For some reason, it seemed like a good idea to, you know, hold off blogging until I hit the big 100 page marker in Random Contemporary. I don’t know why. I started writing a dull post on NaNoWriMo, but literally bored myself to sleep. “Well, I’ll just go ahead and save my post until I hit page 100. It’s like, eleven pages away. I’m on page 89, which is practically page 90, which is spitting distance from page 100.”
And then, somehow, it took me approximately 47 weeks to finish page 89.
Maybe I’m exaggerating. Not by a lot, I assure you, because page 89 somehow turned into the page that will go down in history as the page that took me the longest to write. Ever. Honestly. Last week, I felt like I’d been writing for three hours and yet, I was still on page 89. The next day: still on page 89. My brain took a field trip to the end of the book and I wrote five pages of what will probably be one of the last chapters.
Then, my friend Lindsey told me if it was taking me days–days, people, I’m not even kidding–to finish page 89, that probably meant page 89 needed spiced up.
Spice added. Result: I’m on page 100. Almost 101, which is delightful!
This contemporary thing is happening, friends. It’s here whether we like it or understand it or whatever. I’m committed. I mean, at this point it seems kind of silly to stop working on it. 100 pages. Ba Zing.
So, yeah, that’s about it in the good time department for me. Watched The Walking Dead (Daryl Dixon, you fox you), took the Rowdy Boys to a pumpkin patch (no pumpkins were thrown this year). Got the oil changed in my car. Ate some cookies.
Right now I’m debating if I want to participate in National Novel Writing Month next month. Because nothing says fun! like additional stress and anxiety. I’m anxious enough as it is. And highly caffeinated. I just…ugh, it’s such a good exercise in turning off the old internal editor and writing until your fingers cramp up. The way my luck runs, whatever project I decide to use for NaNo will end up just being a succession of Page 89s. A month later and I’ll have written three sentences.
Speaking of fingers cramping up, for a hot minute last week I convinced myself I had carpal tunnel. Or cubital tunnel. At any rate, I spent an entire work day with a numb left hand. I’m just sitting around waiting for carpal tunnel to set in, anyway. I’ve used a computer since I was three years old. Let’s talk about what year that was: 1985. Our computer at that time was a Commodore. It had a blue screen and a flashing cursor. You typed in magical commands like, “Run *.*” or “d:cd/hlh.” The disk drive had a little arm on it so the floppy disks didn’t pop back out. We used our Atari joysticks as a joystick for the cartridge games that plugged into the back of the disk drive. Glorious! We played text games! Remember text games? You’re standing in a room facing due east. There is a table in the middle of the room. On the table is a bottle marked, “Drink Me.” This is the foundation my computer skills are based on. I remember DOS. I remember using DOS.
Anyway, the point of the matter is, I’ve been typing stories on the computer for as long as I can remember. It’s only a matter of time until I have carpal tunnel. I already don’t want the surgery. I don’t want numb hands either, but you know. I’m just a tall, pale, wimp. At any rate, my hand was fine the next day. It occurred to me that I’d nearly fractured my wrist in half trying to open a stubborn sippy cup. Residual parenting damage, I guess.
Until my carpals are useless, it’s back to Random Contemporary. And guys, I think I have a title for it. Admittedly, it’s not a good one. But it’s a title. More on that forthcoming. And when I say forthcoming, what I mean is once I decide that it’s not completely ridiculous. Or, at least, not marginally ridiculous.