Learning My Lesson

The last two weeks have been a very busy, painful time for me. I started work on repainting my bedroom two weeks ago. Storms rolling in nearly every day have made it almost impossible to do a lot at one time. I worked during that time as well, with a couple of days off each week.

In my old life, before rheumatoid arthritis, I'd have knocked out the room in a couple of days and had the furniture back in. It took me a week to prime the bubble gum pink walls. The windows.... well, the stain bled through each coat and I was concerned I'd have to strip them. I put an experimental topcoat on them and I think they'll be ok. Yesterday, after two weeks, I put the first coat of color on the walls. Afterward, I took a late lunch around 2 p.m. and nearly fell asleep over my Freddie burger. Obviously, I wasn't going to get the second coat on. I came home and sat down in my recliner and was out for about three hours. I woke, still exhausted.

What does that have to do with writing? Nothing. No writing got done. In fact, I'll finish Camp NaNoWriMo with about 1000 words. Pitiful.

Here's the thing. I'm learning, after all these horrible years of trying to do everything, I simply can't do everything. I have to pace myself. If you're familiar with RA, you know that mornings are hideous.

This morning is a great example. I didn't work yesterday. I just painted four walls. I slept a bit in the afternoon. I had a good night's sleep. I woke at 7:30 and could hardly move. It took two hours to unlock my muscles and joints. Once this passed off, I'm not in a lot of pain but my energy is low and I'll need to move around another few hours to boost that. I have to do some more painting. It won't be much. I'll probably just trim out the walls. I have to do baseboards, door trims and finish the windows. I might have to put a second coat on the wall. The room is coming together but it won't be done today.

The process has taught me something. I probably already knew it. I have to treat my writing the same way. I've got to pace myself. I have to schedule what I'm going to do today, write it, and move on to tomorrow's schedule.

I started listening to some podcast this weekend about writing and every author I've listened to seemed to reinforce this in some way. Managing time seems to be their key point. For me, that's pacing myself. I remember when I retired in 2013 I set up a schedule to write 5 days a week. It worked great for several weeks until my son had a motorcycle accident in January and broke both bones in his leg and had to have a rod put in one. He had to move home for 6 months and I had to care for him.

Things happen for a reason and I should have learned my lesson then. I didn't. The first two weeks I almost collapsed from exhaustion. He was in horrible pain and needed almost constant attention. I actually had to call in help so I could rest. As a result, my writing schedule fell apart. Once he was able to go home and care for himself, I didn't go back to my schedule. The holidays were on me and so was NanNoWriMo. A Municipal Liasion's life is busy from October through November.

After my podcast binge this weekend, I realized that I have to manage my time better. I have to go back to the schedule. I have one week left to finish the painting and work on my job. The last week of the month I'll be out of town and I want to return with a schedule in hand to structure my time, particularly my writing time. I think that is what works best for me.

I want to start today but the physical act of painting a room is going to wipe me out every time. I have to get it done and all the furniture in the room before next Saturday. I'll be out of town for a week. Writing won't happen but I'm going to keep listening to the podcasts. They've given me a lot of food for thought.



Podcasts I'm Following:
10 Minute Writer's Workshop
Michael Hyatt's This is Your Life
Writing Excuses

Summertime and Camp NaNoWriMo 2016

Summer is upon us, or so the calendar says. I just got back from a week's vacation to find I'm ready for the next one. That's a month away, at the end of July. However, before that, there is Camp NaNoWriMo 2016.

Think cabins, campfires, and marshmallows. Think dark nights in the woods, biting flies, and creepy sounds beyond your window. Not feeling it? Well, not to worry. This camp is much more relaxing... in some ways.

There are no real cabins, campfires, or biting flies. No woods with creepy sounds, or creepy crawlies, or bears. Marshmallows are, of course, up to you.

No, instead of the above you will be in an imaginary cabin - cooped up with 11 other people or isolated if you go solo. You can even go naked if you like, just keep the camera off, please. It is more fun with a group. You'll have someone to talk to in the middle of the night. Keep the lights off and use a flashlight to write by to make the experience more real. Sit on your back deck, patio, or porch at midnight and sing campfire songs around the fire pit while chatting with your cabin mates.

Or stream a YouTube campfire on the smart t.v. while you snuggle in your cozy writing space and write. After all, that's what all versions of Nano are about - writing.

So, I just finished setting up my profile, novel, and cabin. I'm notifying all my friends that I have 11 slots open in my cabin. If I don't hear in 10 days, I'll make it public and let CampNaNo give me a cabin or I'll go solo. Either way, I might get some actual writing done. Commitment is important to me and maybe committing to myself will be a catalyst.

I'll leave you now with this....

It's a Comma Problem

Courtesy of Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

They're such cute little things. Someone put a little tail on a period and it helps you organize your sentences. You could put a little face on them and they'd look back at you, so innocent, so sweet, so helpful.

The truth is, they're horrid little beasts that gnaw at you and taunt you. They snap that little tail at you and well, let's just say I have a hostile relationship with them. You might almost say toxic.

Yet, I sprinkle them liberally throughout my writing without rancor. I accept the generous help they offer, only to find they don't belong in half the places they appear. It is very frustrating. I mean, I know how to write. Yet the common comma defeats me time and again.

I have several grammar books, some great ones, in fact. I keep them all in the room with me. They're my only defense against the comma attack. I don't even trust Grammarly! I suspect they're in cahoots sometimes. Seriously, in the second paragraph of this post, Grammarly said I needed to use "their" instead of "they're". Seriously. It was quite insistent. However, I know enough to grasp the use of pronouns and to be verbs.

This morning, I pulled my Strunk and White, 3rd Edition, from my shelf and brushed up on my comma mistakes. It isn't the first time. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't improving but it is embarrassing to admit that after all these years, and one semester with the evil Von Furhman in 1989, that I still have problems with it.

There are so many rules of grammar it can be overwhelming. In fact, the first chapter in my Strunk and White is Essential Rules of Usage. There are ten rules in this chapter. At the end of Rule 6 is a statement that says, "Rules 3, 4, 5, and 6 cover the most important principles that govern punctuation. They should be so thoroughly mastered that their application becomes second nature."

Do you know what those rules cover? Yes, commas. The most important principles of punctuation. When I break a rule, I go big.

What I find amusing about this is that the most important rules are not 1-4. No, they come after 1. Forming singular possessives, and 2. The serial (Oxford comma). Truthfully, I'd put that Oxford comma first and make those possessives last.

Considering my review of Strunk and White's rules, I think the gist of it is that comma mastery is paramount in writing.

I'm screwed.

So, I strongly advise you buy a copy of Strunk & White... whatever edition it is in now. You can also find free editions online. Here is one copy: Strunk and White, There are many other grammar books out there. As I mentioned, I have several rather large ones. But really, Strunk and White is only 80 pages and the above copy is free.

Incidentally, Grammarly didn't find any major issues with this post. Of course, I use the free Chrome plug-in and the fact that it wanted to make an erroneous substitution of a pronoun means it isn't wise to rely on it too much.

March 14, 2018:

As an interesting addendum, today I ran this post through ProWritingAid and it found NO comma errors. However, it found things it suggested I change to improve readability. How amusing that one of those changes occurs in the Strunk & White quote. I've highlighted those for you to review.

I purchased ProWritingAid for Christmas and got a sale on the lifetime offer. You can let me know what you think in the comments if you're so inclined. I'm still learning ProWritingAid but so far, I'm happier than I was using Grammarly. ProWritingAid also has a Chrome plugin that is free to use and is better than Grammarly.

I Hate Math

I've been working on the novel in what seems to be a hit or miss fashion to me. I'm totally unsatisfied by what I've accomplished. In a perfect world, I'd get 1000 words every day. By that logic, in 50 days, I'd be done. I could do it... in my dreams. I could do a couple of thousand a day... in my nightmares.

I've forced myself, convinced myself, that even 300 words are an accomplishment to be lauded. I tell myself that. I do. I pat myself on the back. "You wrote 20 words today, my dear! Wonderful job. Best 20 words you've ever written."

Whatever.

No, I don't know why authors are so obsessed with word counts. Well, I sort of do. I mean, you have to keep up. There is a kind of math about it all. I hate math.

There are average lengths to stories... short stories, flash fiction, novella, novels, super novels. All have a word count range determined originally, I suspect, by publishing houses. So, one must do the math. Then, there are those "beat" thingys. I'm still trying to wrap my head around those. Fortunately, Jami Gold's website has some awesome and simple explanations. She's apparently good at math. She gives you these nice spreadsheets that do the math for you. I hate math.

Of course, daily word count goals are a different math. That's where you kind of set this goal - that's a promise to yourself - and you strive to write that many words that day. At the end of the day, you tally it up. I use Scrivener and it does the math for you. You just click that little target and it tells you how many words you've typed. It also tells you how many total words are in the novel. And, if you're really, really obsessive, you can actually put your daily target in there, and it is will beat you with a club if you don't meet your goal!

Nah, I'm lying about that. It just throws it in your face in a little box on the screen. If you ask it. I don't set those targets.

I should think about that. I hate math.

Where was I? Oh, yes. So, I was curious. I have been chewing on posting my word count every few days, at least. I like to humiliate myself like that. I'd love to see it rise daily but let's face it, it isn't happening. So, I've opted to post it when I think about it. That means when I write. I only remembered it today, after three days of writing. It sort of popped into my head.

"You've written for three days and not kept track of your daily word count." Yeah, that's true.

Then I got curious. Exactly what is the total count of the story? Well, you know, I had no idea. I rarely look at that number. Because until it is finished, the total count doesn't really ... well, it doesn't count. So, I went back and looked. 60,080 words. Now then, that's a different horse of a color.

I tried to remember what the word count was at the end of last November when I finished NaNoWriMo. I had to have at least 50,000 to win. I remember winning. Of course, I could have had more than 50K. I had no idea. In order to clarify this issue, I trotted over to the website to get my total.

As of November 30th, 2015 - 50,071 words. Oh.

As of March 12, 2016 - 60,080 words.

Well, that's progress. That means I've written 10,009 words in 104 days. That's sounds wonderful.

Let me see, that averages out to 96.24 words a day. OK, that wasn't as exciting as I anticipated.

Well, it averages out to 667.27 words a week. Hmmm, still not very exciting.

In  the course of 3.5 months, I averaged 2859.71 words each month.

I really hate math.

Tell Me A Tale - Follow Up

Weeks ago I set for a challenge here: Tell me a Tale, that no one took as far as I know. Tonight, I decided to take it myself.


I took the photo and stared at it and felt cold air soak into every pore and into my soul as I remembered. The dusty, cobwebbed attic faded and time snapped backward until once again I stood on the bank of Smuggler's Creek.

I watched a leaf drift along on the current, turning and bobbing along until it disappeared around the bend. The stream moved so slow that there was barely a ripple to mar the dark, glassy surface, only an occasional swirl as something impeded its progress. 

Although quite narrow, the water was deep and black with tannin from forest runoff. I tapped on of the pilings that lined the bank with my foot and stared into the water. Impossible to see the bottom but my reflection stared back at me with wide dark eyes, an almost pleading gaze. 

I sniffed and looked across the way where the thick, nearly impenetrable forest crowded the bank. Cold winter winds had long blasted away the leaves, leaving thick knots of vines that would defy the best sailor. All around me, in every tree, they hung so thick it would take a machete to clear them. I glanced down at the one in my hand and turned to stare at the shed that stood at the edge of the stream. 

As sheds went, it was in excellent shape. The weathered siding showed no signs of rot and the windows were all intact and tightly closed. Even the small row boat inside was in good condition. And yet, no one would easily stumble upon this place. I doubted anyone even remembered it was here. 

Dead grass crunched under my feet as I made my way back to the shed. The rusty hasp made a rasping sound as I pulled it and the door hinges screamed.  I had to clean up and get rid of everything. There could be no sign I was ever here.