Archive for the ‘NaNoWriMo’ Category
who’s afraid of the NaNoWriMo wolf?
Not I!
Date of death: 11/29/2008
Time of death: 4:32 pm
Official word count: 50,017
Amount of editing required: Let’s not talk about that now.
A celebratory evening with P, 1408, a warm fire, and cioccolata calda:
Priceless.
Thank you all for your support this month and always!
********
Be sure to come back tomorrow for a *fabulous* book giveaway and guest post by Diana Spechler, author of Who by Fire!
1st of the month featured blogger: november
Yes I know it’s already November 3, but it’s never too late for the 1st of the Month Featured Blogger, is it? Besides, I’ve been busily working on my NaNoWriMo novel–you can keep up with my word count in the sidebar (and if you’re wondering, I decided to go with something brand new and left last year’s novel for another month…but that’s all I’m saying for now!).
This month I’d like you to introduce you (or re-introduce you as the case may be) to Diana Strinati Baur of the blog Creative Structures and of the Baur B & B in Piemonte, northern Italy.
Diane is a wonderful potter and writer who I’ve gotten to know better through an online friend of mine and a real life friend of hers–Gina DePalma, who you’ve already heard a great deal about here through the Dolce Italiano and O Foods for Ovarian Cancer Awareness Contests.
Diana’s attitude toward life is so inspiring and refreshing, but if you’ve caught any of her comments here, you probably already know that. She recently wrote a great post about life after 40 entitled “Sister Girl Tales,” inspired by another of my favorite bloggers, NYC/Caribbean Ragazza.
Here is a snippet of Diana’s post:
I look at myself now and realized it took all of that to become the kind of person who can be content sitting on a hill and creating. I am content with the person I am today. I also wish for myself less work and more joy.
Over the years, [my sister] and I both have started untying the knots of our complicated selves. We both do truly see that getting the most out of these days we have now is of utmost importance. This knowledge forges us together in the strongest of ways.
Staying healthy and happy in mid life is easier with a sister to lean on. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
Here are some of Diana’s gorgeous creations, Japanese drinking bowls:
And a glimpse of her life in Piemonte:
Now go visit Diana and tell her I sent you!
NaNoWriMo is back! are you in?
But first, I want to thank everyone *immensely* for the birthday wishes! It was a lovely weekend made even lovelier by all the fabulous, happy thoughts coming my way. Grazie mille!
And now, the winner of a free, signed copy of Justin Catanoso‘s My Cousin the Saint: A Search for Faith, Family, and Miracles from the commenters on my blog is:
Leanne of From Australia to Italy
Congratulations Leanne! I’ll be in touch!
Now, on to the NaNo stuff.
I’ve gotten several emails asking whether I’m going to be doing NaNoWriMo again this year. So I’m making it official here and now:
Yes, yes I am NaNo-ing, and you can find me here:
For those of you who don’t know, NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month. It’s more international than national, but it *is* all about writing a novel–or at least 50,000 words throughout the month of November.
Last year, I got up close to half that mark, but sadly, haven’t worked much on those 21,000 words since. So here’s my question to you: should I bend the rules of NaNo and continue that story, or should I start anew with a whole new idea (yet to be thought of)?
In some respects, I’m excited to get going on something new and interested to see where it takes me, but then, well, last year’s characters have been running around in my head lately too, and I’m wondering whether they don’t have more to say.
But on the other hand, they could also say things in, say, January and make room for new faces, no?
Can you tell I’m a Libra? Balancing, weighing, difficulty deciding….
So what do you think? How about an excerpt of last year’s unfinished novel, so you know what, and who, we’re talking about? Here are the first 450 words or so:
——–
“All I want is a coffee…strong, bitter, small!” yelled Saliha Abu Al-Fadl, her deep brown eyes glaring at the only man who could give her what she wanted.
It felt good to shout. She couldn’t remember the last time she had done it.
Nearby Salvatore Amato’s head was pulled from an article on military spending. He sought out the raised voice. Behind him to his left, was, as he expected, a damsel in distress. Always a sucker for such a thing, he folded the Philadelphia Inquirer under his arm and rushed, as much as an 83-year-old man can rush, over to the coffee counter.
“Excuse me, can I help?” he said as much to the woman as to the barista.
The woman wearing a burkha turned around and looked straight into a pair of coal black eyes framed by bushy white eyebrows and a rather pronounced nose. She glanced down and took quick note of his dark grey suit, white shirt, and black tie with small white crosses on it.
He topped off the look with a black derby, white band of course, that made her think of the old American gangster films. Her son, an increasingly famous movie producer, had sent her hundreds of his own favorite movies so that she could share his passion while learning English.
And now this animated gangster was waving a wooden cane back and forth at the young man behind the counter.
“She’ll have an espresso doppio,” said Salvatore. A smirk sneaked out from underneath a wild white mustache as he turned to Saliha. “My kind of woman,” he said as he looked into the woman’s pools of espresso for eyes and added a wink for good measure.
Saliha looked to the man behind the counter, hoping that the stranger had spoken the correct words. The coffee on the plane from Iraq had been watered down and weak, and she needed something much stronger to get through the day ahead.
“Well that’s all she had to say,” said the barista and turned away. He slammed the metal container holding the last brew hard against the end of the drawer that holds the old grounds.
“They have a strange language at these shops,” Salvatore said. “You may speak perfect English, and complimenti, it seems like you do, but it certainly doesn’t help you get a coffee here.” He took a black handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wiped his forehead clean of the sweat that had formed on his walk over.
“Thank you sir,” Saliha said and turned back toward the counter to await her first coffee on American soil. As the machine hissed and gurgled, she could no longer contain her anticipation. Her lips curled into a broad smile that only she knew was there.
———-
So what do I do? Start anew? Continue? Help!
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