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.

21,751 Words, and Dark Times for One of Our Heroines

Just finished for today, so I thought I'd post an excerpt. Very dark time for Hope, not much fun I'm afraid. I think things will be coming to a head very soon, and the sisters are going to be brought together. I am looking forward to having them in the same room together. I think hilarity will ensue.

I have no fun pictures, because, really this isn't a fun scene. Wolf is Hope's enormous German Shepherd, just so you know. So maybe I'll post a cute Pixie picture. Here it is:

Rough hands seized her, grabbing her arms, squeezing until it hurt. She opened her mouth to scream but fingers were shoved into her throat, triggering her gag reflex. As she vomited, she opened her eyes. Closed them again. The light hurt. She threw up again, gagging and choking. She could still hear Wolf barking and she wanted to ask whoever was torturing her what was wrong with Wolf, but she couldn’t stop throwing up.
“What the fuck did she take, AJ?” she heard a voice asked, and opened her eyes again. Through blurry eyes, she could see Felix, their surfer drummer to her right. The hands, still holding her in a vice like grip must be AJ’s.
“I don’t fucking know, man. I came home, she was sleeping. Go check the bedside table.” She heard Felix’s footsteps as they retreated to the bedroom. She didn’t want to be left in there with AJ, but she hadn’t the strength to speak. So she threw up again instead, wishing AJ wasn’t holding on to her so she could turn and throw up on him instead of into the toilet. When Felix returned with the pill bottle, AJ finally let go of her arms, taking the bottle in his hands.
“Ambien,” he said, considering. Felix had left again, but returned with a glass of water. It was like heaven against her throat, which felt bruised and swollen. AJ and his thick fucking calloused fucking guitar playing fingers. God she hated him at that moment.
“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice sounding like sandpaper. She reached for the toilet paper, tore off several squares, and wiped around her eyes, then her mouth. She stood on legs that trembled, and glared at both men as she exited the bathroom, planning on heading back to the bedroom. AJ stopped her, grabbing her by the arms again. She didn’t want to speak again, her throat still hurt too much, so she settled for looking at his hand, and then his face with as much disdain as she could muster. It was a considerable amount, but AJ was used to her contemptuous glares, which he often referred to as her ‘perpetual stare’.
“Get in the shower, or I’m putting you in the shower myself. We’re leaving for our gig in 30 minutes,” he said, completely unfazed by her obvious hatred for him. He turned back to Felix. “Do you have anything to get her going again?” he asked. Felix paused for a moment, seeming to consider refusing, but he thought better of it.
“Yeah,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two little pink pills. He handed them to AJ. “Get her some fucking food, though AJ. Fuck.” He left the bathroom. AJ handed Hope the pills, then her water. She swallowed the pills, sipped the water, then glared at AJ until he left the bathroom.
“And let Wolf out of the fucking closet, you cretin,” she called after AJ, then immediately regretted using her voice. She climbed into the shower, wondering how in the hell she was going to manage to sing 3 full sets when she could barely speak.

20,103 Words, and Why I Haven't Posted

... I haven't posted mainly because I feel like nothing I am writing is interesting. I am advancing the plot, but there's a lot of backstory and none of it is particularly funny. I'll post a brief excerpt from yesterday's session. It concerns Hope, the middle sister. It's about her relationship with AJ, who she is now broken up with, but is still living with and in a band with.
Katie (Cocaine Katie is her stage name) is mentioned in this excerpt... she may end up coming back into the story but so far has lived only in Hope's memories about her first band, an all-girl AC/DC tribute band called AC/DShe. This is completely inspired by an article about all girl tribute bands written by Chuck Klosterman.

She was playing a gig with AC/DShe the night she met AJ. Things weren’t going well at the time for the band. The bass player, Gwyn, and the drummer, Jynx, were toying with the idea of forming a new tribute band, covering only Led Zeppelin songs. Katie was losing her shit about it, she was pretty militant about only playing AC/DC covers. Truthfully, Hope was becoming increasingly discontented with playing only AC/DC... she still loved the music, but wanted to try something new. Led Zeppelin wasn’t what she had in mind. She had been writing lately, was thinking about playing originals.
AJ came to see the band, bought her a drink between sets. Told her she had a great voice. Told her she should expand her repertoire, that if she could cover AC/DC she could sing just about anything. He had a band, asked if she wanted to jam with them. She found herself talking to him about the music she was writing. About how she had been learning guitar. He said it sounded brilliant. He said she was a natural musician. He told her exactly what she needed to hear, and meant none of it. Or maybe some of it.
Sure, there were warning signs. Katie hated him, for one. But then, Katie hated everyone, so Hope rarely took it too seriously. For another thing, he was sporting a beard/moustache that curved from his right cheekbone, down and across his chin, and then rose up around his mouth to end with a flourish. In some circles, this facial art form was known as a “monkey tail.” Hope overheard a guy using the term in conversation with AJ… AJ punched the guy in the face. Also, he was wearing two pink polo shirts, both with popped collars. It was clearly a douchebag uniform, especially when paired with the facial hair. Hope must have been fucking blind, or fucking stupid, or both. Or maybe she just needed something. Maybe she just needed someone to tell her what she needed to hear.
When she met AJ, she thought he was deep, soulful. She thought what he said about music was brilliant. He said that playing music with someone else was like touching souls. Katie sneered. Hope smiled, swallowed the rest of her drink, took the pill he offered her, and invited him home. Later, she would realize that he had directly quoted lyrics from “A Case of You” by Joni Mitchell, which became one of her favourite songs. Even later, she would realize that nearly everything interesting that he said had been ripped off from someone else. And too late, she would realize that he meant none of the things he said. Or too few of them to matter.
Either way, he got what he wanted. After she played with his band, she left AC/DShe for good. She hadn’t spoken with Katie since. She had seen Gwyn and Jynx once, when she went to see their new band, Moby Chick. Of course, there was a band in Southern California by the same name, but it seemed like all good names were taken by bands in Southern California. Nobody worried about it too much. At least nobody in South Western Ontario.

16,875 And I Think I'm Finding My Plot

I didn't post yesterday because I wrote very little, riding the wave of my glorious copying and pasting triumph on July 8th, which got me ahead by 1000 words. Also, I have reached the point of the story where I am laying back story, which as you know can be a bit boring.
I still feel good though, because I have a bit of direction, and finally figured out some key details about Prudence (the youngest daughter).
Here is a brief excerpt from yesterday, where I wrote a bit about the three girls growing up largely without any attention from their parents (for various reasons), it obviously sets up the fundamental crisis each woman faces now.

How do little girls grow when left untended? One will live in her head. In her thoughts, away from her feelings, she will be safe. She will live a safe and sterile existence. Reason and intelligence will keep her sane. She will take her heart and lock it in a box, and lock the box in a room, and lock the room in another room, until it becomes a maze and she can’t remember how to find it anymore. And when reason stops making sense, she will wander the maze, lost and alone.
One will take risks. She will take what she can get when she can get it. She will live only on impulse, wild like a weed run amok, spreading in every direction and choking out everything else. And if anyone worms their way into her heart, she will kill her heart to choke them out. Her heart is a temple, for her and her alone. And she is killing herself to live.
The youngest, always protected, always loved and treasured by her older sisters, will stay a child forever. Innocent and naive, she does what she wants without thought of consequence. She lives and she loves, and when she loses she moves on. She smiles, because people love a pretty girl with a pretty smile, and she has always been loved and always will be. The plant protected from the harsh, drying effects of the sun, the plant that flourished in the shadow provided by the neighbouring plants in a harsh wasteland. And when her sisters look at her, they can’t help but love her and want to protect her. It’s how everyone feels. Which is strange in a way, because she is strong, her roots grow deep, and she can take care of herself.


This second excerpt is from today... I am back to Prudence, who is now pregnant and has a son (5 or 6ish?) named Griffin. The town cutie (who caught her singing along with Barry Manilow), who is also the local law enforcement official, is standing on her doorstep, with a serious purpose.

“Take these,” he finally said, turning to look at her for the first time. When he took in her pale skin and wide eyes, his manner softened a bit, but he held steadfast to his position, he had come here to give her the papers and she was going to take them. She reached out, reluctantly plucking the envelope from his outstretched hand. She didn’t want to touch the envelope. She certainly didn’t want to open it.
“You’ve been served,” he said softly, averting his gaze again. He could have told her that aliens from Mars were invading Planet Earth, or that Nickelback, that homegrown Canadian band, was the most influential musical group of the last century and she would have been less surprised.
“What?” she asked, a rather obvious question, to be sure. He sighed, looked away, then looked back at her, an expression of disappointment on his face, the look he had been trying to shield her from. She felt like she had been slapped.
“It’s Grayson Hamilton. He is requesting that a paternity test be conducted to determine Griffin’s paternity.” The nausea, which had been steadily rising since she rose from the couch minutes before finally surged one last time. She threw up all over Jackson O’Connor’s neatly pressed DILF brand black uniform pants, and his highly polished black shoes.

Please note that Jackson O'Connor bears a striking resemblance to Coach Eric Taylor from Friday Night Lights. I also included a picture of him drinking coffee, just like Joshua Jackson likes to do. I don't know why he has cuts on his face.

I Discovered the Wonders of Copying and Pasting, 14,305 Words

Sure, I've copied and pasted before, but never so shamelessly and in such quantities. I am now 1,000 words ahead of schedule.

I copied and pasted the entire blog and comments from 'Tout'. It seems to have been shut down since that time, I haven't been able to access it since. I suspect nefarious government intervention.

Grace is in a real pickle because the one thing she had left (her research) is a flop and completely meaningless to her. Her research is described thus:

Her current project was intended to intervene in Mommy Blogger culture, which Grace believed to be the epitome of shameless hedonism, that is to say self styled ‘mommies’, who were obsessed with their child(ren) to the point of mania. Since Grace believed that this could only lead to a nation of self-obsessed narcissists (please see any person born after 1989 for reference), she felt it was her postmodern duty to ironically intervene.

Further described here:
Furthermore, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t been aware of an entire nation of Mommies, out there, plugging their own blogs on each other’s websites, encouraging strange practices like teaching their children sign language and using flashcards. It was the most bizarre display of anti-feminist sentiment since the 1990 airing of the Beverly Hills 90210 episode ‘The Perfect Mom’ . She decided to start her own mommy blog, to ironically call mommy bloggers onto the mat, to hold up a mirror to reflect their own idiocy back to them. Grace foolishly believed that this would lead Moms to take up arms and join others in the battle against corporate America, cultural imperialism, social inequality, and government oppression.
Her effort to start an ironic mommy blog called 'Beaucoup' was a dismal failure when she realized that mommy bloggers don't even read the content of others' blogs. It was the last straw. She has decided to stop attending work altogether. I finished with this:

She picked up her faded red fitted hoodie, leaving the computer her dean had rendered useless behind. She headed to the only place in the world that made any sense to her anymore. She went to Jackie’s Place.

Also, I included a picture of the drunk baby you guys keep talking about, as well as a picture of baby who is clearly a budding shitster. You're welcome.

I Have Either Outdone Myself Or Have Lost My Mind, Either Way, I'm at 11,445 Words

I got my writing done early today! The timer is the best thing ever... it has really unleashed my creativity, and by creativity I mean I have completely given up on plot. I don't see this as a problem, because I'm having fun again. Her is an update on Grace, the postmodern professor who has been battling a sense of 'ennui', which has escalated into a full blown life crisis. This is a long excerpt... sorry. I hope you enjoy it.

Her first act of rebellion had been a decision to openly communicate the things that she truly loved. She began by putting up a poster of her favourite actor: Emilio Estevez. Emilio’s career was littered with blockbuster hits as well as smaller, arty films that received less attention but more critical acclaim. She loved them all, and she loved every incarnation of Emilio, from the cherub faced athlete in the Breakfast Club to the moustachioed hard nosed cop in the Stakeout film series(1 and 2). Sharing what she loved with the shitsters in her department had been a critical error, because they thought she was being ironic, and it wasn’t long before Emilio posters, bedazzled Emilio denim jackets, and Emilio film watching party notices began to appear around the department of Social and Political Thought. She immediately took down her poster.
Grace, though intelligent, could be a little slow on the uptake, and instead of switching tactics, she switched mediums. She began to play her favourite album, Barry Manilow’s “Into the Swing of Christmas,” his third and most difficult to acquire Christmas-themed album. It had only been available for a limited time in selected Hallmark stores. Of course, you could log onto his website and download the album in its entirety, but real fans (Fanilows) had lined up outside Hallmark stores across the country to get their own limited edition copy.
Grace realized that things were going off the rails when she spotted a poster on Gordon Toodie’s office door. It was Barry Manilow, well past his prime, with spiky haphazard looking hair, a far cry from the silken locks of yesteryear. Additionally, Barry looked drunk. A quick google image search of ‘Barry Manilow drunk’ in an attempt to confirm his intoxication came up empty, and Grace realized with dismay that the Dean had disabled the search function that would allow her to perform such a search. She felt impotent with rage. How in the hell was she supposed to get any work done under such conditions?? To add insult to injury, the bottom of the poster read “Merry Christmas, Motherfuckers!” It was more than she could bear. She took to weeping in her office.
She flat out told her students to drop their studies, to leave postmodern theory behind if they hoped to rescue themselves from the shambles their lives were sure to become. Their response was to step up their game, rather than to do as she suggested. One of her students showed up wearing burgundy overlarge glasses (she herself had owned a pair in 1987, along with a poodle hair permanent and old fashioned braces, the ones that covered virtually your entire tooth, thus the nickname ‘metal mouth’ was popular at the time. Tom Cruise had since made braces popular again, and the term ‘metal mouth has evolved out of popular nomenclature.) Paired with the burgundy glasses was a yellow hoodie, no wait, it wasn’t a hoodie, it was a yellow sweatshirt. He was wearing a real hood, shaped like a monster’s head, affixed below his chin, with buttons. It had ears, eyes, teeth, and a tail that was jauntily perched on his shoulder. His sweatshirt was originally a Beatles sweatshirt, but he had added the words “I Fuck” above the name of the legendary band. She had often thought that the Beatles were one of the most accurately rated bands of all time, neither overrated nor underrated. People thought they were the single most influential rock band of all time, and that their songs will live forever in the hearts and minds of people with hearts and minds everywhere. This is an accurate rating. What sort of a soulless automaton would refuse to admit to being a fan of the greatest band ever? That was the day Grace stopped attending her own classes.

9,703 Words...

Tonight I used one of the tools from 'The Writer's Toolbox',a timer. I used it to make myself write for extended periods of time. One of my problems this year has been my crippling self-doubt and inability to kick out the inner editor. The editor has to go.

The timer helped a lot. Not that it necessarily made my writing better, but it made me stop worrying about it as much. I have also made a promise to myself that I don't have to let anyone read it if I don't want to. I am still slowly getting caught up from the weekend's deficit. I was 700 words short, now, just under 300. For some reason I decided to write the same scene twice from two different character's perspectives. This bolsters word count, but does nothing to advance the plot.

Here is an excerpt where I blatantly ripped off Katie. It is written from Tim's perspective. He called AJ Torres 'Scruffy', because he doesn't yet know his name, and because AJ has one of those carefully groomed, contrived, 'scruffy' looks, like Colin Farrell, pictured above. BTW- Katie, the bartender is Caleb Danvers.

Here's the excerpt:
Hope approached the bar on the opposite side and leaned in to talk to the unusually good looking bartender. Whatever she said, the bartender laughed and nodded, moving away. When he did, Hope caught sight of Tim, and she froze, staring. Music began to play. The bartender had turned the radio back on, playing something un-notable and inoffensive. Tim listened more closely, and realized it was actually one of his favourite songs, "Blue Jeans" by the alternative rock band Blur, from the 1993 album Modern Life Is Rubbish, in which the opening lyrics are "Air cushioned soles, I bought them on the Portobello Road on a Saturday." Tim had often thought that Blur was one of more accurately rated bands in rock history, neither underrated nor overrated. Still, he had nothing but disdain for the casual Blur fan who was only familiar with their most famous song, aptly named “Song 2.” “Blue Jeans” partially filled the vacuum created by the end of the raucous, angry song that the band had just finished. It notably lacked a chorus with the words “Fuck You” in it, but then, so did most songs. The remaining band members were leaving the stage, dispersing in the crowd.
The last to exit the stage was the guitar player who had been handed his ass Scruffy’s guitar during his end of set temper tantrum. He appeared to be wearing what looked like a very expensive pair of acid washed jorts, paired with a white graphic t, and a washed out red sweater/hoodie. Tim wondered if Cody Simpson was aware that some guy was raiding his wardrobe.

Plot Summaries and an excerpt (7,983 words)

Katie requested that I post a brief summary of my characters. I have three main characters, and three plots, which makes it a bit confusing. Here they are... The Storey Sisters:
Oldest is Grace, she is a professor at York in the department of Social and Political Thought. Her research focus has been a postmodern analysis of hipster culture. She understandably hates her job and her life. Gordon is a colleague of hers.
The middle child is Hope, she is a singer in a rock band. Hope is battling some substance abuse issues.
The youngest is Prudence- who lives in the country and is pregnant. I have no idea who the father of her baby is, nor who the father of her other child is. I really don't know what they hell is going on with her. Or really anyone for that matter. I have three non-plots and I see that as no problem.
Here is the description of Sadie Desman's review of Hope's band:

The next day, a local journalist named Sadie Desman, who normally wrote for the political section of the paper, would publish a review of several musical performances that had taken place in and around the downtown core in celebration of Summer (Sol)stice, an event that took place every year. The musical acts were varied, from tribute bands (Broken Aero, an Aerosmith tribute band, and Fanilow, a group of Barry Manilow enthusiasts who ran a Manilow only karaoke show), to well known local musicians who played all original songs (Danny Michel, where one particularly enthusiastic fan told Danny he had ‘like all his cd’s, eh?), to bands like Hope’s (inexplicably named Dawson Bleery) who mainly performed covers of popular songs, and played locally on a regular basis.
The journalist, who had apparently seen Dawson Bleery perform several times before, noted the obvious tension that had arisen in the band since the breakup of the two leads, the singer Hope Storey, and the lead guitar player, AJ Torres, who was well known for his off stage antics and his willingness to take risks with fashion (most notably, he led the ‘rolled cuff’ revolution of 2010). In a nod to the character William Miller in the film Almost Famous or perhaps it was simply a blatant ripoff, she called AJ’s guitar work ‘incendiary’. She called Hope’s performance ‘angst-driven’. She noted that the band’s chemistry, while ‘blistering’ was obviously unstable, and predicted the band would likely be forced to reform yet again. The journalist concluded with the hopeful prediction that one of the members would leave the band, and form a new band under the name ‘Paceycon’.
Sadie Desman also provided some insight into the behaviour of the rowdy pantless man. A self-style karaoke ingénue, the man sans pants had lowered his drawers in protest of Dimples suspension of its usual karaoke activities for Summer (Sol)stice. He had been witnessed downing several ‘booze-laden’ cocktails, and was widely believed to have been intoxicated. As Sadie wrote: “Perhaps the biggest tip off that the man might have been intoxicated is what occurred earlier that evening: Sutherland was seen "acting totally crazy" while dancing "feverishly" and twirling people about, all while wearing a giant feather boa.

6,265... Shit is not getting real

I basically wasted time today, writing more about Gordon, and writing very little about the third sister, Prudence, who was introduced to the story today. I really need to figure out what is happening in her storyline, but many details about her are murky to me. I'll include two brief excerpts. First, this excerpt has absolutely no relevance to anything, and really was just a way for me to bolster word count:

There is an incident at a stoplight when they roll into town, where Prudence is caught belting out the words to her favourite Barry Manilow song, a haunting ballad about a vacation seemingly gone awry “Weekend in New England”. She was reaching the emotional crescendo, the part where Barry felt the change comin’, and Prudence, along with Barry felt the wind blow. But who hasn’t been caught by the town cutie belting out a Manilow love ballad at a stop light, with the windows down and a sleeping child in the back seat?

This second introduces some important information about Prudence. This was at the end of my writing session, and I needed about 40 more words to reach my goal for the day. I'll let you try to figure out where I added an unnecessary pop cultural reference:

Everywhere they go, they are greeted by name and with a smile. When they stop at the bakery, Susan tousles Griffin’s hair and gives him a chocolate cookie, which she knows is his favourite. The pharmacist, John, asks Prudence if Griffin’s cough has improved. In a small town, everyone knows everyone. This is both a source of comfort and of disquiet for most residents of small towns. A comfort because there are many hands waiting to catch you if you fall- sort of the opposite of what happens to Jack Black in the opening scene of the film, School of Rock, where he attempts to crowd surf at the end of his face melting guitar solo to dismal results; a source of disquiet, because secrets are hard to keep. Skeletons don’t tend to stay in closets in small towns. And Prudence was a woman with secrets, and don’t think for a moment that the people in that town didn’t know it. Perhaps this is why when Prudence came to the Family Planning section of the grocery store she kept on walking, without even a cursory glance at the dusty pregnancy tests on the bottom shelf.

About 4,500 words and Grace has had enough of Gordon

I honestly don't know what my life would be like without Gordon Toody in it, and I'm really glad I don't need to find out. He was the only thing that kept me going yesterday and today in my writing. Grace is having dinner with Gordon at Jackie's Place, Grace being the eldest sister (I really do need to give them a last name), and a professor at York University in the department of Social and Political Thought, where she specializes in postmodern interpretation of hipster culture. Here is an excerpt from today's session:

One thing was for certain, she had to get out of Jackie’s Place. Gordon’s endless droning about the emotional depth of the Sedin twins and how well this would play with Kirstie Alley’s restrained and dignified approach to the dramatic arts would make any person question her sanity. Gordon excused himself to use the washroom, to wash his hands. At least, he said it was to wash his hands, but Grace suspected something more sinister at play. And by sinister, she meant she suspected he was writing postmodern slogans on the chalkboards that Jackie had placed on the insides of the stall doors in order to discourage graffiti writing, a tactic that was about as effective as abstinence only sex education classes.
In any case, she was once again alone at the table, and she decided, in a very un-Grace-like moment, to leave. She began to generate a list of excuses in her head like:
1) I suddenly became violently ill (a distinct possibility, because she had tried the ‘house specialty’)
2) I suddenly got my period (any mention of menstruation would immediately shut down further questions and was therefore a sure fire hit)
3) I suddenly remembered that I needed my tires rotated
4) It had become abundantly clear to me that if I had to spend 5 more seconds in your company, I would completely lose my will to live and would begin to saw my wrist with a dull, filthy knife, which I quite likely would have pried out of your hands as you used it to cut up your chicken wings, which are quite obviously finger foods, and in addition, I feel the need to inform you that even though I have known you for only a short time, I really feel as though I have known you and hated you forever, because a hatred like this one usually takes time to flourish and grow but I felt it almost immediately with you, which is why I needed to leave.
She stopped there, realizing that she actually really didn’t care about explaining herself to Gordon, or her colleagues, anymore. She got up out of her seat, glanced furtively around, feeling the secret thrill of doing something unexpected, and began to walk toward the door. Jackie glanced up from the bar, where he was polishing the glasses with a filthy rag. He smiled at her gently, his blue eyes twinkling, and in that momentary exchange of glances, she felt a true human connection and a shared understanding, a feeling she had not felt in a very, very long time. She walked out the door and into the night air, wondering what life had in store for her."