DONE!! 50,184 Words!!

Well, I finished just before 11 pm on the 30th day. I coasted past 50,000 words with my epilogue. I just read the letter that Chris Baty wrote at the end of the book (well, not quite the end, but I don't pay attention to the editing part), and as always, it brought me to tears.
We ARE brave and amazing for doing this, and yes, a little crazy. Since we've all done this before, perhaps it isn't seen as the same kind of achievement, but it is damn hard to write a damn novel in 30 days, as we can all attest to.
I just snuck upstairs to tell Liam that I was finished my book. He said "Oh, good. It was ripping my life apart." Seems he inherited my flair for the dramatic. In any case, fellow novelers, I salute you. WE ARE AWESOME!!

I will leave you with the ending of my novel... to my sisters... this is for you:

Gordon was working feverishly at the bar, delivering both mad cap hilarity, with a Tom Cruise-esque flair, and healthy portions of Boo!Bie Brew, which had become a Jackie’s Place special. The customers loved Gordon, and there were many requests for him to perform his well known and inimitable dance routine to Fefe Dobson’s monster hit “Ghost”, which he performed nightly on the top of the bar, like a caped and masked Coyote Ugly. But tonight was Hope’s night. Gordon would do nothing to upstage the debut of Aerochix.
As the lights dimmed in Jackie’s Place, the crowd buzzed excitedly, awaiting what would surely be a legendary addition to the reputation the bar had as always having the best music. As Katie Desman softly played the opening strains of Dream On, Hope took the stage, decked in leather, her hair teased and her lips pouted, she was breathtaking. With the lights on her, she began the song:
Every time I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face getting clearer
The past is gone
It goes by, like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay

As she finished the verse, she backed away from the centre of the stage, where another person was stepping into the light. It was Grace. She had also inherited her mother’s lovely singing voice, and she continued the song where Hope had left off:

Yeah, I know nobody knows
where it comes and where it goes
I know it's everybody's sin
You got to lose to know how to win

The crowd applauded wildly, loving every moment of the duet. When the third Storey sister took the stage, the crowd went insane. Prudence sang:

Half my life
is in books' written pages
Lived and learned from fools and
from sages
You know it's true
All the things come back to you …

At the conclusion of the song, the three sisters fell to their knees, arms intertwined, singing with stunning falsetto voices into magenta scarf decorated microphones. Three sisters, who looked so alike, their voices raised in song… it was stunning and beautiful to see. There wasn’t a dry eye in Jackie’s Place that night. It was a triumph. And every person there who had a sister called her that night to tell her that they loved her. And every person who didn’t have any sisters at all felt a little sad, as though they had missed out on something truly wonderful in life. And if I can let you in on a little secret… they have. There is nothing better in this world than the love of your sisters.

The End

46,216 Words... Can't Wait for the Finish

Hey everyone, I'm back from the cottage, and just read through all the blogs. Good work, everyone! Two people have already finished and the rest of us are on track to finish this weekend. I am sad that I'll be alone for the finish, but am considering having a party for myself and making the boys toast me with Chamapanade whilst I drink some Henkell Trocken. There will be snackskies of course.
Here is an excerpt, I think it's a little long, but as I haven't posted for a while, maybe it's appropriate? I keep coming back to Jackie's Place when I get bored, which is very often. Here is a description of karaoke night at Jackie's Place.

"Jackie stood at his usual post in Jackie’s Place, behind the bar. Once again, the place was packed. It didn’t seem to matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, the people kept coming back for more. He supposed it was because they had the best music. As usual, he stood ignoring the customers, using a filthy rag to wipe the filthy bar, an exercise in futility. Every table was full, with the exception of Chris Kirkpatrick headquarters, the corner booth and the best table at Jackie’s Place, which had remained vacant since Grace’s abrupt departure, and Jackie planned to keep it empty until her return. The patrons had learned to avoid the corner booth, and not just because of the distasteful photos of N’Sync that decorated the snug booth. The night that Gordon the Vampyre had tried to occupy the exclusive corner booth, Jackie had ordered the Aerosmith cover band to play “Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” unceasingly, and had served jauntily decorated cocktails to Gordon and his friends that tasted strongly of ham with a hint of ex-lax. Jackie apparently DID want Gordon to miss a thing. No one had sat in the booth since.
Tonight was karaoke night at Jackie’s Place, a first, and based on the experience, Jackie wasn’t sure that there would be a repeat. In a moment of weakness, he had allowed Gordon to recommend a karaoke service provider, and he was regretting that decision mightily. The karaoke maestro was a vile, arrogant man, who was clearly drunk on the power of controlling the destiny of the karaoke masses. Jackie surmised that the man must have formerly been a frustrated karaoke patron (as all karaoke patrons are), who had decided to run the show, basically so that he could sing as many songs as he wanted, whenever he wanted. He was currently belting out ‘Hero’ by Mariah Carey, and though he was doing a fair job of it, Jackie wanted to punch him in the throat, making it impossible for him breathe in the immediate future, and possibly rendering it difficult for him to sing for the rest of his life.
Jackie couldn’t decide if ‘Hero’ was better or worse than the last song. The vile maestro was forcing people to perform like dancing monkeys, selecting the songs that he wanted them to do, even if they didn’t know them. This had gone awry when a woman had been forced to perform a Rihanna song she clearly was completely unfamiliar with. A group of sisters had joined her, trying to help the floundering woman out, but it was no use. It was a lost cause. They didn’t seem to know the song either. This of course made the vile karaoke maestro look that much more competent when he put on songs for himself, that he had clearly spent hours rehearsing in front of the mirror. It was a disgusting display of narcissistic obsession. The overall effect was pleasing."

Just Past 40,000 Words!!

Hey everyone! Just past 40,000 words tonight, and tomorrow I am off to Ang's cottage, where I will have no internet access at all, or cell reception! Eek. How I will manage to write without google is anyone's guess. I'm sure I'll just plagiarize directly from a magazine or something.
Can't WAIT to be done.
Here is an excerpt that I wrote yesterday. Everything I wrote today is stupid, uninteresting, and trite.
Back to Jackie's Place...
"It was a rowdy night at Jackie’s Place, even by its normal raucous standard. The semi-annual poker tournament was well underway, and Jackie was also playing host to the bi-weekly meeting of Fanilows 4EVA, a group of Barry Manilow superfans. The Fanilows were not interacting well with the Aerosmith cover band fans who were pumping their fists as their favourite tribute band, Broken Aero, belted out the Aerosmith classics. For a moment, Jackie thought he was going to have to get his taser out (it was rumoured that he had nicknamed it ‘Lucky’) to take care of some of the more vocal Fanilows, who demonstrated their unhappiness with the song selection by singing the lyrics to Mandy when Broken Aero broke into one of their best-loved classics from the 90s, Cryin’. The Fanilows and the Broken Aero fans were appeased though when the Steven Tyler look alike invited the Barry Manilow look alike onto the stage to sing Dream On as a duet, a la Matthew Morrison/Neil Patrick Harris.

Gordon could be overheard describing the party atmosphere at Jackie’s Place as ‘a real corker’. No one was sure what that meant, but no one wanted to ask for clarification, lest Gordon launch into some sort of explanation, that no one doubted would be pretentious, inexplicable, and otherwise untenable. Jackie, who was at the bar, ignoring customers and working on a list of rules, added “Rule #9: No use of the term ‘real corker’ at any time”. He had yet to post these rules... he wanted to make sure that they were complete before he put them up. He had learned the hard way that handwritten signs, once posted, took on a life of their own (see “This Ain’t The Hilton” for reference). He had added and since removed “No persons currently or historically involved in the department of Social and Political Thought at York University, either as graduate students or faculty members”.
Jackie would soon regret his decision to not post the rules, when rule #1 on his list: No police, was violated by the man who entered the bar. His hair was short, very dark, and messy, as though he had been running his hands through his hair. His face was tanned, making his blue eyes stand out in a most appealing manner. It looked like he normally wore sunglasses, probably something hopelessly uncool, because there were tell tale areas around his eyes and in a line toward his ear that were of a lighter colour. All of these things made Jackie think that he was a cop, but the dead giveaway was the khaki cop uniform he was wearing, DILF brand of course. Jackie didn’t know that Jackson preferred the dark uniform, but that his vomit covered dark trousers were still in the trunk of the car, where he had left them the day Prudence left town.
Jackie was irritated that a cop had entered the bar, but blamed himself, after all, he hadn’t posted the no cop rule, yet. An oversight on his part that wouldn’t be repeated. Half of the Aerosmith cover band, upon spotting the interloper, dropped their instruments where they were, and left the stage. The fake Steven Tyler was among them, leaving the microphone stand empty and somehow lonely looking on the stage. The magenta scarf that adorned the microphone stand leant a poignancy to the scene that was unintentionally beautiful. Three quarters of the poker players also cleared out, leaving the bar mostly filled with Fanilows who had apparently never broken any laws other than the ones dictating good taste. Jackie sighed and turned up the music to fill the sudden silence in the bar. Dance Mix 2001 was currently in the cd player, one of Jackie’s favourites."

35,023 Words and Why Does Everyone Keep Thinking They're Behind!!

Listen, today's goal (the 21st) is 35,007 words. We are all on track, with the possible exception of Heather, who decided to write 1 and a half novels in 31 days. We are getting there, we are all going to make it!!
I wanted to respond to Indigo's comment on my last blog posting... obviously the sisters I am writing about are not at all like any of us, but this novel this year is a love letter to my sisters, because without my sisters, I don't know what I would do. The description of sisterly love and camaraderie is real. I know morale is low, I know this has been a tough month for everyone, but WE CAN DO THIS BECAUSE WE ARE AWESOME AND WE ARE THE ONLY FAMILY I KNOW THAT DOES THIS!! This year has seen an explosion of Esmonde hilarity... the addition of N*SYNC, Globetrotting Gurlz embarrassing travel moments, the booze-laden energy drinks, the Encarnacion family, including Gordon Encarnacion, and basically every word Jackie has written (she's really bringing the noise this year)... so chin up everyone, the finish line is in sight. Now somebody give me a HELL YEAH!

I think I've been watching too many sports shows and sports-related documentaries lately. Incidentally, why hasn't anyone made a documentary about EsNoWriMo??(HBO, I'm looking at you).

So... I'll not keep you waiting any longer, I know you've all tuned in for another excerpt, and here it is...

“Oh for Jesus’ sake, Prudence, spit it out!”
“I can’t go back there, I can’t!” she managed to choke out between sobs. “Oh, Grace! Everything is falling apart!” Prudence fell sobbing into her sisters arms, unfortunately getting tears and snot all over her sister’s red fitted hoodie and white graphic t-shirt. Grace patted her on the back, and waited for the crying to stop before asking what was wrong. Prudence explained about the paternity request from Grayson (a surprise to Grace, since she had also believed that Prudence had gone the artificial insemination route, though in hindsight, Prudence had been astonishingly sketchy on the details, and when pressed had said ‘Holy crap, Grace, I never expected the Spanish Inquisition!’, which had naturally led to a 5 minute dramatization of the ground-breaking and hilarious Monty Python sketch, and the matter was dropped between them), she also explained about her crush on the local law enforcement official (Grace shuddered at the thought of her sister being involved with a police officer, but said nothing), and how he had been the one to deliver the court notice, and how humiliating it had been!! Grace knew a thing or two about humiliation, and if her sister hadn’t been so distraught, she would have told her that unless her experience involved Mexican bean dip, the family dog, a used tampon, and her crush’s parents, she had endured nothing.

“Prudence,” Grace said, her voice much calmer than she felt on the inside, “do not worry for one second that they will take Griffin away from you. They will do that over my dead body, do you hear me?” Prudence nodded, comforted but unconvinced. Grayson and his father were so influential. Grace knew what Prudence had forgotten though, that the Hamiltons were small fry. Big fish only because they swam in a small pond. Well, they had just met their match in the Storey sisters, because Grace would call down the thunder if she had to, her baby sister would not be railroaded by a bunch of pissant douchebags. Yes, you can quote her on that.

Hit 33,400 Yesterday, 35,000 here I come!!

So, I think it's time I asked the question about the finale?? I know that a bunch of people are going to Washington for the August long weekend. I am not... does anyone want to get together to finish this off?
Regarding my novel, hit my goal yesterday, and have been writing a bit this morning. Still battling myself with trying to delay when I need to push things forward. I have placed all of my characters, I just need to set off the first domino, and everything will began to fall. Just getting there...
Here's a pic of my character, Jackson, who will hopefully reemerge soon, because I like him. He will probably have an intense look on his face, have messy hair, and of course, he'll be wearing his DILF brand khakis.

here's an excerpt of where Hope is at these days...

Hope lay in the hospital bed. She was alone. The doctor and Grace had just left. She had never felt so terrible in her whole life, and that was saying something. Everything hurt. She was so tired. She closed her eyes, and thought about the first time she was with AJ. She thought about how scratchy his monkey tail beard felt on the skin of her face. She thought about how he closed his eyes, about how tight he held her, his weight on top of her. She remembered that she had thought “I could be anybody,” a thought that made her profoundly sad, but at the same time, there was a comfort in that thought. Because being anybody, being amorphous, shifting with the tides, it somehow felt better than being herself. And wasn’t that the appeal of AJ after all? She could be anybody, it really didn’t matter to him. In the band, on the stage, it was the same thing. She could be anybody, whoever they wanted her to be. At the end of the day, that meant you were really nobody, there was no you. She wondered when it was that she decided that being nobody was better than being Hope.
She had been here two days now. The doctor told her that. AJ had not come. No one in the band, not even Felix had come to see if she was okay. Just a stranger she barely knew from the support group she had pretended to attend. Who knew only her lies. But her sisters were here, and that was something. Tears slipped from her eyes. She let them fall. They were tears for nobody.
She banished AJ from her mind, and instead pretended she was back in her childhood bed. She imagined she could hear the slow steady breath of her sleeping sisters. She imagined the warmth of Prudence next to her, the sweet smell of her hair. It was the last place she remembered feeling truly loved. The tears on her face dried, and finally, she went to sleep.


And for you Jackie, a brief Grace excerpt, I'm afraid it's not very funny or interesting. More hilarity to come in the near future I should think, or I should hope anyway.

She opened the door, the humidity of the hot summer day enveloping her as soon as she walked into the sunlight. She could see her youngest sister, sitting in the shade, smiling. In her work, in her life, she felt estranged, empty, lost and without purpose. She felt surrounded by strangers, by people she neither cared for, nor even really liked. With her sisters, she found her place, she knew it instinctively, it was as easy as breathing. She was Grace, the eldest, the protector. As a younger woman, she had fled from that, trying to find her out who she was on her own, wanting a chance to take care of herself, instead of everyone else. Wanting to be someone else. But she was never meant to be on her own. She was meant to be with her sisters, it was where she belonged. With them, she knew her place and she knew who she was, and she knew what mattered. It was a start.
When Prudence saw her, she smiled and waved. Grace smiled back, and began to make her way over to her sister, feeling for the first time in a long time a sense of calm purpose. She thought everything would be okay. Of course, life doesn’t work that way, and things are never that easy. Oh Grace, hold onto this moment, because things always get worse before they get better.

31,826 Words... Time to Get Moving...

As usual, we all seem to be doing the same thing... delaying. The time has come for me to stop the dilly dallying and start making things happen in my novel. Right now, I have finally brought the sisters together, which I think will make writing a bit easier. The excerpt I am including is Grace receiving a phone call at Jackie's Place... she is about to get some bad news about her sister.

"Jackie himself was startled by the phone ringing, it was indeed a rare occurrence. At the moment the phone rang, Jackie was completely absorbed by both a close examination of the latest edition of Martha Stewart Living, and the act of ignoring that douchebag Gordon the Vampyre, who Jackie liked to actively discourage from coming in as often and as fervently as possible. Thus far, Jackie’s tactics had proven ineffective. He was wondering whether he was going to have to dip into his dark ops background, make some phone calls, maybe see what David Boreanaz was up to these days, and whether he might be willing to lend a brother a hand. He was simultaneously toying with the idea of crafting some fun floral straws, using assorted pastel baking cups, both regular size and mini, and cutting them into floral shapes. He was sure that these would make any summer drink irresistible, but he couldn’t help wondering whether this would be another case of a Martha craft gone horribly wrong... it seemed almost too simple. He couldn’t even talk about the sea glass necklace debacle of ’08, when he had inadvertently sliced his own neck open and had needed to perform an emergency tracheotomy on himself. Sadly, his crush had been present to witness his humiliation. How embarrassing!
He shook off these thoughts and grabbed the phone from underneath the bar, setting it on the bar top. It was black, an old rotary phone that was sure to boggle the mind of any person born after 1989. He let the phone ring a few times before he answered, hoping whoever was calling would give up. He hated talking on the phone, he had never really been able to rid himself of the belief that whatever he said was being recorded. Others might consider this type of belief paranoid, but to Jackie, paranoia was a virtue. It had served him well many times.
He lifted the preposterously heavy headset, and held it to his ear.
“Jackie’s Place,” he growled into the headset, hoping his menacing tone would deter the caller from any tomfoolery. Jackie couldn’t stand for tomfoolery of any sort. It was almost as bad as ‘playing the goat’."

30,028 Words.... A Return To Jackie's Place

A fun writing session tonight, punctuated by red wine, 'guac', and unnecessary Dawson's Creek references, and by unnecessary, I mean completely necessary. This year has been a tough year for writing, with low morale seemingly all around. It was good tonight to remember that this is fun(!) and this is why we do it. Here is an excerpt copied largely from everyone else...

These thoughts haunt her, they unsettle her, and for some reason, she keeps coming back to Jackie’s Place.
Maybe it’s because Jackie’s Place always has the best music, maybe it’s because it ain’t the Hilton, or maybe it’s because she never knows what to expect at Jackie’s Place, and she likes that. The second day that she spent at her corner table, Jackie brought her a drink she hadn’t ordered. It tasted like a Shirley Temple with a generous smack of ham in a particularly dirty highball glass, but the strangest part of all was the jaunty addition of a drink parasol stirring stick fashioned with bamboo skewers and Union Jack crepe paper. No one would have even thought of arguing that they didn’t add a burst of patriotic spirit to that summer sip, least of all Grace, who was in the midst of an existential crisis of a proportion that hasn’t been seen since Dawson’s Creek went off the air, but needless to say, they didn’t exactly seem appropriate within the atmosphere of Jackie’s Place. Also, she wasn’t British, though she supposed that her icy demeanour and inability to interact emotionally with other human beings might have given him the impression that she was. Grace wondered if Jackie had fashioned the drink parasol himself; she thought of asking him, but soon thought better of it when he shuffled off angrily, probably to make more drink parasols.
Well, if there was one thing that Grace had learned from her obsessive watching and rewatching of Dawson’s Creek, it was this: you should never take advice on your heterosexual relationships from a homosexual teenaged boy, who has stolen your girlfriend, even though he is gay. That guy is not your friend. Unfortunately, she was learning, this little nugget of advice was not really practically useful to her in this particular situation, and in fact, you could learn very little about real life from a close watching Dawson’s Creek, particularly the ill-advised college years seasons. She was utterly lost.