NaNo...oh no

Hello.


So there's this thing called NaNoWriMo. Where literaryily insane people try to write 50,000 words in just 30 days. I'm not sure how it has escaped my notice all these years. Especially when you consider the fact that I did work in a bookstore for 4 1/2 years, but there ya go.

A few months ago, shortly before moving #3,  The roommate and I were discussing various writing projects. She was recently having been inspired to begin her first novel) and I've eager to get back to writing again, but lacking the motivation/inspiration/kick-in-the-butt to sit at my desk and write.

Somehow we conceived of our own writing group and Since November fell conveniently after our Halloween/New House Party, and well before any holiday travel plans, NaNoWriMo became a frequent boogeyman in our house.

This has to be one of the scariest, most terrifying things I have ever had to deal with. Worse than a haunted tour of an Edinburgh graveyard, or waiting at the grocery store for your debit card to go through the day before payday

 Its...A DEADLINE!


Let me put it this way. 100,000 words is the standard for manuscript length for most publishing houses. NaNoWriMo is a challenge to write HALF of an entire book in 30 days. Something my above average procrastination skills have only ever managed to accomplish in a matter of years.

People do this.

Voluntarily.

For FUN?!?!??!

*I*  agreed to do this?!


Why did I agree to this?  I wasn't that drunk at the Halloween party. Hell, I wasn't even drunk!


Don't panic.. Don't panic.. Don't panic.. Don't panic.. Don't panic.. Don't panic.. Don't panic.. Don't panic.. 



Don't mind me, I'll just be the girl, huddled around her laptop, eating her own hair cursing the inadequacies of Google and thesaurus.com calling out random brobdingnagian words, ranting about creative flow vs. the writing applications of Occam's razor and figuring out how to pay for all the therapy I'm going to need to deal with my kakorrhaphiophobia 


*Deep Breath*....*DEEP...Breath*



Okay back to work now.




Here's hoping my fingers don't freeze and my brain doesn't boil.

The most beautiful thing in the world

One of the most beautiful sights that I have seen in quite a while has to be a pile of unpacked and  flattened boxes.

Yes, the unpacking has begun. If fact, I don't have that many boxes left. Although I cannot speak for my roommate.

When we first looked at this house, I thought that having the office space right off my bedroom would be a bit of a pain, but after a few weeks, I am beginning to realize the benefits.  Having the computer right there, it's pretty hard to ignore. And while the organizing and unpacking takes precedence over my writing, I can feel the siren's call of the keyboard and the urge to head for that shore is growing strong.  

I will be very glad when all the boxes are in the bin and I won't feel guilty for spending the evening brainstorming with my roommate or actually working on my next book.

In the meantime I wanted to give a short update on the new place.

The yard is massive and the dog LOVES it.

The cats have realized that there is grass outside and not a breezeway--so the opening of doors has become a little more dangerous and Zoe the escape artist has been apprehended twice already.

 Mary and I have now learned one very important rule of owning a pool--you cannot forget the chlorine or algicide--EVER.

Yesterday my mother came over to take the tour and said one of the best things she could have to make me feel even better about our new living arrangement.   "I'm jealous"

Yep, it made my day.  

Hopefully in the next few weeks I'll have time to write up a book review or two and post them. 

Thanks for reading

-A

The Law of Inevitable Needing aka. Why Moving Sucks

As I mention in my last post, we're moving again. The roommate and I are deep in the "Oh-My-God-we're-never-gonna-get-all-this-crap-out-of-here!!!!" stage of packing.

Why do we keep doing this to ourselves? We know the move is coming. We've known for MONTHS The widget on my phone has been counting down the days and we've been anxiously, excitedly repeating that countdown like a mantra to keep our sanity as we attempt to deal the the anguish of living in this craptacular apartment for a blessedly short fraction of sample a remainder of the month. .

I don't mind the packing, or the unpacking. but its the actual lugging of all my worldly possessions from one place to another that I find to be painful. Its confronting the reality that I own a lot of crap. and I mean A LOT.

How did this happen? how did I become such a sucker for all the marketing and impulse-purchasing? When I did become such a possessor of things? When did surround myself with all this stuff?

Experienced movers will understand that I'm in that "Did I really think I needed that when I bought it, and I why God why have I held on that thing for so long, and I should just donate everything to Goodwill and feel good about myself-but then really I'd still have to actually move all this stuff-just to Goodwill instead of my new place"--stage of moving.


The part of the move when you seriously consider selling everything you own on EBay--like that one guy who actually did it-- and more and more you find yourself considering a commune, or an ashram or just moving to Russia---except, then I'd have to learn more Russian and I'm just not that great with the Slavic languages.

The most annoying aspect of the moving processes--especially when you have a lot of time before the actual move is finding the balance of waiting to pack and actually packing.

There is a sort of Murphy’s law of packing---that I call the "Law of Inevitable needing" You have things. you pack those things. The NEXT day you realize that you need those things which you have just packed, and you don't have a friggin clue which box the things you need are in. It doesn't matter what that thing it is. It could be a silver collectors spoon your great-Aunt gave you that was given to her by P.T. Barnum in 1912 or the Ziploc bags. Even if you haven't used that thing or even looked at it in years! The day after you pack it will be the day that Antique Roadshow comes to town, or you decide to take a sandwich for lunch.

The law of inevitable needing.



I can feel the stress rising like a barometer. The roommate is out of town (She had the chance to go to DRAGON-CON for pretty much FREE!) I'm on my way out the door to meet the cable guy at the new place, and the movers come tomorrow.

At least tomorrow night I will be enjoying my inaugural night in the new house and hopefully all that will be left is a car load or two of miscellaneous bits.

By next weekend the move will be 100% complete and we can start focusing on our housewarming/Halloween party that we hope will go down in history (and not in flames)


Wish us luck!

Moving, Moving, Moving

In 36 days, I will be moving, again. This will make the third house-shift in twelve months and then I am done!

 

It’s my own fault really; I cursed myself. As a former military-brat, I was used to moving every six-months-two years and the idea of having lived in a single apartment for more than four years had my fingers itching for box tape and indelible markers. By the time my roommate and I found a place we both agreed would be acceptable, I was nearly in a fetal position crying “ready to move, ready to move, ready to move”  

But then we had (unknowingly) made the fateful decision to move into a complex managed by a woman who I am convinced is an actual psychopath. At the very least, she is a pathological liar.

"Two-bedroom with washer and dryer hook-ups on the first floor? Yes we have those."  LIE

"Available for your move in date? Yes" LIE

"Actually, the one I thought had hook-ups doesn’t but we’ll have one in 45 days." LIE

"The one that is coming open is going to need a lot of repairs." LIE

In the end, we had to move into an apartment without hook-ups for three months and then move into a second apartment-on the second floor- and our apartment ended up being a three-bedroom. Which Miss-schiz gave us for a two-bedroom price. For the inconvenience

To make things worse, the above examples are just the move-in related lies that we have caught her in. There have been so many others.

Now we are at the end of that lease and my roommate and I are ready to run for the hills into any available apartment.

But we don’t have to!   

As it turns out, a co-worker of a friend of my roommates will have a rental-house with a vacancy at the exact time of our lease’s expiration. AND there’s a yard with a fence, and a pool and two parking spaces right out front and it’s not a mile-long walk down/up a hill to take the dog out or check the mail. 

So in 36 days the lease will be up and we'll be done! and I will never move again...for at least 3 years.

I’m so excited!…and I just can’t hide it! 

Please, don’t start singing that song!

NO! Really. Please! Don’t!!

Okay…. I’m going to go pack now. 

Dear Windows Vista. I think it is past time we parted ways. I never really wanted you in my life in the first place. You were just there. The creepy OS I had to put up with until something better came along. And now it has. I am leaving you for windows 7. Don't bother backing up your things. Just get out. 

It's not me. It's you.

Absolutely no lemons in this lemonade.

I am generally a calm person. 

I’m a “meh” using, karma-believing, “I’m sure it will all work out” and “look on the bright-side”-saying person with a natural “que-sera-sera” attitude that would make a Zoloft-addict jealous. 

It takes A LOT to get me to a boiling point.

So it surprised even me when I hit 212 degrees last week.

And just what drove me there?

Oh, I’m so glad you asked—or, kept reading at least. 

Driving home last week, I was the victim of a random act of fate. Actually, it was the unfortunate act of another driver, and my car was the real victim. 

Some nice person stopped to let another driver make a left turn across a busy road. But said other driver failed to notice that there were two lanes of traffic.

So at this point, you’re probably thinking:

“Oh, a car accident. Yeah, dumb drivers make me mad too.”

WRONG

Accidents happen (Que-sera-sera), but what sent me into anger-induced oscillations wasn’t the inconvenience or the pain of seeing my poor car with a crumpled fender and hood. 

Nope.

It was the insurance people.

After the incident I managed to get my –what-I-thought-was-only-cosmetically-damaged car home and immediately called my insurance company like a good little girl.

The next day I get a call.

Have you heard from the other party’s insurance?

No.

So I called them and left a message.

The "Other-Insurance-USA" representative never calls.

I call back.

Rinse and repeat every two hours for an entire day.

Friday night (now two days after the accident), I got the call that pending final approval, my car—a 2003 Eclipse (the year before the tragic redesign)—would be actually be “totaled” because the damage actually was a lot worse than it appeared.

Can you feel the stress level rising?

What I thought was going to be two or three days of driving a cool rental car, is now going to cost me years of car payments I hadn’t planned on initiating for another year or two, or as long as I could get away with it. 

This of course sent me into a weekend-long Kubler-Ross spiral of the five stages of grief and by the Monday following the accident, I had reached the final stage of acceptance— including  beginning to consider my options—such as what to get as my next vehicle.

Monday morning I called the other driver’s insurance and left a message. 

"Please call me back at or shortly after two." (my awesome job may let me listen to music or audio books all day, but it doesn’t let me answer my phone.)

They call back an hour later.

I hide in the break room and call back—voicemail. 

"If I can’t reach you before then, please call me back at two."

On my lunch break I call this company representative, and apparently Every.  Single. Person (isn’t it funny how cathartic hyperbole is when you’re upset?...or...ever?) who could possibly help me is on lunch or unavailable, but they will be back in 30 minutes. 

“But my lunch break is over in ten minutes. Who can I talk to now?”

“Um…can I put you on hold while I try to find someone?”

“No.” *click*

By this point, I was beyond boiling point, hitting the roof, not seeing straight, or any other anger-related clichés you might want to dredge up. 

I went home "sick" and only five minutes out the door, I get a phone call from the one person I have been trying to reach since Friday morning. 

A full hour before 2:00pm, I might add.

I know that what happened to me or my car isn’t this woman’s fault. She wasn’t driving the car. She doesn't even live in the same state. She has her own responsibilities, problems and has to deal with stressed out people all day. Also, she has every right to her own lunch break and can't do her job on everyone else's schedule. I've done customer service before. I know this.

But when she acted as though I hadn’t left a single voicemail for her or her supervisor in that moment, I have to admit it. 

I kind of hated her. 

Just a little bit, I swear. 

I asked some questions, and finally got some answers. She asked some necessary questions took down some information and cheerily said good-bye.

This was all the exchange I needed to alleviate my aggravation.

Now that I’ve gotten to speak to an actual person, things seem to actually be progressing a lot smoother. "Other-Insurance-USA" has accepted the liability, the rental car reservation has been transferred off of my insurance to "Other-Insurance-USA" and as an added bonus, it turns out that my car will be having surgery instead of a funeral.  

The new parts have been already been ordered for my eclipse—which I will be renaming Steve Austin. 

…better…stronger…faster.

*cue the vocal stylings of Doris Day*

For those of you wondering who "Other-Insurance-USA" is… let’s just say that the only blue box I will ever let have anything to do with my mode of transportation, better come with David Tennant. 

Off and Running

I want to be a writer. 

Technically, I am a writer.  I have a finished draft of my first fiction novel, and I'm working on the next, but I would like to actually get paid to write.  Have an agent, a publisher, and a copy of my book hardbound and on bookstore shelf near you.

Before I know it, the awards will start coming in along with the money, the jealous haters, and the fans. 

Then it will only be a matter of time before my tragically-predictable death and the release of a final posthumous novel discovered in a filing cabinet full of pictures of my cat and prose written on used restaurant napkins— assembled and completed by a middle-aged son who always resented me for my fame. 

The ungrateful bastard.

Where was I?

I'm still working out all kinks (such as my own laziness and procrastination) in my plan to take over a small corner of  the literary world.  In the meantime, I need to starting building my empire and stretching my writing skills beyond work emails asking:

“Hey, what are you having for lunch?  I brought a lean-pocket, but I’m not feeling it.  What are they having in the cafeteria?”

I have chosen a blog in order to prepare myself for the scrutiny, rejection, and - ya’ know - the positive stuff that a future will bring as I attempt to scale the publishing mountain.  A personal journal won’t do because the only person who could possibly mock a personal journal is a little brother or sister, and alas, I have neither.

So, here I am throwing my hat into the blogosphere.

What can you expect to find here? 

• ·Random Acts of Writing
•  This could pop up as anything, but will most likely fall into these categories:
• Personal Rants
• Look for the word “douche” to appear often
• Stream-of- Scribbling
• Like those journaling exercises at the beginning of English class but with my own twisted take 
• Submit your suggestions to plotbunnyfoofoo@gmail.com with the Subject “Stream-of-Scribbling Suggestion” --try saying five times fast while you do ;) 
• Feats of Fiction 
• Short pieces of fiction or the occasional page or two from my Work-In-Progress (W.I.P) folder
• Book reviews 
• The nature of my job requires very little human interaction (yay technology!) so I get to listen to audio books all day and I have to tell someone what I thought, so why not you (feel special yet?)

Also, an  !! exclusive !!  behind-the-scenes look at who how my roommate and I are slowly aiding  the evolution of the English language by inventing our own words or annexing existing ones for our own unique applications.

(Announcer voice) All this and more! 

So please read and hopefully enjoy.  Spread the URL across the universe --and any other verses you may have access to (just in case Doctor Who or Joss Whedon are reading this)-- and comeback soon.  

                                                                                                              

                                                                                                              -Angela