The secret of Nanowrimo

zombieman's picture

The secret is that there isn't one. Type 1700 words a day and you'll hit the goal. I have a problem sometimes with arbitrary goals, but this month I am pretty motivated to get this one out of my head and onto the page. Next month there will be loads of re-reading and editing and if I can cobble togther enough money for a cover the book will be released...assuming I finish. I had to be a negative nelly, but I'm only at 30 thousand words, not 90, so the finishing by the end of the month part is still in doubt. I think I will make it.

Welcome to my nightmare.

zombieman's picture

This one is probably brought to you by a lack of alcohol, which I typically use to take the bright, cutting edge off of my subconscious.


I am dead. It’s worse than I feared, no sensible dissipation into the nether from which I came. The nether which we all know we shall return to, regardless of our teachings of faith to the opposite. Further, I chose the wrong religion or perhaps the right one, but I wore blended fabrics, took the Lord’s name in vain or got some ink done. So hell for me it is!


Fall Musings

zombieman's picture

It has been a good September, the weather is top notch and other than an unusual scarcity of funds, things have settled into the 'winter' rhythm. School, work, dinner, work, sleep, house work, a pattern that takes some getting used to and changes every semester. Not that I am in school, teach school or even care overly much about school these days, but I have family members who are in school and their schedules with work and classes are all over the map. Deciding who is preparing dinner and figuring out how many people will be home to eat it are ongoing concerns.


zombieman's picture

I look over the progress of Undead Advantage II and it leads me into a bit of despair. Not for the story, it is coming along fine, I’m quite happy with it and feel it really progresses the entire ‘world.’ No, I see that I’ve had dozens of writing sessions. Way more than I usually take to finish a novel of this relatively modest size. I started writing the book on September the 6th in 2012. That’s over 2 years ago.


zombieman's picture

“You just stand right there and let me grab your meat.” The burly man said to me.

I couldn’t help it, there was a long, awkward silence as I thought of the phrasing the man had used. The 13 year old inside was only just held back from laughing out loud by my 45 year old, supposedly mature, self. Laughing at your butcher is probably the best way to get short-meated next season that I know of.


zombieman's picture

One death. That’s all we get. No more, no less. As a young man I dreamed of dying in some dramatic fashion that would cause remembrances of me throughout history. As a middle aged man I cannot remember anyone who died for anything worth remembering. It is a shared experience, so much as any living thing is shared, which is to say nothing whatsoever is shared, is it?

Hot and Humid

zombieman's picture

I'm okay with the weather right now. It seems like in the Midwest you have a built in subject of discussion no matter who you are, what your gender is, what your skin color is and who you like to keep company with at night; the weather. Perhaps it's the same all over? I do remember when I was a boy talking to my grandpa Clodi out in Illinois we always talked about the weather.


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