So, I’ve decided to take part in NaNoWriMo, super informally. One of those people who don’t even intend to write a novel, but want to be motivated to write every day. I see some people who write in short format consider it a challenge/motivator to write a story collection. Yup, nope. Not even that structured. And the 50,000 word goal? … Well… 50,000 is a lot of words. But broken down to 1,667/day? Hmmm… That can be the goal, with a minimum goal of 1,000/day. Sounds plenty reasonable, right? It’s mostly just about getting my butt in the chair. Every day. Every. Day. EVERY day. Well… get my butt in the chair and WRITE. Not get sidetracked by Facebook, texting, Facebook. I don’t know why Facebook has become such an issue again, but… yeah.
Like so many people I know, I can be such my own worst enemy. Especially when it comes to productive writing time. Writing time in general. Not just can be, am. There may be distractions, but I’m the one that not only gets distracted, but derailed. Derailed by the non-essentials.
Any way, here we are in November. And I’m writing. I guess my focus is a little broad. Short fiction, short creative nonfiction, and blog posts. The last two overlap, yes?
And here I am at 233 words… Maybe 1,000 ISN’T plenty reasonable. But, hey, I’m writing.
It’s funny, the first thing that came to my mind writing-wise as I was wandering around getting some stuff done before I sat down to WRITE, was Stephen King’s Carrie. Not the book actually, but the movie based on it. And not so much the movie itself, but a comment someone made about it. And I got to the comment because my brain was replaying some of my youth. As it was trying to process some Facebook activity I found curious, and piqued my curiosity. A sort of why now? and how? type thing. But that’s a different blog post.
People are… interesting. Interesting. Let’s leave it at interesting.
I was an awkward kid. And that came out in different ways. Sometimes I was just plain quiet. I struggled with some significant social anxiety.
It seems I would have been more a target for bullies. But I wasn’t. I thought of that one day when talking to a guy I went to school with, a guy who had been the target of bullying. Like, he actually got locked in a locker. By a girl. Granted, she was a bit older. Definitely way tougher. On a side note, she grew up really nice, which is nice. I see her once in a while.
Any way, as he was talking about some of his school memories which were worse than some of mine, I wondered… Why was I almost never picked on? And I pondered aloud.
They’d seen Carrie, he said.
Well, um, I…
I haven’t. But I know enough. Enough to hit the edge of offended. And not be sure how to take it. Yeah, and my mom… well…
But, hey, I’m writing…