An Example For Ruthie

I'm writing this post for my friend Ruthie to inspire her to join me in undertaking the NaNoWriMo challenge. She's afraid writing a 50,000-word novel in thirty days will take away from her TV and Solitaire time. I'm trying to convince her the challenge involves straight writing and no editing, which of course is a challenge in itself. She doesn't think she can do it. Free flow, man. That's the secret. As her mentor I've assigned to her the task of writing now, two weeks prior to the commencement of NaNoWriMo, not the novel itself, but as practice in writing without editing. One-half hour a day. With this post I will demonstrate how this type of writing turns out. It isn't pretty. If you want to read something of sense, I advise you to look at another blog. Ruthie, this is for you, an example of how one-half hour of unedited, unstructured writing looks like. The time is 8:10 p.m. Ready? Go.

Tonight I'm sitting at my fairly new laptop computer in my specially designed room. The room is my own, not to be shared with Boyfriend unless he's invited. He stays far away. So I'm sitting here at my desk, which is situated by the window. Outside my window I can see a full moon rising over the rooftops. As I was driving home from playing tennis with Charlotte this evening around 7:00 the moon was huge and orange and a big contrast from the royal blue sky. The face of the moon was very distinct and I felt like it was peering into my soul. He understood why my day had been so bad, but gave me assurance that tomorrow would be better.

Tomorrow I'll be running around with tons to do, getting ready for a weekend at the lake. The fall colors will be in full force, with most of it laying on the ground waiting for us all to clean up. I'll develop blisters on my hands that will be nursed in front of the wood-burning pot-belly stove in the evenings. I'm looking forward to some hot cocoa, the first cup of the season actually. The air will be cold. I might even get a little rose in my usual pale palor. Boyfriend will be away for the evening for a couple of hours, so that will give me some time to bake an applesauce cake and to whip up some of my mom's delicious chip dip, which will be served with the Bugles Charlotte is bringing along. I've already prepared a beef stew, which I still haven't put into the freezer. I hope I don't poison everyone with salmonela.

Work is a bithc, and I hate most of the people in charge. My boss is all queer about the stock market and I'm tired of her pissing around about how the wold is coming to an end. She's just mad because she doesn't have a pot to piss in and she wants to retire. Well, don't we all. Too bad for her she's got a dolt of a husband whom she's left, and who is demanding half of the pension she's earned in the past 30+ years of State service. Can I help it if she married an idiot? A slothful, non-working, greedy idiot? No. So I don't want to hear about how her life is hell and she's vacuuming the floors of some raggity apartment building, now that she's become a caretaker since separating from her dumbass husband. I don't care.

Then there's Chris, that one who thinks she's the fucking queen of france in her underpants. She walks around like she's hot shit, and treats other people like crap. Too much poop reference in that last sentence. But poop is pretty much what I think of when I look at Chris. She's a dog, and I'm pretty sure she wants to be a lesbian. Not that I have anything against lesbians. It's just that I don't think people who are lesbians should pretend they're not. I know a few, and therefore know of what I speak. Those nuns I know are the same way. They joined the convent to escape the fact that they think they're freaks. Or they just hate men and thought the ocnvent was the best way to avoid them. Chris is from the school where authority keeps secrets from the pepole who actually do the work around the office. She wants to be the one with all the knowldge, won't give updates, and therefore prevents the rest of us peons from being able to do our jobs. I suppose that makes her look good? Like she's doing more work than the rest of us? I don't know. I just want to see her eyes gouged out, and as she's stumbling around looking for them I'll stand there and kick them to the other side of the room and not tell her where they are.

But why do I torment myself over the crappiness of my day job. (more poop references - I have to stop that.) The rest of my life is pretty dang good, except for when I have to share it with someone I haven't seen in thirty years. That's something I had to do recently. This guy I used to know. Ruthie helped me figurre out why the experience was so horrid to me. I don't like myself for what we came up with. What SHE came up with. But I have to admit she's probably right. Do I really want him to think of me as the one who got away? And why would I think the live I lead would disenchant him from still wanting me? It's all just really dumb and I wish the feelings of inadequacy would go away.

How much do I lvoe Diet Dr. Pepper? Way too much. I think the caffiene has made me immune, or else I'm just constantly jittery and don't even know it. But if you're going to drink diet pop, Dr. Pepper is the way to go. Either that or Diet A&W Rootbeer. That's a pretty good diet too. I don't like diets that taste like diets. But I can't believe I used to drink at least a 6-pack of Coke every single when I was young and skinny and wild. I'd go to work with my Coke and ciagarettes and smoke and drink Coke all day long. OK, now I have to confess that I've done some editing in that I keep typing Cock rather than Coke. I didn't think you'd want to read about how I drink Cock. Ish. That's just gross.

I like my little East Wing and I like my new computer. I can't reaally get the internets to work correctly yet, but that could be because I'm still using stupid dial-up.l I've got a router and am ready to switch to high-speed wireless, but I'm afraid. I have no idea how all that works, and even though I've spent the money on all the equpment and even a wireless card for our desktop, I'm afraid to take the plunge. I think I worry about the money it will cost to get a provider. Damn people charge so much for something evgeryone needs. I feel like I'm buying air. Air. Dumb little signals in the air.

And speaking of signals I saw a picture on the internets of all the garbage that is floating around the earth in space. It's scary. Garbage in space. Pieces of satellites and stuff. Maybe it was a hoaxy kind of picture, but it made sense to mee. Why wouldn't there be crap out there. There I go again with the poop. Do I have an obsession? Anyway, I wonder what will become of our universe. Remember when Mr. Henningsgaard told us that technology will advance exponetially? That was over thirty years go. He wasn't kidding. I can't keep up with it all. Those iphones make me mental. Kids texting. People talking on their cell phones in the car. I tell you the world is going to hell. And not because of the stock market. Or maybe the stock market is behind it all. I don't know. I just wish things were a little simpler. Except I do love the internets. I might be as addicted to the internets as I am to Diet Dr. Pepper.

There you have it. It is now 8:42. I've written 3 pages and 1,238 words in a half an hour. It isn't a cohesive piece of writing, but I wrote and wrote and didn't pay attention to typos or grammar. That's the secret to the NaNoWriMo challenge. I'm sure somewhere in that jumble there's a story. Can you pull it out?