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2004-10-15 - 12:28 p.m.

I am beginning the process of preparing for the quest to write a novel in November. According to the rules, as I understand them, I am allowed to choose a title, think all I like about, and even outline my story. The actually writing however must be done between November 1st and 30th. I have been visiting the site dedicated to this writing task and attempting some of the exercises suggested to "warm up" for the event. It is about getting 50,000+ words on the page, preferably in a way that makes sense but since the projects are verified unread (simply by word count) it is as we remember from high school an "honor system". What one has to gain from cheating such a task is beyond me but I suppose at some point it has probably been done just for bragging rights. I am personally interested in improving my dedication to the act of writing daily (something that this forum has helped with but if you follow this at all you know that my wordcount is woefully short of the 2000+ per day required to obtain 50,000+ words in one short month.)

I knosh my lunch and type (poorly) during the hour I am alloted for eating, to the consternation of the folks at IT who can not understand how I could possibly dirty up my keys so much in such a short time. I try to keep the crumbs to a minimum but I must admit from time to time my fingers are somewhat greasy when I return to typing after each bite. I have considered skipping lunch altogether for the month of November. Perhaps I might instead substitute one of those lovely diet bar things that you can eat quickly but are supposed to be so filling.

Yesterday I made my first draft of my outline. I will not look at it until Monday at which time I am sure I will have additions to make. Like any memory (and this story has been around for me for a long time so it is in some ways a memory) I don't always remember all the parts at once. I want to tell the story in the first person. Not only for the protagonist but for the antagonist as well. I have separated the chapters into his and hers. I'm not sure this will work (or if they will speak through me equally) but I am told if I just relax and let loose they will tell me where to go.

I am not sure how the new man in my life will take this exercise I have committed to. He had been reletively quiet about his peraonal opinion other than to suggest that there is not enough time (and that I specifically don't have time) to write a novel. I don't think he understands that at this point it doesn't matter if I finish just that I make a real try. He is young and has not watched as each one of the dreams he had for his life has died. They were not killed but instead simply starved to death from neglect. There were so many things I thought that I would do with my life and now as I sit at the halfway point I realize that I did not even manage to care for myself properly for the first twenty years of my emancipation from my parents protection and now I face potentially 30 more years of career, 20 years of retirement (if my Grandmothers genes were truely passed to me as my visage suggests) and I wonder if I will do any better with the tools I gained during my mis-spent youth. I will not be a prima-ballerina (a dream that died with my inability to obtain the required body type), nor will I take the entertainment world by storm (for much the same reason. I am, alas, of normal human stature and volume). My dreams of filling auditoriums with people dying to hear my incredible voice crashed when I realized that all the people had started so very young. Surprisingly no one is interested in a 40 year old songstress no matter how talented (not enough marketable years). In case you were not aware American Idol has a cut off age of 26 for just that reason. I had to explain that repeatedly to those well meaning people who upon hearing me sing suggested I should audition. I am now officially too old to make a start in anything in entertainment but stand-up comedy (which has no age restriction but sparks a sheer terror in me that has thus far prevented me from foraying into that forum) and literature which only requires that you be prolific, patient and pushy (not necessarily in that order.)

Why I feel the need to pursue anything at this point is beyond me. I could simply resign myself to blissful obscurity and just fill my days with pleasurable activities (I am confident my lovely young Beau would assist me in finding such activites) and my small contribution to mankind in the form of my classes but I feel compelled to do something to push this story (and these characters) out of my head and on to the page. It is a story I need to tell. If I never do anything with the finished product at least I can say that I tried. Somehow I always felt had I tried a little harder any one of my other dreams could have been mine. I don't want this to be another regret. Before you chide, I am coming to terms with the idea that regret is a waste of energy and I am letting go of the dissappointment that stole away my thirties in the form of a bottle. I now try and live a day to day existance. One that leaves me happy for the good and tolerant of the bad. I understand that things don't happen TO me things just happen. Everybody's life sucks in it's own special way and you must learn that everything is temporary, good and bad. The only constant in the universe is change.

It's just my turn to make a change.

I wish you Peace

~alison~


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