NANOWRIMO - Day 9

Rocking out to "The One That Got Away" by Katy Perry 

(picture the swivel desk chair swaying, the head bobbing, and a couple other loose body parts swinging to the music...or not)

That's because tonight when I shut down my NaNoWrimo project I'd hit 18,644 words! I'm pattin' my back (okay barely over my shoulder - damn when did my 'flexibility' vanish? I swear, this body needs a tune up!)

Mr. Callahan returned in all his glory. He sat in the bleachers watching volleyball tryouts. After someone went through the routine, he'd hold up a card with a number rating them from 1-10. You got it. The jiggle test! Zoe, however, only rated an 8, which disappointed her, surprising both of us. Tom said she cheated by wearing a sports bra. We also found out in tonight's chapter, that Tom has a side of his life he keeps hidden, until Zoe draws it out of him, forming a bond that will play a big part later. Here's Tom's revelation in tonight's excerpt:

Tom lowered his head, scraping at a fingernail. "We need the money, or did until he lost his job. Now he just sits in the house and drinks, waiting for his unemployment to run out. He's a mean bastard when he's drunk."

A squirmy feeling twisted in my stomach. My next question came out on a whisper. "Does he hurt you or…your mom?"

"Sometimes." Tom's voice cracked and I heard his hard swallow. "Me mostly. I let him take his anger out on me before Mom comes home. She doesn't deserve to be smacked around for nothing."

"Neither do you!" 

 "I can take it. He's a puncher. Stays away from my face most of the time. Sometimes he's so drunk he's passed out by the time I get home." 

Of course once his tough guy facade melts away, he pays Zoe the ultimate compliment, for him, anyway.

"Thanks, Zoe." Tom said softly. "By the way, you're anything but an '8'. You're off the charts."

NANOWRIMO - Day 3

Current listen:  "Nine in the Afternoon" a strange tune by Panic! At The Disco

I like different music - modern. I attribute my strange taste to writing Young Adult stories and wanting to keep that "youthful" feeling in my head when I create. Hubby's stuck in the 80's or "riding the range" with a country western tune. He's played in a rock band ever since I've known him. We finally reached a settlement agreement. Whoever drives, gets to pick the songs on the radio. I carry my iPod with me constantly. When I've heard enough Santana, I place a bud deeply into each ear and crank on The Muse, Katy Perry, or sadly, Big Time Rush. I've yet to stoop to the "Bieb" though. Something about his carpeted head... I do have standards. I know. Shocking to some of you.

So I'm at Day 3 and this morning I started the second chapter thinking "what the hell?" The story was a mess. I contemplated writing NaNoWrimo 50,000 times and being done with it. Then, tonight, "the mess" made sense. A puzzle piece here and there snugged nicely together. A new character jumped on the page and he's campaigning real hard to be the hero. 


Meet Tom Callahan - the kingpin of the "bus cartel" occupying the back seat of the school bus. The first words to come out of his mouth, shocking me and my poor heroine, were "nice tits."  He is also the proud creator of  "the jiggle scale." Yep, that's how Tom's story rolls. Not sure where he came from, but he has no intention of disappearing anytime soon. We'll see how his character evolves...let's hope he sees the 'error of his ways'?

Today's writing challenge:  the aftermath of a murder. I'm sure the details of the murder itself will materialize, but today was about writing the shock my heroine, fifteen years old at the time, felt when she discovered her father's lifeless body on the sofa. 

She knows he's dead, but shields herself from the trauma by doing little gestures to make him more comfortable. Taking his shoes off, curling his arm against his body so it won't "go to sleep" from hanging at an odd angle. Covering him with a blanket so he won't get cold while waiting for help to arrive. When she decides she's done all she can, she sits on the floor beside him. Here's a glimpse:

Wrapping both bent legs, I pulled them to my chest and leaned against the sofa. Dad's limp, icy hand fell over my shoulder. I tucked my chin against it and cried.

Today's final count:  7,848 words! Wahoo!