NaNoWriMo - Day #10

I am doing this. I am actually do it. Writing a novel.  Admittedly, it's a really really bad novel, but nevertheless it feels freakin' awesome!  And today was an especially good day because, after going for a mellow 8k run and a short motorcycle ride, I spent the whole afternoon with my friend, Janet, frenetically writing - when we weren't talking, eating or drinking wine, that is.  In a few short hours, I managed to write a total of more than 3,000 words - the most I've written in a single day so far - thanks largely to Janet's sound advice and encouragement.  Thank you, my friend!

I'm too tired to write much more tonight so instead let me share this insight from Karen Russell which arrived in my NaNo mailbox yesterday:

When you stop demanding perfection of yourself, your writing desk will become a spacious place. You don’t have to listen to the coach when he screams at you that your novel is out of control, that your characters are misbehaving, that the plot has gotten away from you. Slipperiness is good. Sloppiness is OK. Try to cultivate a maternal patience with your own uncertainty and doubt; a tolerance for bad writing; a willingness to let a story develop embryonically. 

Love it!

And, in the spirit of tolerating bad writing, let me offer this snippet from Murder in Camera.

    It was a clear night and the moon was just past full, so even without street lights he had no difficulty navigating the trail as it hugged the shores of a Russell Lake.  It always amazed him that so few people used the trail. It tended to be busiest on early, warm spring days when Haligonians - happy to be back outside after the long, dark, damp winter months - bundled up kids and grandparents and took them for a walk around the lake to get some air. Sunday mornings were another busy time when local running groups training to run half and full marathons circled the trail as part of their longest training runs. Other than that, he mostly had it to himself as he did tonight.

And what a night it was - cool and crisp - just the way an autumn night should be. In the darkness, he couldn’t see the fallen leaves littering the path, but he could smell their sweet mustiness and hear their soft swish as they danced away from his feet. On autumn nights like this one, running felt easier than it did any other time of the year.

Reaching the far side of the lake, he turned a sharp corner in the path and, from the corner of his eye, noticed movement to his left on a path that joined the main trail and lead to a small subdivision of tidy older homes, built when a good-sized family home was still less than 2,000 square feet. A few seconds later, he could see a slight figure, dressed in dark clothes and a light-coloured cap running towards him. The figure slowed somewhat, as the runner spotted him in the moonlight and warily assessed the situation. Friend or foe?

"Evening” He called out, in what he hoped was a friendly, reassuring voice. “Nice night for a run, eh? Hope I didn’t spook you. I don’t often meet fellow runners on this trail after dark.”

“Evening. Yes, lovely night for a run. I probably shouldn’t be running ton my own, but I couldn’t resist. The night was too perfect not to. And I’ve got my gun along, just in case.”

He chuckled. I hope you’re kidding about that. The gun, I mean. I’d hate to have to arrest you for carrying a concealed weapon.”

“Who said it was concealed?”

She’s stopped now several metres away in the moonlight.

“Well, considering you’re not holding anything in your hands, I assume you must have it tucked in your clothes somewhere.”

“Busted”, she said laughing quietly.

“In all seriousness, miss, I’m a police officer so I see enough to know you really shouldn’t be running trails like this one after dark by yourself.”

“Thank you, officer, I’ll keep that in mind, but I decided a long time ago I wasn’t going to let fear keep me from running where I want to, when I want to. In any case, as I tell my friends, if I cross paths with bad guys, they’re going to have to catch me first.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“I admire your attitude but, all the same, I still have to advise you to be careful and take precautions - like telling someone where you’re going, at least.”

“Yes, sir, officer,” she said mockingly.

“Okay, okay, I know I sound like an old lady but…”

“Seriously, officer, I appreciate it. And I promise I’m careful as I can be in the circumstances. I do make sure someone knows where I am, I don’t listen to music and - as a general rule - I don’t stop to talk to strangers.” She laughed again.

“Like me.”

“Like you. In fact, on that note, I think perhaps it’s time to say goodnight and finish my run. Thanks for the advice, officer. And enjoy the rest of your run.” With that, she turned  and ran along the trail in the direction from which he’d just come. Thoughtfully, he watched her disappear into the darkness and stood listening to the soft sound of her receding footsteps. Then, shaking his head, he resumed his run.

He meant it when he said he admired her attitude.  After he'd had a daughter of his own and she'd started going out with friends, he'd become uncomfortably aware of how often women are warned to limit where they go, what they do and who they spend time with in order to protect themselves. He thought it must be depressing to go through life being told you should be scared all the time. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel fear from time to time - any sensible cop did. It was just that being a relatively big, fit guy and a cop meant he wasn’t a target the way most women were.

He hoped that she would be okay out here tonight. He’d thought about offering to run with her but knew the offer would likely be misinterpreted. Better just to keep his eyes and ears open. On a still, clear night like this one, a cry for help would carry easily across the surface of the lake.

NaNoWriMo - Day #8

Gawd, I'm tired.

Nano, Day 8 yesterday and I'm only slightly behind in my word count. So far, so good. Only 22 days to go. Grooooooan!!

Last night, I finally finished a scene I began on day 2, which felt great. Unfortunately, I realized just as I was finishing it that I'd accidentally created an inconsistency with a later scene so I now have a bunch of rewriting to do as well!  

I'm discovering that writing a novel is a bit like playing Concentration (a card game that involves remembering the location of cards laid face down on a table), assembling a puzzle, and participating in improvisational theatre all at the same time. It's a little crazy-making - but fun too!

Unfortunately, between all the writing and other commitments, I haven't had much time for running this week but I hope to remedy that starting tomorrow morning. Husband's away this weekend so I should have plenty of time for writing, running and riding my motorcycle.

Of course, I'll also be participating in the local Remembrance Day activities. Here on the east coast of Canada, where nearly everyone has a connection to someone who served in the military, Remembrance Day is taken seriously. On Sunday morning at 11:00, a significant proportion of Nova Scotians will assemble at cenotaphs around the province to remember those who've sacrificed so much and listen to recitations of In Flanders Fields.

Enjoy your weekend, everyone, but don't forget to remember all those men and women - soldiers and civilians alike - who have lost their lives to conflict.

NaNoWriMo - Day #4

So far, so good. I hit 7090 words this morning so I'm still on schedule - though it feels like my story already has too many subplots.  If I can find time before bed tonight, I'll try to start winnowing them down. Given this is my first attempt to write a novel, it's probably a good idea to keep the storyline as uncluttered as possible.

Here's a snippet if you're interested. It's a scene I wrote on day one.  Please remember not to expect too much. It's only a first draft, after all.  That said, all constructive criticism and suggestions welcome.  :-)

(An excerpt from "Murder in Camera" by Janice Brown. All rights reserved.)

Inspector Tom MacIntyre steps out of his car, turns up the collar of his leather jacket against the cold, damp morning air, and strides toward the trail head, blocked by bright yellow police tape.  Constable Dana Carvery stands waiting to brief him, an implacable expression on her smooth brown face, though he knows she must be unsettled by the situation. She is, after all, a rookie and her first murder case is bound to shake her up a little.

“Morning, Constable. What have we got?”

“Morning, Inspector.  The victim is male, mid to late forties. Cause of death to be determined of course, but I’m guessing the massive head trauma might have had something to do with it”, she said, grimacing.  

“Body’s just off the far end of the trail out on the point. He was found by a Ms…” She pauses to check her notes. 

“By a Ms. Jane Anderson, who was out for her morning run. We’ve got her waiting at the visitor’s centre, by the way. ”

“Anything else?”

“Well, yes, actually, I should probably warn you It seems like something found him before Ms. Anderson did. Hard to say what, but whatever it was had a good chunk of his face for dinner.” 

“Christ.”

“Yeah, it’s not pretty.”

“The truth is, Constable, murder is almost never pretty - if that’s what it was. Murder.” 

“Unless he bashed the back of his own head in, Inspector, I’m pretty sure it was murder.”

“Fair enough. Guess I’d better go take a look then.  Anything to watch out for on my way?”

“No. The forensic team has already done a preliminary survey of the scene.  Didn’t find anything to speak of on the path so they said you’re clear to walk out. Just stay on the path.” 

“Understood.”

The trail he saw cut a path through old forest, hugging the edge of the lake.  In the cool fall morning, the air smelled crisp and clear. The sun cut brightly through leafless branches over his head.  Across the lake, he heard children laughing. “Nice place to die,” he thought, smiling grimly to himself. 

Reaching the scene a few minutes later, he’s pleased to see Sargeant John Myers directly a team of three men and one woman whose job it is to systematically examine the scene, collecting and photographing in situ anything that might turn out to be evidence in the case.

“John, good to see.”

“Good to see you too, Mac.” Mac. The name people at work. His mother and father still insisted on calling him Thomas. His wife called him Tom - when she wasn’t calling him a son of a bitch. “What have we got?”

“Dana will have give you the basics. Male. Middle-aged.  Maybe 40 to 45. Caucasian.  Death likely caused by blunt trauma to the head inflicted by someone other than the victim.  The weather’s been cool so it’s hard to say for sure but my guess is he hasn’t been here long. Just long enough for something to munch on him for dinner.”

“Yeah, Dana mentioned that. Any I.D.?”

“No wallet but he had a phone on him. We’re checking it now.  I should have a name soon.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. There is one thing. Come and see for yourself.”

Turning, he lead MacIntyre to the knoll where the body would lay undisturbed until John and his team had completed their work.  He walked just close enough to see what he had to.  Dana was right. It wasn’t pretty. He’d seen a lot of ugliness in his 22 years as a cop but nothing prepares you for the sight of a man with half his face eaten away. 

“Jesus.” 

“Try to ignore his face, Mac. Notice anything else that’s strange? Look at what he’s wearing.”

He was right, MacIntyre thought. The man was lying on his back, head twisted to one side. Arms and legs outstretched.  From the waist down, he looked as if he was dressed for running - shorts, socks, running shoes.  From the waist up, he was dressed for something else. Dinner out maybe? He upper body was clad in a soft pink, long-sleeved dress shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, the collar turned up to frame his face. 

“That’s a helluva get up.”

“No kidding. I’ve got my team checking now. I’m betting he didn’t go running in that shirt. And judging by the amount of blood on it, I don’t think he was wearing it when he was killed either.”

A phone rings and both men reach for their pockets. 

“It’s mine,” John says.

“John Myers”, he says answering it. “What have you got for me? Uh huh. Okay. Right. Text the info to me and copy it to Mac, will you? Thanks.”

“That was the office”, he says to MacIntyre. “We’ve got a name. The phone belongs to a Patrick Moore who, as it happens, was reported missing by his daughter two days ago. They’ll send us her name and address in a minute.”

“Shit. Guess that means I get to do the honours. I’ll take Dana with me if that’s okay with you.”

John nods solemnly.

“Yeah, I can get one of my guys to keep on eye on things until reinforcements arrive. It helps to have a woman along when you’re breaking bad news to the family.”

Race Report: Bacchus 10k Fun Run - Muir Murray Estate Winery

All the running Husband's been doing this fall culminated in us heading to Wolfville this morning to participate in the Muir Murray Estate Winery's Bacchus 10k Fun Run. And fun it was. Upon registration, we were handed plastic wine glasses and advised to carry them with us during the race! Ya gotta love a race that involves carrying wine glasses.

Though it was a cool foggy morning, the sun was breaking through as we started to run and the views of the dyke lands that border Wolfville were lovely.  (I didn't take my phone with me so don't have pictures of my own to share unfortunately but here's a link to a lovely photo taken by my friend last fall.) 

At three points on the course, we were offered glasses of white, rose and red wine in turn and we took full advantage of the opportunity to catch our breath, sample some wine, and savour the view.

Despite the wine breaks (or, perhaps, because of them!), we covered the distance is just under an hour. Afterwards, we enjoyed more wine (this time served in souvenir wine glasses we were invited to take home with us), yummy snacks, and live music provided by Swig, a local band.  The icing on the cake was running into two of our favourite people - Kathleen and Jody - who'd come over the mountain from Chester Grant to run the 5k.

A fellow runner kindly offered to take a picture of us together as we were loading up to head to the pub to meet another friend for lunch at the Port Pub in Port Williams. 

A great day all in all, and I'd certainly recommend the Bacchus Fun (Wine) Run to anyone. Just be warned that this is a true "fun" run.  There's no big sendoff, no official time, and no finisher's medal. Just wine, music, funny yellow hats, souvenir wine glasses and some gorgeous scenery. 

NaNoWriMo Day #1 - 1967 words

After going for a fabulous 6km run tonight, I grabbed a light supper, poured myself a glass of wine and began to write.  Here's the first scene. I thought the runners in the crowd might appreciate it. Keep in mind this is only a first draft, and think kind, encouraging thoughts please. :-)

This was her favourite part of the run - the “cream” she promised herself whenever she left the house to tackle a long slow run.  To get here, she had to run along a busy highway for several kilometres. She hated the car fumes, the noise and the leering gaze of too many male drivers.  Here, running on her favourite trail through Shubie Park, she felt free and light - unselfconscious, like a gazelle. Okay, maybe not quite a gazelle, but like someone who’d been running a long time and was reasonably good at it, which she was in fact. 

The trail she ran on, Vivien’s Way, wasn’t long. It looped for only a kilometre off the main trail out to small point of land that jutted into Lake Charles but she looked forward to it because she nearly always had it to herself and she enjoyed the challenge of propelling her body up and down hills, around rocks and tree roots. In order to avoid falling, she had to focus on nothing but running - which was very meditative. Whatever else was going on in her life, a couple of laps around Vivien’s Way always soothed her heart and her head.

She’d reached the far end of the loop now and paused at the bench located there to stretch her adductors and drink in the view of the Lake Charlotte. In the early morning light, the reflection of trees dressed in late autumn leaves created orange and gold Rorschach images on the surface of the lake. It was too early for much traffic on the road that hugged the far side, and the small fishing boats that dotted the lake in summer had gone for the winter. Aside from an occasional bird flitting from tree to tree, the scene was completely still. 

She changed legs now and reached overhead to stretch her arms and shoulders as well. They felt tight after a long night at work so it felt good to feel them let go a little as she leaned first to the right, then to the left and finally forward towards her foot resting on the back of the bench. That was when she noticed it - a running shoe sticking out of the tall, dry grass that grew on a sunny knoll a short distance from where she stood stretching - and it appeared to be attached to something - a leg?

Heart pounding, she dropped her foot from the bench and took a few steps towards the shoe. 

“Hello? Hello? Are you okay?” 

No response. The voice was hers but she could barely hear it above the rushing sound in her ears. Something was very very wrong. She could feel it.  

Telling herself whoever it was might need her help, she straightened her shoulders and called out more confidently, 

“Hello. Hello. Are you okay. My name is Jane and I’m trained in first aid. Do you need help?” 

She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. Apparently, she’d learned something in the St. John’s Ambulance first aid course she’d taken at work a few months ago.

Hearing no response, she began walking slowly towards to the shoe. As the ground beneath her feet rose towards the edge of the knoll, she got a better view of the shoe and the body attached to it. It took a few moments for her brain to make sense of what she was seeing. When it did, she turned on her heel and ran retching and sobbing back along the trail.