One of my favorite features about Facebook is the “You Have Memories” notification. All this year I’ve been reminded about stuff I wrote mostly up to four years ago (when I became active on Facebook).

"You Have Memories"

“You Have Memories”

Three years ago, in November, I was participating in NaNoWriMo–National Novel Writing Month. (Writing 50,000 words in a month wasn’t much of a strain on me because I’m verbose.) Naturally most of my posts lately show NaNoWriMo daily stats. It’s a little depressing to me because, for one thing, they’re boring; for another, I decided to give up on writing. It was a choice I felt I had to make—give up writing or give up a great many other things that were actually more important to me. I enjoyed writing and I think, as with most skills, the more I did it the better I got.

Today I saw this series of posts and enjoyed rereading them so much, I decided to post them all together here.

November 13, 2013 at 12:09am ·

 OK, cheer squad, let’s hear it. Despite what may have been a panic attack or warm flash or sunstroke . . . whatever it was, I managed to get to 23,258 words today. That means I only wrote 1900 today (ONLY), but I was way ahead yesterday.

Tomorrow I’ll take it easy on the walk and work harder in the office.


November 13, 2013 at 7:48am ·


Love those days when I wake up dreaming about my book.

Watch. Out. Word. Count.


November 13, 2013 at 8:05am ·

 Amazon is like a great big toddler, always wanting more. You can’t go check on a delivery without having MORE, MORE, MORE crammed down your throat (your eyes’s throat).

“You looked at this, so here are twenty more items just like it.”
“Those are nothing like it, besides, I didn’t like the one I looked at.”
“You’re so right. Here are twenty other, different things.”
“Some of those are the same things.”
“Ignore them and ‘Get Yourself a Little Something’ from your (endless) wishlist.”
“I don’t have time for this right now.”

Ah, therein lies the difference. Click!


November 13, 2013 at 11:17am ·

 This is why I’m a writer.

Though it’s Pajama Wednesday I decided to switch my pajamas for clothes resembling pajamas in look and feel. Somehow it seemed the thing to do. While I was changing I had the idea that I ought to have emailed myself my morning’s work so far because I was nearing 1000 words and had ranged all over the document adding notes and didn’t want to lose all that information just in case . . .

And here we go into the realm of fiction.

Just in case a bomb blew up the house and I somehow miraculously escaped–blown into a backyard tree, perhaps–but my computer did not. Then, though I’d lost all my paper notes, I’d still have most of my book. I began to wonder if I should chose different clothes to be blown into a tree in. After all, if the clothes on my back miraculously survived the explosion I’d rather have my favorites on if that was all I was going to be able to wear till help arrived. Help. Never mind that. Back to the book. Could I reconstruct it from just the outline I have written? I think maybe I could.

This reminded me of a story I once told a friend. A TRUE story.

Once upon a time, as a college student I was home alone. We lived in a three story house in Edinboro, PA–not exactly a crime-ridden area. I was in my bedroom on the top floor and heard noises downstairs. What was that? Nothing. No, it was something. Someone? Ones? I cast about my room for weapons of defense. As luck would have it the ironing board and iron were in my room. (Had to be a fluke. What–me, iron something?) So I decided to arm myself with the iron, the board being too big and awkward to use as a shield. (This was in the days before Tangled which introduced the idea of beating ploughshares into cast iron cookware.) But just in case I was overpowered and abducted I had better leave a note for my parents. So I did–including the time of day–using a trusty Papermate pen. Then I took the iron in hand and proceeded downstairs where I found . . .

Nothing out of the ordinary.

My friend was incredulous. He thought I was a nut.

But he was wrong. I was an author.


November 13, 2013 at 4:06pm ·

 On occasion while I write I feel the need to consult the experts, to see “how they did it,” so I turned first to the books of Carol Lynch Williams, one of my gurus (guri?) I’ve read her book Waiting three times this year and it moves me, every time, to tears. That’s some kind of wonderful writing. In fact, I forgot that I was doing research and just basked. I was also supposed to be taking a nap–reading being the bridge to guide me through sleepiness into insensibility. I didn’t cross that bridge because I never came to it.

Now I’m all in a Waiting mood and don’t feel the desire to do any writing of my own. I mean, how could I?


So, I’m laying off early today at 25,596 words. I’m halfway to 50,000 two days early. I’m going to watch a movie. Maybe I’ll even read a book while I watch it. I suppose I could listen to music and an audiobook at the same time. Wonder if that would work.

While I crochet, exercise, and . . . take notes.

Quite a program. Might as well work on my book.


This might have been my favorite line: “This was in the days before Tangled which introduced the idea of beating ploughshares into cast iron cookware.”

It was fun being a writer. But now—for now—I’m something else.


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