Let's focus people. NANOWRIMO is coming in a few weeks. Get those pre-made meals stack in the freezer. Pay those bills ahead of time. Get an outline started. Catch up on your sleep. 50,000 words in one month is so easy for some; so hard for others; damn near impossible for about 80% of the writers who sign up.
My second published novel, A MATTER OF FAITH, was a NANO winner of 79,000 words. And even though I have failed to reach the magical heights of NANO success in recent years, it has certainly jump started several projects. And remember, sometimes you have to eject the crap out of your fingers before magical story lightning hits the keyboard.
So, are you participating? Are you prepared? Even if your answer is no, the only rule is: writers write! Set your own goal and keeping it going, even November, even as you chuckle about us slaves to the 1,667 word per day goal.
I'm cheating. Here's my opening.
I drained the beer then belched. I wasn't a pleasant sight, but I wasn't in the worst shape. The lanky blond was passed out on the couch, and I could see the redhead's feet, hanging off the end of my bed through the open door to my bedroom. They arrived drunk, got drunker, and I wasn't even sure I knew their names. The blond had a pink bra on that showed through her damp, white tee-shirt and jeans with beaded-thong sandals. Those beads must hurt. I think she played on the MU's women's volleyball team. She had to be about six feet tall. The cute redhead had on a jean skirt with a Hello Kitty pajama top. She was toned and probably an athlete also. She arrived barefoot and in much worse shape than the blond. I think they were freshmen, taking easy summer courses to remain eligible as sophomores.
"Debbie and Mandy," I said.
Ron snorted awake. He was reclined in the lazy-boy we took out of the trash bin a month ago. "What?"
"The names of the girls. I think." I wished he'd never entered my life.
Coach had draped his arm over my shoulder late last spring. "Take Ron in for summer school. Make sure he passes his courses. It's only twelve weeks. What can go wrong?"
The answer was plenty could go wrong. Cue balls have higher IQs than Ron, but he could run. So I kept him running. Two a day practices, weights, morning classes for which my air horn came in handy for getting him up. And then, I let him tag along with me to the radio station while he did homework. Being on the radio was a huge carrot for this dude.
"Girls?" He looked around the living room. His hair flopped over his eyes. He smiled, "Yeah, girls." He righted the chair and his smile crashed onto his chest with his chin. "Damn, I don't remember. When did they come? What time is it?"
"It's three o'clock. The crew has left. I'm hornier than hell, and there's two girls here that we haven't a chance with. Very frustrating." My girlfriend dumped me during the late shift on the radio over the air during an album request hour. Not cool. I could have any 14- or 15-year-old frustrated teenage girl in the tri-county area, but at twenty-six, I wasn't looking for jail time. It was bad enough when they hung out after hours.
"Does your mom know you're out here?" I've asked more than a few. "Oh, it's okay. She's out with her boyfriend. She won't say nothing to me, because then I'd tell daddy where she's been while he was out of town." Yeah, that's the ticket for me. A fifteen-year-old with the morals of an alley-cat with parental approval.
I'd only had four beers all night. I might have even been technically sober. And I was getting too old for this life. I was glad I had put off college for the army, because I probably would have been as young and stupid as these morons had I gone to college at eighteen. However, I needed to be moving on and glad that I only had one more semester left.
I pushed off my chair and headed for my bedroom. Ron peeled himself from the lazy boy and went to the john.
The redhead was face-down on the bed. I rolled her over to wake her up so she and her friend could sashay on back to wherever home was. I knew immediately she was dead.