

How's your writing going? Did you join me yet? Guess you and I both should get back to that draft and back to that writing! We can do it!




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dude. Be nice.

It's in the air like the scent of burnt popcorn from the teacher workroom fogging the halls. It's on our faces like thick blue cupcake icing that will never, never wash off.  What is it, you ask? The spring slide. The end of the year blues. The how-many-more-days-do-we-have weekly question. Yup, it's that time of year. It happens annually. Spring Break concludes, and it takes all of our patience and enthusiasm with it. Students go off for a week and leave any interest and motivation under the blankets where they slept their break away. We teachers leave our efforts to collaborate and abilities to reason in the pages of our reads and on the beaches of our trips. And there is just never. enough. coffee. Ever. That sad and disappointing part of the spring slide/endofyearblues is that it leaves us snarking at each other and our students. Our patience is minuscule and our tempers are pre-lit. And everyone - everyone - we encounter wears a target gleaming, waiting for our

Mom, the Book Queen

Last year about this time, my momma came to my classroom. She was in town for another shindig, and I talked her into being a guest speaker. She was scared. I was excited! She was worried. I was thrilled! In the end, she was incredible! See, my momma taught me to love reading. I have never, NEVER seen anyone devour a book the way Mom does. My childhood is filled with images of her in the navy recliner, nearby lamp lighting the words she inhaled. She read those dense books with thousands of pages. She read those books with the Fabio-looking guy on the cover, his hair blowing in an imaginary wind, a desperate girl draped on his arm. And she read as many books as she could carry home from the library. Go, Rangers! In summers, Mom took my brother and me to the local library once a week typically. At first, I played in the children's section, listening to read-alouds and puppet shows and wandering between shelves. I made piles of books covered with illustrated dragons and puppy

My Emily

One evening a few weeks ago, my almost 8 year old, Emily, was having a night. The scream, pout, tantrum kind of night. Drama was high, and I was doing my best to remain calm and avoid an explosion of anger or a fit of giggles. I'm about 50/50 when it comes to kid fights. I can never predict if I'll react in yelling or laughing. Anyway, this particular incident dealt with toothbrushing. I have come to believe that brushing one's teeth - at least at elementary age - must be akin to chewing shiny metal thumbtacks. Hearing my children protest, one may conclude that I torture them frequently with the help of Crest and Oral-B. This night was no different. Emily was NOT going to brush her teeth no matter what I suggested. Typically, she puts the paste on her brush, clicks two minutes into the timer, and off she goes. But not that night.  Her protests grew, her voice reaching higher and higher octaves as her eyes bulged and her face sizzled. She slammed her bedroom door. She th