oh no you dinnit!

Oh yes, I did.

I decided to do NaNoWriMo (national novel writing month) this year. After I finished Rachel’s Risk, I kicked around another idea. I made some notes and even wrote a few pages and then it got buried. For a decade. LOL

The idea isn’t new (no idea ever really is), but I like it. I like it a lot. So I’m going to write 50,000 words  in 30 days and see what happens. Hey, Stephen King does it all the time, so it’s not like it’s impossible. Every year I come up with excuses. It’s too much work. It’s too much pressure to write at least 1600 words a day – every day – for a whole month. I’m too busy with school. I’m too tired from work (can’t use that excuse this year).

I may not make it. But if I don’t, so what? It will be a good start on a story I’ve wanted to tell for a long time. I’m just going to write. I can edit in December. Writing and editing simultaneously is my biggest problem, so if I have to, I will turn off the monitor and just type until my fingers go numb. I will post it periodically on my other blog that no one reads: Risk Exile.

For now, here’s how it ended.

I didn’t see the body until I tripped over it. It was dark, with only a sliver of moonlight shining through the trees, and I was running, trying to stay ahead of the Executioner. At first I thought it was a fallen tree branch, but it gave, like a beanbag, when my foot hit it and I almost fell. The first thing I saw when I looked down was all the blood. I remember thinking those bastards were playing another prank.

Until I saw the face. The head was in a lake of blood and there was a terrible dent in the skull where it had been crushed like a can. I had never seen a dead body before, except on t.v.,  but believe me, it is not the same. I was six inches away from someone who had been alive just an hour ago – someone I was friends with. I did the only thing I could.

I ran.

All Saints Day

is brought to you by Unconscious Mutterings. Last week we had good words but I never got around to doing it so I’m being punished with mediocre words today. Fine. Two can play that game. I’m giving mediocre responses. So there.

You know the drill by now. All the words (mediocre and exceptional alike) come from LunaNina and the responses come from the deep recesses of your psyche. I’m not responsible for any subsequent cracks in your delusions.

1. Hairbrush ::
2. Sneak ::
3. Hole ::
4. Horror ::
5. Standard ::
6. Mailbox ::
7. Attachment ::
8. Type ::
9. Nails ::
10. Storage ::

Everyone should have a dream. Want one of mine?

When I was a little kid, I had a terrible nightmare about a vampire-looking man who was going to kill me. I had that dream so often that I can still recall most of the details. I can still see it. The vampire dream scarred me and is probably one of the reasons the show Dark Shadows frightened me beyond reason. Also, my sisters and brother tortured me and made me watch it every day after school.

In my teens, I had a dream about being in a war zone, hiding behind a wall with bombs dropping all around me. The war dream, with minor variations, occurred until I was in my twenties. Which was not that long ago.

I believe in dreams. I believe they can have real meaning and can give us guidance or at least some insight into what’s going on “behind the scenes” in our lives. I also think that most dreams don’t mean anything at all.

Last night I had nightmares for the first time in ages. I will probably always be prone to them – I’m a restless soul, I think – but for the most part, my demons have been slain. You know how you have a dream and you wake up and think it’s over but then when you go back to sleep the dream starts where you left off? Or the kind of dream that doesn’t seem quite the same as the one you just woke yourself up from, but still, even though the scene is different and the people are different, you know it’s the same damn dream? Those dreams – the persistent suckers – are the ones that I think actually mean something. And that’s the way it was last night – all night long. I’d get rid of one dream and the next one would pick up right where it left off.

a day late

I forgot to post the new chapter of Rachel’s Risk. Hey, don’t look at me like that. I try to post at midnight on Sunday but sometimes I forget. Have you ever intended to do something and then forgot? It happens. It happened to me. Sheesh.

My mother texts me. I find that odd, but I don’t know why. Not bad odd, just odd odd.

I almost understood something about Cisco today, but it turned out I was wrong. It’s comforting to know that I’m on the right track but catching the wrong train.

I’ve never lived upstairs from three little boys before. I pray to God that I never do again. I lived below deaf people once. That was fun, because I could play my stereo as loud as I wanted. On the other hand, they were crazy loud because they couldn’t hear themselves. They also tried to talk to each other. AT TOP VOLUME.  I only lived there four months.

I’ve been seeing weird things around here. Hearing stuff. Something isn’t right. I think someone is

MoC’s make-out list

MoC and I were talking about the new Melrose Place because we are discerning television viewers and she was lamenting the fact that Ashlee Simpson-Wentz and Colin Egglesfield are leaving the show in January. MoC really likes the character Auggie and she insists that he couldn’t have killed Sydney (who is played by Laura Leighton and is possibly the love of my life).

MoC: He was in love with Sydney. He wouldn’t have killed her. He should get together with Riley and she should dump that filmmaker guy – he’s paranoid. She’s kind of intense and he’s just … not. But Auggie is more her style.

Me: She just wants to make out with Auggie.

MoC: So would I.  I always liked the broody types.

Then we talked about Heather Locklear coming back.  Jack Wagoner played her love match – and I think they are (or were) dating in real life.

Me: It would be cool if Jack Wagoner came back.

MoC: He’s on a soap now, I think.

Me: Would you make out with him?

MoC: Oh sure. But I think Heather Locklear is more his type.

Then we drove to WalMart because that’s where we go to make fart jokes and laugh at people. As I was driving, several people pulled out in front of me, almost backed into me and were generally being dicks. So I called them dicks.

MoC: They’re all dicks. All drivers are dicks.

I pulled up to the door to let her out.

MoC: Except us. We’re excellent drivers.

Me: Would you make out with Al Pacino?

MoC: Oh, hell yes!

She got out, I parked and as I was walking in to the store I realized I confused Al Pacino with Dustin Hoffman. Again. I don’t know why I do that. It’s a mental disorder.

Me (walking up to MoC): I meant Dustin Hoffman. Would you make out with him?

MoC: I think he’s very interesting, so yes. We’d have lots to talk about. I think he’s very charming and intelligent. I’d have to base it on his personality though, because he isn’t very good-looking.

Me: Well, at least you’re not shallow.

Long pause.

MoC: The sex would be better with Al Pacino, though.

Oh.

Score one for MoC.

I probably shouldn’t have said ’score.’