One of the things that surprised me about my process is the music situation. When I began this, I thought I'd be using a ton of instrumental music, especially some of the wonderful podcasts from Magnatune. I tried that for the first two or three nights, but then I discovered that what I need in order to write is the familiar. Or maybe variety. In any case, the music that really helps me cook is just my usual iTunes collection on "Party Shuffle." (FYI, last five artists: Joe Jackson, Frederic Chopin, Crowded House, Massive Attack, and Elliott Smith.) I had made the assumption that the lyrics were going to make it harder to write. But I should have known better: I've always favored music over the lyrics. It's easy for me to tune out the content of the words, turning the voice into just another instrument. I suppose if I ever get in a jam, though, I could just put my head back, listen for the next lyric I hear sung, and just put those words into the mouth of the nearest character.
A lot of NaNoWriMoers seem to use tricks like that: Little things that get you writing again, just keep the word count up. It's not that it sounds like cheating to me so much as a useless drill. I suppose I wouldn't mind it so much if I knew the exercise was going to be relevant to my story, but deciding all of a sudden that my character is stuck in an elevator with a German shepherd, a candy striper, and a professional poker player and spending my evening writing about that just seems like . . . well, a waste of my evening.
Besides . . . I know where this story is taking me. For some reason, I'm resisting going there.
I'm part of the Chicago team having a "word war" with the cities of Toronto and New York. It feels weird, pretending that writing is somehow a team sport. And it's not like I really have to be a team player for this game. All I have to do is keep my fingers typing. It is a little more motivation for me, knowing that for every word I type, I'm pushing up the Chicago word count. That helps keep me going a little.
I hear that people also have mini-word wars at some of the meet-ups and write-ins. "Who can type the most words in the next ten minutes — go!" That kind of thing. I wonder how I'd do in that kind of stressful situation. Probably freeze up.
I miss my notebook. I miss all my little moments I had jotted in there.
Okay. Back to the sidewalk where I left Walt and Miguel, a little drunk, and about to witness a near-fatal car accident. Yee ha!
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