Slaying the NaNo Dragon? I think I need Cocoa Puffs

NaNoWriMo, i.e., National Novel Writing Month, i.e., November, ends today. I'm sad to see it go. November has been a great month. I turned 40, on which day I received not one but two vases of flowers. The lilies still smell wonderful.

Which reminds me. On our wedding day, I had lilies in my bouquet. The yellow powdery stuff from the flowers' pollen was getting everywhere, and while we were on our honeymoon, my new husband was putting in his contacts and the yellow powder got on his finger and turned his eye yellow. Very weird.

But I still love the lilies.

One of the scenes from my NaNo novel has Monet's pond of waterlilies in it. The protagonist and her tormentor/love interest nearly drown in that lily-filled pond. She's a champ and pulls him, a nonswimmer, out. It's good fun.

So, did I make it? Did I beat the challenge to write 50,000 words in a month on a brand new novel? Oh, yeah, baby! I made it. Last night, after a week-long dearth, I was able to crank out the final words and land at 50,250~. Bring on the Cocoa Puffs! It's time to celebrate!

No, the novel isn't complete. I think the thing that surprises me as a newly minted fantasy writer (contemporary fantasy. I'm not great at world building and probably never will be) is the sheer number of words it takes to write a fantasy, the descriptions have to be more ... profuse. Not that I've ever struggled with having too little to say. Ha.

Meanwhile, the house is a total WRECK. I had to do ELEVEN loads of laundry. Somehow there is an entire bag of polyester pillow filling strewn in bite-sized tufts all over the back porch. Like snow. Only messier, and I can't simply wait for it to melt so it will go away. The kitchen floor has been attacked by pineapple juice, one of the stickiest substances known to man, second in the Griffith household only to the honey which is liberally slathered all over the kitchen counter beside the vases of lovely lilies. My windowsill above the kitchen sink is tastefully decorated with empties--empty PET bottles from Old Orchard Apple Cherry juice (quite delicious, a must try) waiting to be refilled with fresh water for emergency storage, but who has time to fill a bottle with water and put it in the pantry? Not I, apparently. The NaNo Dragon has had me by the neck. Neckbreaking. I think my friend DeAnn was right. I think the broken neck is going to happen because of all ten thousand toys and books strewn all over the house waiting to trip us.

I think I'll have to put the final estimated 35K words to finish this book on hold and regain control of the chaos here. Meanwhile, I blow on my knuckles and rub them on my clavicle and say, ha! Beatcha this time, NaNo, at about the same rate you beat me. Let's call it a draw.

Kool Aid on the Floor and Crayons in the Dryer--Emotions to Draw From

It's messy work, being a mom. This afternoon I was in the throes of discovering a melted green crayon in the dryer had speckled and streaked and ruined an entire batch of whites when the 8yo and the 6yo entered the laundry room baring gifts of red-soaked dishtowels.

"What's that?"

"She dumped it. We told her not to."

Red Kool-Aid. All over the newly mopped kitchen floor. Thanks, 3yo chica. Making my day, here.

At least they were trying to remedy the situation. I do have pretty darn good kids.

But life does get in the way of writing a lot of the time. My goal was to edit another 20 pages today. I'm doing the hard stuff, cutting from 95,000 words down to 85,000. Whole paragraphs and scenes are getting the ax. It's painful.

Yeah, it's painful enough to see my words, my creation circling the drain--I didn't need destruction swirling around me too.

Then again, it's these moments that give me experience to draw from. One of the things we have to do as writers is to imbue our characters with strong emotions (frustration and despair included.) And even though I hope I never write a story about a haggard mom slogging her way through the drudgery of housework, I can tap these experiences, notice how I feel and put it into words. Then I can transpose these feelings (no matter what source they come from) onto my characters and into their situations.

So, it's not all a loss. Not entirely.

I guess.

Red Kool Aid is my nemesis. (Even though it tastes fabulous. Especially Tropical Punch.)

Click Here for How to Get Red Kool Aid Out of Carpet

Seeds Grow in Dirt (My Mother's Day essay, oft told)

It was a rotten year and a half for housework.


My New Year’s resolution was to keep my house utterly clean. I washed walls, I organized closets, I dreamed of shininess.

Then, my oldest son had a problem with school. And pregnancy happened—never my finest hours. Within a short time I was a pregnant, home-schooling mom of four kids under ten with a perpetual headache. A major accomplishment for the day was setting out the cold cereal at mealtime.

The year went on. Home-school continued, and the baby arrived, and everyone knows how productive those first few months aren’t with a newborn. If her little white nightgowns were clean, I felt like queen of all housework.

Meanwhile, grime pockets formed behind doors, dust bunnies grew and had bunny families—several generations of them. The top of our old piano started to collect so many items it could open an antique store of its own. At a low point, there was a two-week period where someone broke a different item made of glass every single day. For some reason I got called to the Relief Society presidency, just to add to the chaos.

Months passed. Baby learned to crawl. My year teaching a bright, much happier, 4th grader wound down. The two preschoolers started to be a little less prone to break glass. But the house languished, nay, wallowed in its filth, especially the formerly light blue carpet. In fact, one spring afternoon after Little League, I had an argument with Zane, who insisted our carpet is grey. “Light blue,” I claimed half-heartedly, barely remembering the true color myself.

Summer came. All five kids tracked in roughly 75 pounds of dirt from their treasure pit in the sand pile and about a million squished leaves from their fort under the nectarine tree. My girls had birthday parties for their teddy bears that for some reason involved crumbling blueberry muffins into oblivion on the grey carpet, possibly in an attempt to turn it blue again. I got drafted to be the interim Webelos leader and actually sanctioned large messes in the house. Cousins came over and incited a game as destructive as it sounds: Toy War. We went through our twelfth 100-count box of Otter Pops and our second vacuum cleaner motor (due to renegade thread while the oldest three kids learned embroidery.)

When mid-August rolled around, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Stephen went back to fifth grade, and he found a niche in learning there. Zane opted out of soccer, so we now only had one uniform to find on Saturday mornings. Rachel started kindergarten, and Catherine dropped out of preschool after a month to stay home to paint and do coloring books with mom. Baby Zuzu could now walk around by herself, looking for stray popcorn kernels to gnaw on with her two teeth.

Things got quieter around home.

With a sense of newfound power, I conducted a yard sale, which made it so we could park inside our garage again. Miracle. Next I looked to tackle the house.

That first morning, however, I caught a glimpse of our kitchen sink, the drainer side. Whoa. How long had it been? A while, for sure. Gingerly I lifted the drainer.

Oh. My. Goodness. What was that green thing?

I pulled out the clean, drying measuring cups and lifted the rack from the sink. Yep, something was definitely growing there: a two-pronged leaf sprout, about four inches tall.

With a squeal of horror I plucked out the sink stopper and found the little white root ball and what looked like the yellow-brown transparent hull of a popcorn kernel around its base. Or maybe it was one of Gary’s gardening projects. Or an escaped food-storage black eyed pea?

No! How could I have let the sink cleaning lapse long enough for a seed to germinate and sprout—plus grow four inches? I wanted to cry. What a terrible housekeeper. My kids could probably get some kind of disease from filth this rampant! My word! A seed grew in my sink!

Then a thought stopped my self-berating rant.

Hey. Seeds grow in dirt.

In the past couple of years my most precious seeds, all five of them, had grown an awful lot in this dirt.

Now, I certainly hadn’t been a perfect mother by anyone’s definition. I hadn’t kept a cheery temperament every single day. I hadn’t nurtured my children in every way possible. Without question, I had not created an “antiseptic environment” for my little ones to play and learn in.

But they grew.

I know they say cleanliness is next to godliness. Whoever “they” are, they’re mean. That’s too much pressure. Seriously. Instead I find myself thinking maybe other things wedge their way into the lineup beside godliness. Maybe doing-the-best-you-can-motherhood is one of them. After all, God helps all things to grow. Maybe that’s what motherhood is all about.

Now, it’s not that I will henceforth refuse to scrub my tub or decide never to replace that ailing vacuum. But God formed Man out of the dust of the Earth. Perhaps I ought to be aiming to do that, too—to form men and women out of these sweet little seeds they are now, and remember that most seeds require all kinds of light, and water (that’d be Saturday night baths), and at least a little dirt. Because seeds grow in dirt.

Three Cs: Chaos and Chocolate and Creativity

Is writing a reward?

Lately my life has become ridiculously busy. Scary busy. Still, I have this deep-seated need to write, to create--to be more than manager of the chaos of the swirl that is my world.

For the past two months I have not sat down to do this. Yes, I did briefly slap together some edits before doing a chapter-exchange-critique with a friend. It was a sorry effort. It does not count as creativity. It's, once again, just managing chaos.

This situation may be contributing to the chaos, however. Internally I keep telling myself, "When the vortex slows, when the laundry is done, when the 18 months worth of backlog of filing is neatly sorted into the filing cabinet, when I get a chance to dust and clean out the microwave, then I'll sit down again and write."

This attitude is not helping!

Part of me believes that all order must be established so that I can write in peace, so that creativity will flow. But I'm starting to believe that maybe if I could take the time to splat out all my creativity, then I'd have more energy to return to the front lines of the battle.

Laundry will always be there.

And a good chocolate bar wouldn't hurt.

Lindt chocolate has a website and their promotion this month is called "Trick or Truffle." They also have a link called "Tasting with the Five Senses." That's the vacation I need. A five senses chocolate vacay.

Am I alone in thinking Lindt makes some of the best, creamiest chocolate on the planet? Not that I'm exclusive. I'll pretty much eat any chocolate from the Palmer's rice crispy-filled nasty stuff at Easter to the best stuff Switzerland has to offer.

Truffles forever, I say. Bring them on.

About chocolate: they say the milk in milk chocolate negates the antioxidant effect of the Theobromine inherent in dark chocolate. I don't care. I'm not eating chocolate for my health. I'll take it dark, milk, even white (when it's melted and poured over salted popcorn) because it's one of the best foods created by God and innovated by man--most likely through pure inspiration.

So up with creativity and innovation and chocolate and inspiration and five-senses vacations, and down with chaos!