Mix the Batter (aka: The NaNoWriMo Commandments)

Tick, tick, tick…

Hear that sound? No, it’s not a bomb. Not exactly. It’s the sound of the NaNoWriMo countdown clock.

Brace Yourself NaNoWriMo is Coming

If you are not a novel writer, then you’re probably scratching your head right now, wondering if NaNoWriMo is some rare tropical disease, or an exotic food dish. But for those of us steeped in the writerly world, we know that NaNoWriMo means one thing: Panic.

Preptober is almost over! Only four days left until it begins! Aaaaaaaccckkk! I’m not done with character development! I’m not done worldbuilding! My favorite pen is out of ink! I still don’t have a plot! Aaaaaaacckkk!!

NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. It is an annual challenge in which fiction writers everywhere attempt to do the insane — write an entire novel in one month. That’s right. A minimum of 50,000 words in 30 days. You do the math. My novel-planning brain is too exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that I will now spam the rest of this post with silly memes as I share the NaNoWriMo Commandments.

50,000 words minimum writing

The NaNoWriMo Commandments

1. Thou shalt become a Plotter, not a Pantster. I know full well how fun it can be to fly by the seat of you pants and just write, write, write without bothering to plan. But if you attempt to do this during NaNoWriMo, you are almost guaranteed to fail. If you don’t have a notebook filled with character descriptions, plot outlines, and worldbuilding details, I have just one question: What are you thinking? You’ve only got four days left! Get thee to a search engine and lookup How to Plot a Novel. Having a plan is essential to success.

Glinda the Good Wtch Pantser or Plotter

2. Thou shalt carry a notebook at all times. Or a tablet. Or a laptop. Whatever tool you need to take notes or tack on a few paragraphs during the spare moments of your day. This is especally true for those of us who have a day job or children.

3. Thou shalt stay off social media! I will probably end up breaking this one. Twitter is irresistible, and sometimes my ceative mind needs to take a little break. But if it is late at night, and you’re scrolling though Facebook or Tumblr, and are still 800 words short of your daily word count quota, then it’s time to question your priorities.

Writing not Facebooking

4. Thou shalt have no other writing before your novel. Yes, this includes blogs. Also, poems, short stories, flash fiction, and anything else that saps your creative juices. For the entire month of November, you only get to write your novel. What does that mean for our blog readers? Well, hopefully they’re cool with reblogs, reposts, and blogs that contain little more than a meme or a music video, because that’s what they’re getting.

Plotting the story

5. Thou shalt prepare your workspace. A clean desk. Your favorite mug for coffee or tea. Maybe a nice room where you can lock your cats away for a couple of hours, since cats are notorious at taking over computer keyboards when writers are trying to write.

6. No editing your novel! I mean it. We novel writers know that our first draft is not a cake. It’s only the batter. Mix your ingredients well, but don’t let the rawness bother you. There will be plenty of time to bake it into something delicious after it’s complete. After NaNoWriMo.

Confused

That’s it. Your six commandments for a successful NaNoWriMo month. What? Did you thinking I was giving you ten commandments? Are you kidding? There are only four days left of Preptober. I have plotting to do! Tick, tick, tick…

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The Dog Ate My Blog (aka: Lame Excuses)

Okay fine. The dog didn’t eat my blog.

In fact, we don’t even own a dog.

homework

But yes, my blog has been MIA for a couple of weeks. I had this long list of potential lame excuses as to why there haven’t been any new posts.

  • My kids have been hogging the computers. My tablet, too. And my phone.
  • I woke up one morning with blog amnesia. I remembered everything else — just forgot that I had this blog.
  • I joined a professional wiffle ball team, and we had to train for the Wiffle Ball World Series. (Okay, I just found out that that is really a thing).
  • My real parents finally arrived from Jupiter, and I spent three weeks showing them how humans live. I even gave them my copy of Earth (the Book). By the way, if you haven’t read it yet, you are really missing out on a vital part of your anthropology education.
  • just-didnt-do-it-excuses

Then I decided that honesty was the best policy. So I’ll be honest: I hate reading blog posts about why people haven’t been blogging lately. I hate writing about it, too. The truth is that I only have so much creative energy. And it occurred to me that I can spend it all on writing blogs, and writing mediocre poetry, or I can focus it on editing the YA novel I wrote, so that maybe someday, a publisher will want to pay me money for it and turn it into an actual book. But to reach that goal, the novel has to be super-awesome. And to write a super-awesome novel, a writer must learn to focus.

focus-on-the-important-things

Don’t take me wrong. I’m not scrapping my blog so that I can write. I’m just spending a lot less energy making sure that I post new material here every week. That’s lame, I know. But it’s so much better than coming up with lists of excuses about why I still haven’t finished editing the novel.

Like blaming the dog. Which we still don’t have.

Everybody Bakes Chocolate Chip Cookies (aka: Editing)

You have just baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

There they rest, golden-brown and delicious, cooling on the counter. Your plan? To give them away — no wait, to sell them for money. But there is a problem.

Everybody bakes chocolate chip cookies.

unoriginal_chocolate_chip_cookies

True, not everyone’s cookies are alike. Some scrap them together with cheap or artificial ingredients. Others drop hunks of pre-made dough onto a cookie sheet and call it a day. And some get it right, following the recipe and adding the perfect measurements of flour, brown sugar, vanilla, and egg. But still.

Everybody bakes chocolate chip cookies.

And if fifty sellers of chocolate chip cookies showed up at your door one day, as they do every day, whose would you buy? Only the best of the best. The true standouts in the bunch. Also, they probably wouldn’t be chocolate chip cookies.

So now that you have worked so long on baking your perfect batch of cookies, what can you do to improve your chances of selling them? Start by cutting out the good parts. Oh come on, everyone knows that the good part of a chocolate chip cookie is the chocolate chips. Take them all out and set them aside.

Done? Good. Now grab a rolling pin, and crush  all the leftover crumbs into tinier crumbs. Next, scoop up two-thirds of those tiny crumbs, and throw them in the trash. You heard right — the trash. As for the remaining crumbs, wet your fingers, and mush them all together into a ball. Pack it tight, like a snowball. Now stand across the kitchen, aim, and toss it toward the trash, too.

There.

All that remains is chocolate chips. The good parts. The yummy, gooey, mouth-watering parts. Place every last chip into a saucepan, turn on the heat, and stir until melted. Pour the melted chocolate into a silicone bowl, and place it in the freezer. Now go and read, or watch TV, or play computer games or whatever. In a few hours, come back and remove the bowl from the freezer, then peel away the silicone.

You have just made a giant chocolate chip.

What? It doesn’t even resemble your original batch of chocolate chip cookies? Good. Because everybody makes chocolate chip cookies. But when it comes down to it, the cookies are overrated. It’s the chocolate that everyone really wants to eat.

chocolate_is_the_best_part

This is why I have not been blogging much lately. You see, I have finished baking a lovely batch of chocolate chip cookies. Only I like to call it a novel. And I’ve been putting lots of work into digging out the “chocolate chips” — the delicious, wonderful parts that everyone will want to read. When at last I have torn apart the original batch (aka: first draft) and turned the whole thing into a mouth-watering written masterpiece, then maybe, just maybe, I will be ready to send it to the cookie critics — um, I mean, editors.

editing_the_novel

It’s getting there. But my kitchen is a mess, and I keep mistaking those dull, dreaded cookie crumbs for true pieces of chocolate. (I once was a member of two critique groups whose purpose was to discern between the two). It takes a lot of work to bake it just right. But I refuse to give up and send the editors yet another Tollhouse batch of words to toss in the slush pile.

Editors love chocolate chips. But they are sick of cookies.

editors in the slushpile