Really Just a Manic Monday

I should have figured out that when my dream was all about having my car stolen and then being threatened with rape by the cops investigating it that today was going to be a really crappy day.

Getting into work wasn’t bad since I walk, but my user account was shut down because I was off the system, on holiday, for four days.  Really, four days?  And you figured what?  I’m not coming back?  I’ve moved to California with an aching in my heart?  I died driving off the Pennsylvania Turnpike screaming, “I regret nothing!”?  Ah, well, I’m back, and sort of in business.  Happy December, yo!

The weekend was light writing time.  I was busy most of the morning Sunday, and well into the afternoon.  Once I managed from free time I reconnected with a few friends, and actually set up a couple of them as beta readers for an old novel.  So I have to format the book up as a pdf and email it out, and see what sort of feedback I get–besides, “You misspelled this!”  They’ll know up front it’s a rough draft, and I just need feedback on where it’s going.  Besides straight to hell.

So I didn’t end the scene, I didn’t move on to the last one of the chapter, I didn’t finish the chapter and start the first full week of school.  That’s going to happen this week, for sure.  And a few other things as well, but I’m getting it done.  I just need to do a lot of other things at the same time, and it slows everything down.

I’ve done this same thing the last couple of NaNos as well.  You bust butt for a whole month, trying to get a story written, and then 1 December comes along and it’s slow up time.  The rush to burn through fifty thousand, or more, words in thirty days throws off a lot of things, and you feel like you’re either going to take the month off, or struggle to get things done.  This is another reasons I don’t believe I’ll do NaNo again, because there was little writing in October, and now you have to get back to something like normal in December, and that’s two months when one could have been cranking out eight hundred to a thousand words a day, and I could end up with seventy-four to ninety-two thousand words on my story instead of just over sixty right now.

I have my work cut out for me tonight, to get things formatted and other things started.  Maybe I’ll even begin the editing process tonight, along with a little writing of new things, ’cause I’ve let the cat out of the magical bag in my story, and it’s time for dreams.  And not the kind with Dean Stockwell singing into a work lamp while Dennis Hopper looks on like he’s about the cry.  And don’t forget the guy dancing with the snake.

Yeah, that’s a completely different nightmare.  One I’ve seen more than a few times.