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There are a lot more of you reading today. It’s nice to see all you newcomers!
If you’re scratching your head and wondering if maybe I didn’t finally turn that corner from “amusingly eccentric” to “hearing the rabbits talking behind the shrubs”, relax. I’m still only mostly crazy. It’s just that, yes, there are actually more people reading my little chronicle of rambling here today than there were yesterday. Because one day ago, I had the privilege and honor of being “Freshly Pressed” for the second time. It seems my recent Question I Want Answers To post, “Where are we getting all these delicious pumpkins?” was selected by one of the few tireless WordPress editors who scour the world of WP blogs in search of posts that their readers might enjoy.
It seems like half the world gets their knickers all twisted up like licorice ropes every time we have to change the clocks. Spring forward or Fall back, it doesn’t make any difference. It’s all terribly wrong and it needs to stop, immediately if not sooner. Preferably before the Cubs win the World Series again.
In fact, there’s even an online petition to stop it. You know it’s Serious Bidness™ if there’s an online petition!
Since the beginning of the month—well, more precisely since I wrote this post—I’ve been plague by the question titling this post. Should I or should I not fling myself out of the proverbial perfectly good airplane without a parachute on Friday with all my other lemming friends? That is, should I take off my helmet and go charging forth towards another new novel along with the slavering horde of writers getting in on the NaNoWriMo action for 2013.
On it’s face, it seems kind of silly question to wrangle with, like I’m trying to tie myself up in cotton candy or something. I mean, first, it’s not like I had bad things to say about the experience last time, you know? Also, consider that:
- I have a new novel to work on, and
- Said new novel requires roughly 50k words.
With those things in mind, why in the name of Samuel L. Clemens would I not attempt NaNo 2013? It’s sort of like asking a hungry dude if he’d like something to eat.
At this point, we’re 25 days into October. That’s 25 days of being surrounded, saturated, completely inundated with seasonal products boasting the much-beloved—and at this point ubiquitous—“pumpkin spice”.
In fact, pumpkin spiced “stuff” has become such a bedrock of October (especially) and parts of November that I imagine most of you, upon reading those words above, immediately and subconsciously reached for your keys as the first step to an impromptu trip to Starbucks for their most famous of seasonal lattes.
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By the time you read this, I will have updated the bar widget to the right that tracks progress on my current novel-in-the-making. Instead of a happy, fully-filled stripe of, uh, (burgundy? firebrick? maroon?) some shade of darkish red, there should now be a sad, empty white box where the color needs to go. With luck, I’ll start filling up that progress bar with 1000 words here and 500 words there in the next day or two.
Oh, and this one will be codenamed Project Tennyson. You know, for the ridiculously subtle and indirect yet potentially spoilery reasons. It’s theoretically going to be a middle grade ghost story. Then again, I haven’t written a single word on it yet, so it could very well end a science fiction novel filled with deep space sea turtles, heroic, laser-whip wielding nuns, and sentient salt-water taffy*.
I mean, I hope that’s not how it turns out, because that might create, uh, complications for my agent. So we’ll see.
Of course, all this talk of a new project will invariably leads to questions, the most common of which being, “What’s the new book about?”
It’s Monday, and our weekend was filled to bursting with Doing All The Things That Families with Kids Do (plus hockey). In other words, at the moment I’m tired, sore, tired, headache-ridden, and (did I mention?) tired.
What I’m saying is that bedtime tonight is going to be about as welcome as a barrel of Purell at an OCD group therapy session.
However, I find myself in between books at the moment, which is never a good thing. The problem, though, is that I just can’t decide what to read next. Rather than attempt to wrestle a decision out of my already-embattled brain stuffs today, I figured this might be a good time to enlist some help from the interwebs, where, at any given moment in time, everyone has an opinion (regardless of whether or not said opinion holds any validity whatsoever).
So I hatched a nefarious lazy plan, puddintopians. I’m going to post the top three books I’m considering along with a short bit about why it’s at the top of my list. Then, you kids get to take the poll at the bottom here and tell me which to read next. You’ll have until midnight, Wednesday October 23 to render your official opinion (that’s actually still kind of Tuesday, if you ask me, but no one did). So, late tomorrow night, I’ll be making the purchase. I will buy whichever book is the top vote-getter in the poll.
If you happen to live or work within a roughly 300 mile-wide radius around Cincinnati, OH and found yourself wondering yesterday or today where that strange warming heat was coming from, well, it came from here. See, Deadspin posted an article ostensibly ranking the regional foods of the US from best to worst. And, well, let’s just say it was, um, less than complimentary in regards to Cincinnati-style chili.
Of course, that’s putting it lightly. What really I mean is that our beloved 3-Ways and cheese coneys were ranked 52nd out of 52, behind an offering from the District of Columbia as well as “being hit by a car.” Yes, that’s right, according to said article, “Being Hit By A Car” was more preferable than our chili. That’s not the worst of it, either. I’ll let you read it for all the gritty details, but this quote probably says most everything you really need to know:
I was planning to do the usual rambling about something or other today, but when I went outside to play with The Attitude this evening, I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the clouds blanket the falling sun. Thus, I give you reasons #817, #818, and #819 why October is inarguably the finest month of the year.
My point is, autumn skies nearing sunset just plain rock, you guys. On this point, I will entertain no dissent.
Enjoy the October while you can, because soon it will be…well, let’s not think about it. For now, why not pick up a pumpkin spiced beverage, kick back in the backyard, and marvel at the wonder of the burgeoning autumn.
That’s where I’ll be if you need me.
So, one Thursday night in the not so distant past (specifically, 11 days ago) I was sitting around in a post-jog evening daze, contemplating shoving dark chocolate M & Ms down my throat until I could taste each individual color. I was kind of bored, see, and pretty uncertain what to do with myself. The kind, wonderful people who were beta reading Project Macaroni for me weren’t finished with it, which left me in a regrettable holding pattern that could only result in shame, misery, and self-loathing.
Sad to say, now that I’m used to having a writing project to work on constantly, if I find myself with too much free time, before long I’m acting the same way as if trapped in a airport for sixteen hours. And you don’t want to see me after 16 hours in an airport. Three hours in, I’ll have gone full “Lord of the Flies”, and will be hunting for the terminal with best coffee place so I can buy a blueberry-lemon scone to use as the conch.
In an effort to avoid having anything bad happen, then, I decided It would be good night for a movie. Sadly, I was without a little red DVD envelope at the time, which meant that if I wanted to see something new, I’d be streaming it. But that was okay because my available New Release options for streaming from the great and mysterious Cybery Beyond included This is the End, Joss Whedon’s Much Ado About Nothing, and World War Z.
Earlier today, I put the last few words of revision into the manuscript for Project Macaroni and sent it off through the ether to my agent. For the foreseeable future I will try to forget about it while she reads through and determines which parts of it are decent—potentially even saleable, one hopes—and which parts of it need to be stripped out and pasted to the underside of sea-going vessels as barnacle fodder.
Regardless of whether it’s more the former or the latter, it’s time to start work on the next one. Because it’s what I do. And also because if I don’t I’ll end up spiraling into a pit of self-loathing and Cheetos dust.
I think we can all agree that should probably be avoided. You know, for the kids. Although, admittedly, I will probably take a night off to watch World War Z and enjoy a leisurely beer or two.
Still, while contemplating my Next Move™, I did what any normal person would do and enlisted some opinions. Specifically, I asked my agents which of my brilliant , mind-shattering, universe-ending novel concepts might produce the biggest splash in the publishing market these days.
Turns out, neither of them were too impressed with my fictionalized memoir idea, Software Guy Writes All Day and Eats Doritos While Fending Off International Opossum-faced Spy Ninja.