It’s November already, the last resort of near-normalness before the madness that is Christmas season, and this year unlike last year I’m doing it again, NaNoWriMo. I’m attempting to write a novel (or rather most of a novel, 50,000 words) until the end of the month.
It’s already driving me crazy a bit, and it’s only the fourth day. This time I planned to plot ahead, to plan, to be sensible, and write my 2,000 words a day in the mornings, and yet - I haven’t I did some plotting, and even got me another book on how to plot, Holly Lisle’s “Create a Plot Clinic”, the first ever book on plot that I’ve found really useful.
I think the chapter on “how to plot while writing” will get a lot of use this year.
Unlike other years the writing is already feeling slow and painful, right from the beginning, no starting euphoria for me this year. But that’s not a problem, I’ll just slog on, until I don’t, and then I’ll think about giving in and not finishing, and then I’ll get really cranky, and then I’ll buckle down, and write several thousand words in a day, and then again, and then again, and then I’ll probably finish early.
If this year is anything like the years before.
Everybody is asking me what I’m writing about, and I find it rather hard to say but I know that I’m attempting Urban Fantasy, only up until now it’s neither Urban nor Fantasy but then I’m only 5,000 words in, and there will be things happening soon. Or so I hope. And unlike other years I already have an idea of what will be happening. Which is kind of exciting.
My main character is a 30yo jazz pianist. I know where she lives because it’s my husband’s ex’s house. Fortunately for both of them my main character, Miriam (or maybe Sarah, I have a character sheet saying ‘Sarah’ as the title, and under name it says ‘Miriam’; maybe that’s my problem), is fictional so my husband’s ex won’t be disturbed by her living in the same space. Or by the grand piano that I plopped down in her living room.
So, I have this jazz pianist, a witch, vampires, and the odd musician. The witch is in danger, the pianist has to help her, she will find out something surprising about herself, and that’s all I know so far.
But. November is the month of arbitrary deadlines not only for novel writers but also for knitters! And so I am once again also attempting to knit a whole adult sweater in November. This year I’m making something for my husband. I’m using the cable from one sweater, and the pattern from another, and it’s teal, and it looks rather nice so far. I’m only a bit afraid that it will come out a little too small because that’s what it looks like right now on the needle. But I washed my swatch, and it grew enormously so for now I’ll trust the swatch and knit on.
And since I don’t have a picture of the sweater I’ll leave you with the beginning of my story:
Usually I feel bad when I come back home and the sun us already up, but this time it actually felt kind of nice. The evening before I had played the semi-regular at the jazz club, and since I could use the piano there I had left my car sitting in the driveway and had taken the bike to work. So to speak.
It’s much easier not to have to find a parking spot in the city center, and I can have a beer because the police never checks on bikers anyway.
I opened the gate and pushed the bike through into the garden. I’m lucky to have a house all to myself in one of the nicer parts of town set back in a huge garden. Of course it’s more a shed than a house, and it and the garden around it belongs to my landlords but still. It used to be a pottery up until the day the potter fell in love with a woman who wasn’t his wife, and packed his belongings complete with kiln up and left. His former wife, his three children, and his mother-in-law still live in the big house that sits nearer to the street, but they didn’t have any use for the pottery any more. A friend of a friend told me about it, and I asked if I could move in.
It’s always hard to find a place to live in this city but it’s extra hard when you are a jazz musician. A jazz musician with a grand piano, and not much else. There aren’t all that many people who want to live next to someone who plays the piano for hours, and hours every day. And there aren’t all that many landlords who want to rent out to someone who never quite knows where the next gig will come from.
But the old lady has a weak spot for artists. Which is how she ended up with a potter. Who was the one who built the house and the shed on land that belonged to his family. And later he had an apprentice because none of his children wanted to become a potter, and the apprentice fell in love with his youngest daughter, and so when he became to sick to work his apprentice took over the business. Until he moved out.
My home is basically just one big room. There is a smaller room in the back that used to have the kiln in it, and I walled off another part for a bathroom but there are no rooms as such. I unlocked the wooden door, wheeled my bike inside, and put it on the hooks I have screwed into the wall.