A Very Scary Undertaking....
For those of you who don't know (mom), NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. The goal is to start writing a novel on November 1st and have it completed, with at least 50,000 words, by midnight on November 30th. It is not supposed to be an amazingly good novel; writing this fast makes it almost impossible to be fastidious, which is the point. The point is to crank the words out, get the juices going, etc; it is the perfect exercise for the writer (like me) who never writes because she agonizes over every word and isn't sure if the idea is "fully formed" or some BS excuse like that.
So. I will be attempting to crank out 50,000 words of fiction between 11/1 and 11/30. Not all of it will be good. In fact, most of it will be crap. It *should,* however, have a coherent plot, so here's where you come in. I will be posting the novel in serial form as I write it every day. I'll be posting here, on my myspace blog, and on my NaNoWriMo account. I need people to read it as a form of motivation--so if you have time in your busy days, stop by, read my latest installment, and maybe comment on it. Knowing I have readers just WAITING ON THE EDGE OF THEIR SEAT (yes you can lie about this) will be excellent motivation and will generally just make me feel good about myself.
So. Prepare yourselves for a fiction-explosion! For now, here's a Sestina I wrote for Halloween. Ooooo, creepy....
Spectral Sestina
O’er the downs, if ye have the spirit
Go in the night, through the heady black
And look ye not, lest your sure boots slip,
But wait ye there, for her diaphanous call
Shut tight your eyes as she holds her note
And blindly she’ll guide ye through her dance
She’ll lead ye to the spectral dance
Where folks have no flesh, just airy spirit
And all those there step with each note
In perfect time, in white and black
They’ll bow to ye, who’s come to call
Though no word through their tongues shall slip
Yer partner, she’s a gossamer slip
Of a thing; upon her wee reflections dance.
Her skin, though pellucid as her call
Is real enough for such a spirit.
She’ll hold yer hand against the black
Ye’ll find it firm, though cold ye’ll note
The music, winding through each weightless note
Bleeds into itself, then out it will slip
Through your mind and back into the black
As you whirl her ‘round in th’unearthly dance
And she holds to ye, wants to spirit
Ye away forever, before the first lark’s call.
But if yer wise, ye’ll be deaf to her call
For ye’ll have read this warning note
And ye’ll let go to save yer spirit
While out of her embrace ye slip
The other faeries never end their dance.
And close your eyes to find the black
And let yerself fall into th’black
Until ye hear the morning’s call
When tiny things resume their dance
Amidst the grass like floating notes.
Cold dew on yer arms like a silken slip
Glides over a woman, like a breeze, a spirit
And yer fair spirit still will call
Into the black her high, fair note
For hope to slip fair lads into her dance.
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