NaNoWriMo 2007

It seems like yesterday that NaNoWriMo was just a weird word. Now, it feels like something I’ve been a part of my whole life. That’s what happens when you join the horde of freakish maniacs trying to write a novel in one month.

Yes, indeed, NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month, celebrated (if you want to call it that) annually from November 1 – 30. The goal is to write 50,000 words–a novella-length work of fiction–in thirty days. I’ll do the math for you. That’s 1,667 words a day. Seem impossible? Yes and no.

It’s like running along a road that goes up and down, up and down. One day you know there is no way you can squeeze 1,667 words out of your brain. The next day, more than 3,000 pour out of you effortlessly. It’s kind of weird. Of course, if you’re an official entrant signed up at the NaNoWriMo website, you can commiserate with tens of thousands of other would-be novelists. Some are breezing right along and finish in a week; others struggle and still only have 500 words at the end of the month. But hey, you’re all in it together.

NaNoWriMo is organized by the Office of Letters and Light in San Francisco and is largely run by volunteers. Additionally, there are volunteers across the country (and the world) that are known as MLs. Municipal liasons. Those are the people that are the go-betweens between the national office and the local writers. A lot of them schedule “write ins” for their local people. That’s where you can get together with people from your city or region and write for a specified length of time. Some of them are actually a full 24 hours! There was a write-in here, but I missed it because I couldn’t figure out how to affiliate with my region. Live and learn.

If you finish in time, and have your wordcount validated by the snazzy NaNoWriMo wordcount validator, you get one of these:


You also get a certificate that you can print out and hang on your wall. It’s pretty nifty.
Yep, I finished. I adopted NaNoWriMo as a little project for when my husband was working. Thanksgiving meant he was off for a few days and my word count dipped. I was even halfway afraid I might not finish. But I did, and with time to spare! I’ve long said I wanted to write a book, be a writer, etc. NaNoWriMo showed me that it is possible to write everyday–or nearly everyday. It gave me a taste of what it would be like to have to create day after day, even when I didn’t feel like it. I’m already looking forward to next year, but in the meantime, I think I’ve gotten a little bit of inspiration from the exercise. Hopefully I can start and finish a couple of other projects between now and then.

If you’re an aspiring writer, or just crazy, block off next November on your calendar and join us for NaNoWriMo 2008. (If you want to write screenplays, check out Script Frenzy in April!)

Vintage Kaepas Wanted!

I recently visited my hometown. The purpose was twofold:

  1. To spend a few days with my grandmother.
  2. To give my new husband the grand tour and take him to all the spots that had significance in my life.

I’ve discovered over the years that visiting that tiny town is like taking a trip back in time. Somehow I am immediately taken back to the early 80s. I suppose it’s because those were such pivotal years for me, but I think it’s also because my hometown is sort of stuck. Much of the town is exactly as it was during that decade of my life. It’s weird.

The point is, the feeling lingers. I came home and began to infuse my current life with the pop culture of 20 years ago. The VH1 Classic/DVR combo in my living room lets me record and save hours worth of 80s videos every week. My YouTube “favorite videos” is now populated with the likes of Duran Duran, Cyndi Lauper and Pat Benatar. I’ve decided to begin a collection of 80s movies. I have a sudden need to read old issues of Seventeen. (I managed to find some from 1984 at a nearby library and I really did feel 13 again for the half hour or so I thumbed through them. I really did.) Luckily, I married someone who loves the 80s as much as I do–hometown trip or not. He is encouraging (enabling?) this six-laned highway trip down memory lane. Alas, though, there’s something missing.

This has happened before, the last time being about two years ago when I attended a high school reunion. That trip left me with a need to have a pair of Nikes. Not just any Nikes–the Nikes that were my very first pair of Nikes. It actually didn’t take very long to find a website that had information about them: canvas, rubber toe, blue swoop. The site also had information about labels inside the shoes and how to tell what year they were made. Next thing you know, I was happily shopping eBay for my old shoes. A couple of months and $20 later, I was the proud owner of these:

Now I can’t explain what waxing nostalgic has to do with buying old shoes, but I can tell you that I now need a pair of Kaepas. Remember the old Kaepas? With the two shoestrings in each shoe? I had a pair of low tops with the navy blue logo and a pair of high tops with the silver logo. I got them in middle school and I know I wore them through high school, but then… I have no idea what ever happened to them. I still have my pink Chucks from 1983, so where did my Kaepas get off to? What’s weirder…everyone’s Kaepas seem to have gotten off to somewhere. I can’t find any mention of them anywhere. The official Kaepa website (yes, they still make shoes) has not a single mention. I’ve been haunting eBay daily and I’ve come up with nothing. Even those websites managed by avid vintage shoe lovers have no mention of the old Kaepa. There has to be at least one pair. Somewhere.

A Trip to the Library

Today I saw a REAL librarian. Seriously. I’ve been to that particularly library hundreds of times and never laid eyes on this woman. Imagine if you will, a woman in her late fifties, tall with dark, but graying hair, pulled into a bun with a fluff of curly bangs. Thin, with dark eyes and wire-rimmed glasses, wearing a black skirt, red shirt and a black sweater draped around her shoulders. You know, all retro style. She gave me a friendly, but stern look as I passed and I’m pretty sure if she hadn’t been sitting in a glassed-in room, she would have put her finger to her lips and said, “Shhh,” just because she felt obligated. I was so enthralled by her that I almost ran into the police officer that was patrolling the religion shelves. Now why an officer was patrolling in the library at all is beyond me, but whatever.

To be honest, it has been probably a year since I darkened the doorstep of my library branch–long enough that my card had expired. (And I found out that I had a $4.00 fine, which they didn’t want me to pay because it hadn’t reached the $5.00 mark yet. Again, whatever.) It used to be that you had the option of using either the traditional card catalog or the computerized version. Now it’s the computer or nothing. I would consider myself a fairly advanced computer user, so it’s not that I’m intimidated by that or anything, but I think I really prefer the old card catalog. It’s sort of like hunting down a book. When you find the card, write down the number of the book, then finally find it…it’s like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. You’ve accomplished something. And thumbing through all the cards makes you wonder who else had pulled that particular drawer. Were they looking for the same book you’re looking for? The same author? Were they old? Young? A college professor or some homeless guy? There was some mystery to it and some semblance of being part of a larger group of bibliophiles. Now it’s a computer search, just like if you Googled something. Big whoop.

I’ve always wanted to work in a library, so why I didn’t go get a degree in library science is beyond me. I really didn’t think of it and now I’m too lazy. Plus there are so few schools that offer it, I’d have to move somewhere. Again, too lazy. Plus plus, I have a feeling that I’d be stuck in classes learning things I already know with a bunch of frumpy women. It would be worse than nursing or elementary education. (As far as classroom diversity, I mean.) I’ve probably just insulted a lot of people with that idea, so I’ll move on. Anywho, I did try a couple of times to get library jobs here in my city. The first time I applied, no one even called me. The second time, I was asked to come in and take some skills tests, one of which was typing. I scored 72 wpm and was feeling pretty proud of myself, until I was told that was too fast. TOO FAST?! Yeah, they said they felt I was over-qualified and would likely become bored. I begged and pleaded, trying to convince them that it truly was a dream to work in a library, but no go. I would have been the best worker they’d ever had. Now they’ll never know.

My love for books started when I was an infant; my love for libraries followed shortly thereafter. I learned to read when I was three and was reading whole novels by the time I was six. I’ve read a lot of books. I own a lot of books. I would like to work with a lot of books. I thought about Barnes & Noble, but that’s not fun. Those are all new books. Libraries have old books and when you walk in you get that old book smell. It’s one of my favorite smells in the whole world. I have some really old books in my house and sometimes I open them up and put my nose right inside. They’ve been my constant companions for my whole life, so it’s comforting to me to do that.

One reason I like the library so much is because I remember going to check out books when I was little. I had a pack of three younger brothers and a mom I didn’t really get much time with. But every Thursday, she would drop them off at Mother’s Day Out and take me to the library. Just the two of us. And I could look as long as I wanted and check out any book I wanted. Of course I left with a huge stack every week to get me through to the next Thursday. At the time, we were living in a very small town with a very small library and I’m pretty sure I read every book in the children’s section. Probably about half of the adult section, too. I can picture every inch of that building in my mind…the riding toys under the card catalog, the shelf where the Bobbsey Twins books were, the corner where I found out how the Eqyptians mummified people, how much colder the water was in the fountain there than any of the ones at school. And the librarian always remembered my name and always seemed glad to see me. It’s good being a kid with a library card.

My parents never censored anything I read. Whether that was from lack of interest or ignorance, I’m not sure. Suffice it to say I read a lot of books that were hardly age-appropriate. I probably had a lot of ideas in my head I shouldn’t have had as a kid, but really, I don’t think I’m the worse off for it. My grandmother gave me my first dictionary–real, adult, college dictionary–when I was seven. (And I still have it and use it.) I loved looking up new words I was learning in all the books I was reading. It certainly helped me understand all the adult conversations going on around me and when I argued with someone, pulling out a few big words always helped make my point. Still does.

I didn’t know very many kids who were avid readers, but a few friends had started getting interested by the time we were in middle school, mainly because of the sudden popularity of Sweet Valley High. Never read ‘em. I had become particularly enamored with Edna St. Vincent Millay when I was in third grade and by middle school, I had moved on to other notable poets and had gotten caught up in reading biographies. I did a really extensive book report on Chief Joseph, accompanied by a miniature Nez Perce village (built by me) for good measure. By high school I had discovered Plato, the Brontes and Dorothy Parker. You’d have thought I’d never picked up a book before in my life, I was so excited. Once again, not for the first time and not for the last, it was like a whole new world had opened up.

That’s why I was at the library today…because I needed to spend some time with my old friend Dorothy. And really, that’s what authors are to lovers of books. They’re people who cared enough to put their thoughts, ideas, opinions and dreams down on paper, so the rest of us could share. We escape through them, we are entertained, we laugh, we cry, we learn, we think…oh, we think…

So a big thanks today goes out to all my favorite authors: Dorothy Parker, the Brontes, Jane Austen, Rohinton Mistry, Arundhati Roy, Judy Blume, Lois Lowry, Ernest Hemingway, Charles Dickens, Sylvia Plath, Jack London, L. M. Montgomery, so many more I can’t even name them. Thank you for your blood, sweat, tears and courage. Thank you for not giving up when you got rejection letters. Thank you for listening to that little voice inside you that said, “Write! For the love of God, write!” And thank you for trusting in us, your readers, enough to give us these gifts that seem merely bound paper, but are so much more.

Now I’m going to read.