Forced to write

I hate to post about my NaNo experience to often, I figure it's like illness. No one really wants to hear about it but the sick person.

I hit 40,342 words tonight. That alone would make me happy, but the really good news is the easy flow of creation has returned! I may not have bitched about it online, but last week was a very difficult week for me. Every day was like pulling teeth to meet my daily goals. It took twice as long and sometimes I "knew" I was writing shit.

I just didn't have any option; I had to write and all that would come was shit. Therefore I wrote shit. I quess it makes a sick kind of sense, anyone who has to strain the way I did last week runs the chance of a suprise in their pants when all is said and done.

In fact, those of you torturning yourself with my first round writings will no doubt notice that the entire Chapter 16 is one long, convaluted sex scene. An entire chapter! Why? Because when all esle fails, I can write sex. Sex is easy to write. I needed words and after a week of fighting for every frigging one of them I just filled the blank space in my head with sweet, easy, sex.

Oddly, as soon as I finished that chapter I was off and running. Maybe I needed to write something easy to allow my brain a break. Or, maybe writing anything I didn't have to bop over the head and drag onto a page helped my creative flow. I don't know. But for now, I can't write fast enought to keep up with the new flow.

My real reason behind this post was to first apologize for the low quality of writing over the last week. I've never been forced to write when the muze wasn't working and it was a new and painful experience for me. But I made it.

I have 7 days and less than 10,000 words to go. As I've been averaging over 2000 a word each day I've written, I feel very confident about making it.

However, to all those bitches (and bitch"hims") who are posting in our online NaNo group in excitment for reaching their 50,000 ALREADY . . . enought! The rest of us are not encouraged by your sucess.

Other names for, lets say a "carrot"

Back when I was REALLY getting into writing, I was writing for the sole purpose of getting published. The easiest market to break into is romance. Within the romance genera they were desperately seeking erotic writers. It would seem writing steamy sex scenes makes some writers uncomfortable.

I find that pretty funny. They can write in detail about killing, abusing, rape, etc., but they can't write about consensual sexual relations between a man and woman. Regardless, I get side tracked.

When you are writing about sex a lot, and in great detail, you get tired of calling . . . lets say a carrot a carrot 100 times in a roll. So, as recommended, I started a journal. You are encouraged to read the same type of genera as you are writing. So every time I was reading an erotic romance and come across a scene where a body part was mentioned, I would jot down the alternative verbiage in my journal.

So my journal was separated by tags for male and female, then by body parts within each. I did find it useful in my writing. But of coarse, the girls found it and freaked out. They were both in high school at the time and the idea of their mom even thinking about male or female body parts seemed to freak them out. I told them what is was for and encouraged them to add alternative verbiage they might be aware of.

Tori left the room like I might be contagious. But Bonnet hooked her momma up.

Years after my last attempt to write, I came across the journal and after a good laugh I threw it away. The only thing the erotic writing experience left me with was an uncomfortable memory of Lew proofing some of my writing and an enjoyment of reading erotic novels.

So when I signed up to write a novel in the month of November, you know it was going to be an erotic novel. Now I wish I had my list. On the off chance times had changed, I did a search on the Internet for alternative names for carrots and hit the jackpot. Well, the jackpot if you need a good laugh. Not so useful for what I really needed.

So my good deed today, is to share a funny with those of you that end up here looking for an alternative name for a "carrot".

Partial list from http://justnet.com.au/rudestuff/

blue-veined junket pumper, ding dong, dipstick, dork, doughnut holder, firm worm, free willy, goober, hairy bagpipes, hang down, John Thomas, joy stick, knob, meat, meat whistle, organic dildo, ol' one-eye, one-eyed trouser snake, percy, piece of pork, pink oboe, pole, pork sword, salty dog, skin flute, spunk stick, throbber, tool, trouser trout, wife's best friend.

I left out the less-imaginative listings.

Now I dare you to not think about this list the next time you are looking at a carrot; be it your own or someone else's.

ADDED A FEW DAYS LATER

Alternative words for Kitties

Today, during my writing, I came across another episode where I could have used a naughty thesaurus. Since my last search for information of this nature was so successful, I thought I'd waste some of my day and see what useless list I could find to share with you.

So, in the act of fair-play; here is a partial list I took from the Cunning Linguist at http://www.vaginalady.com/words/words.htm.

Afro clam, baby cave, badger, bear trap, bearded clam, beaver, beef curtains, Bermuda triangle, bikini burger, bread-box, cat, cherry pie, coochie, cooter, dew-flaps, flesh tuxedo, joy box, kitten, mantrap, mossy cottage, muff, nether regions, nonny-no, poonani, poontang, quim, shaved kitty, silent beard, sugar basin, Venus flytrap, vertical smile, and hooha.

Once again, useless for my needs. Someone out there really needs to write up an erotic writers guide to body parts.

What I want to be when I grow up

We've all met them, those people who know from birth what they are going to be when they grow up. They don't need time to find themselves. They don't flop majors in college. Hell, they go to college; and not because they have nothing better to do.

Then there are those people that just do what they are told. Their family or counselor tells them what they are good at and they just go along the chosen path with no complaints. They go to college, get a job in their appointed field, and put in 20 years and retire.

The first group end up being the overachievers of the world. Working 60-80 hour weeks and fighting retirement like it's death, and to them it may well be. The second group work their 40-hour weeks, take two weeks vacation a year, participate in 401k, and don't shit the small stuff . . . because they just don't care. They retire early and enjoy their life.

I'd be happy to count myself in either group, but I'm not. I'm a "when I grow up kid". I still have no clue and I'm 42. If there was a sign along the way, I missed it. And there wasn't anyone who cared enough in my youth to guide me. Mom told me to find a husband before I was out of high school or the good ones would be all gone. Got to love life in a small southern town, or having a psycho for a mother; I'm not sure which. Not a single teacher or councilor ever spoke to me about college or choosing a career.

I have felt a reoccurring "buzz" throughout my life, a draw to writing, to putting a story down on paper. I wrote a complete story by longhand when I was 15 and it was the most amazing experience of my then very-young life. My characters took on lives of their own and wouldn't always act or behave in ways I tried to make them. Yeah, I know, now who's the psycho?

I also wrote TONs of poetry back then as well. In fact, I used the pseudonym of Lynn Collins and read my own poem at a UIL competition. Then when something so horrible I thought my life was over happened, and I can't even remember what it was, I burned everything I had ever written. And forgot about writing.

I spent almost 13 years working in the publishing industry in different capacities; but mostly associated with the editorial staff. I know, a hoot hu? While working for a map making company in my late 20s, I actually got to write up small filler articles, help compose text for atlases, and come up with different hightlight-text for pullouts. It was fun and fulfilled a side of me I hadn't even thought of in years.

In my middle thirties I once again started writing. I typed a complete novel in about 4 months. I had it critiqued and made edits. I submitted it to competitions. I even started a follow up novel. And it was wonderful. I was fulfilled and felt like I was doing what I was suppose to be doing. But then life happened; computer crashed and files were lost, laid off my job, new baby.

While relatives have gone on to pursue an actual writing career, I have not. I have placated myself by posting to places like e.how where you get paid for writing artifices. Hey, I actually get to claim royalties in my tax return . . . there are a lot of writers that will never experience that. I write up instructions for my patterns that go all over the world . . . there are a lot of writers that will never experience that.

Then I started this blog to help cope with the loss of my sister and to have a place to throw-up stuff I needed to just get out of my body. Then it became more. Now, it's my passion at the end of the day. The determination to write, to enjoy putting word to paper -- or in my case, finger to keyboard.

I've said all my life that when I grow up, I want to be a writer. Maybe I haven't turned out to be the writer I expected to be, but you can't be much more grown and I do write.