On Your Mark -- Get Set --
I discovered tonight that there is a NaNoWriMo group at Facebook, so I joined it. I've quite enjoyed watching people from various time zones fidget their way to their midnights, then come back to brag about the word counts they've racked up before heading off to bed. I'm still waiting my turn, getting fidgetier by the moment, changing my POV somewhere in the course of the evening. I think Bridget's little brother Charlie is going to be the narrator. At least, that is how the book will begin. Time will tell whether Charlie works out. I have high hopes for Charlie. He's Bridget's favourite brother. But if he doesn't work out, I'll ruthlessly fire him and choose a new narrator. I can do anything I like, because it's my book.
My new, devil-may-care attitude comes from my having pushed the "Take My Inner Editor" button that Chris Baty kindly provided on page 108 of No Plot? No Problem! Now that I've sent my Inner Editor away for the month, I'm likely to write some outrageous stuff, so I'll apologize now, just in case. The attitude could conceivably leak out into my blog.
Originally, I came here to tell you about what I did this evening. I found out that the Olympic torch was to be carried through my neighbourhood, so I went out to watch it go by. As it turned out, the torch was passed from one runner to another, right at the end of our block. Robin had finished work and joined me in time to watch the transfer -- because the relay was running way behind schedule. Then we went downtown to see the fireworks, but we ended up sitting at the Fox & Hounds, playing rummy and having a pint while we waited for the fireworks to start. Finally, we drove down near the harbour to see what was happening. It looked as if everybody were leaving. We weren't sure how we had missed the display, but apparently we had, so we gave up and came home. I was sitting here, tweeting, when I heard the fireworks start (at least an hour late). Never mind. I had things to do here.
This is what I wrote at Facebook:
"I have signed the pledge and read the Week One chapter of "No Plot? No Problem". A few minutes ago, I pushed the "Take My Inner Editor" button. Now I am sitting in the living room, wearing blue and white striped pajamas, fuzzy pink slippers, and a stunning black witchy hat with a large purple flower on one side and a black half-veil. I have my cup of tea at my side, JAZZRADIO.com playing on i-Tunes. Now all I need is midnight. Fifty minutes to go."
By the way, the stunning black witchy hat is something I picked up downtown, earlier today. I found Hallowe'en paraphernalia on sale at 70% off its regular price, so I bought the hat (my Conjuring Stories Hat) and a gold ribbon wig (my sandara, goddess of the written word wig). I figure they'll both come in handy in the course of the month, and afterward, my granddaughter will enjoy wearing them for dress-up.
The minutes are clicking by, now. Wilson, Duffy, and Steinbeck have joined me in the living room, for moral support. Robin keeps asking whether I'm going to fly away on my broom. He really likes this hat.
Ten minutes to go. I've brought My Writing Nook up on the screen.
Five minutes. I've poured a fresh cup of gen mai cha.