Author Topic: NaNoWriMo  (Read 8160 times)

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline Soft Words

  • Shoppe Keeper
  • *
  • Posts: 1103
  • Soft words falling... gently... fading away into time
    • The Guinea Pig Poet
NaNoWriMo
« on: November 01, 2008, 09:28 PM »
Yikes.

I'm participating in NaNoWriMo 2008.

There. I've said it.

NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month. For the past ten years, November has been the month when a lot of writers (wannabe and otherwise) start and finish a 50000-word novel. The whole idea is to encourage creativity, I believe. Or some such lofty ideal.

I'm participating this year. I've registered at www.nanowrimo.org , its free and they send you a friendly, encouraging note as soon as you register.

I have a lot of things on my mind, and way too much on my plate. I have a feeling I will regret this at some point during the month, but I'm doing it anyways.

I don't need to do this, but I want to. I want to feel alive again, be one with the part of my mind that does not like to declare itself to the world, and write. I want to break that dam holding back my words, break free of the past I've been wallowing in, exchange self-pity for a sense of accompolishment.

I'm going to post each day's work here in this forum, as a motivator. Lets see how far I can go.


Thanks!  :artist

(I just noticed - it is the end of today already! Going off to work on today's 1700 words....  :poet)
Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Offline Soft Words

  • Shoppe Keeper
  • *
  • Posts: 1103
  • Soft words falling... gently... fading away into time
    • The Guinea Pig Poet
Re: NaNoWriMo Day 1
« Reply #1 on: November 03, 2008, 11:03 AM »
Reams of paper have been devoted to documenting the drudgery of the medical student’s life. Entire websites have been devoted to daily diaries filled with our whining and complaining and our sense of wonder at the miracle of life. We spend our days learning to look at people through a different perspective. I shouldn’t say days, I should say years instead – it is five years of the indoors life. Even if some refute the indoors part.

But this isn’t about me telling you about how much I hate white walls, or walls tiled in green and blue squares with a sink for handwashing, or how choosy I am about what lotion I use on my skin. This isn’t about the general medical student population, numerous and special though we are. This is about the balancing act of my life, the juggling act. I’ve turned into a juggler, and worse, I’ve turned into a snob.

I mean, you fall sick because you cant deal with the stress of school while living at your parents’ home? Jeez. Grow up. Live my life, then we’ll discuss “stress”.
On second thought, maybe not. It might just kill you, planning meals on a budget and doing laundry and juggling priorities like rent and movies. And oh yeah, the joy of moving.


This is about me looking back at myself, the story of a protected, pampered child who now can take responsibility for her choices. It is not an autobiography – I’m not quite old enough for that. It is more a journal, written in my head, because long days at the hospitals and library don’t leave me very inclined to write any more. So this book is written on memory, on air, in ink drawn from the quiet satisfaction of a job well done, the occasional teary hug from a grateful family. It is drawn from the passion I poured into learning, pouring until I was so empty I could listen to myself breathe and not think. It is drawn from that empty well. It is drawn from the pictures I keep in my head because I am not a very good artist and I couldn’t afford a camera.

I need a place where I can shout and weep. I have to be a Spanish savage at some time of the day. I record here the hysteria life causes in me. The overflow of an undisciplined extravagance. To hell with taste and art, with all contractions and polishings. Here I shout, I dance, I weep, I gnash my teeth, I go mad - all by myself, in bad English, in chaos. It will keep me sane for the world and for art.                                                                                                                                           ~ Anais Nin Oct 27, 1933


2007 began while I was crying at my laptop, having done miserably on a mock exam. I was newly single, and the stress was showing. I’d been forced to postpone my Step 1 exam yet again, and I was inconsolable. I felt like the old cliché where all the light has gone out of the world and I’m left alone in a boat, stranded in the middle of nowhere. I don’t think it would count as the dark stormy night of my life, but it would qualify for one of the longest low phases ever. I’d been in love for three years, my first love, and I’d been dumped, and I loved him too much to fight back at that point – all I’d ever wanted was for us to be together and now that it wasn’t going to happen, I was devastated. Sigh. I wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the year. It yawned before me, a depthless maw of despair and all things negative, including burnt broccoli.

My parents, with whom I was living at that point having gone back home after my basic sciences in the Caribbean to study and take the exam, weren’t impressed at all with my performance on my mock exam – for one, it cost 45$ and in India, that is a lot of money. They hadn’t really approved of my relationship, so that was a bummer too. So I spent January studying like it was my passion. Note here, that while I’m a medical student, I do not like exams, though medicine is a commitment to lifetime examinations. I like medicine, I like reading, I like studying it, I love the medical life, but I do not adore studying for exams. Eugh.

In February 2007 I took the damn exam. I was living with my parents at that time, a little girl once more, doing household chores like laundry and dishes. In the sweltering heat of the great Indian city of Mumbai, I experienced the glimmerings of joy. My mind was so used to studying fourteen hours a day for the previous two years, I found it hard to adjust to my new freedom. I mean, I’d been studying for this exam so long, I couldn’t believe it was done. I couldn’t believe I had passed.  I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I finished the exam in less than five of the allotted seven hours not including the increasingly long breaks I took between blocks. That would come back to haunt me later, but on that particular day, I was just glad to get out of the center and not stare at a computer.

Almost immediately after my exam, my aunt had surgery. I helped take care of her. She is a wonderful person and like my mother, she is a strong and courageous person. She stayed at our house during her convalescence. She recovered well and went to her own home an hour’s train ride away from my parents’ home.

March rolled around, and I was getting bored of sitting around the house with no one to talk to and nothing to do. Both my parents were out working and so was my brother. My brother is special, one of my biggest reasons for being in medicine. He is my computer expert from across the oceans, my chat buddy, my liaison with my parents, and someone I can fight with. We don’t ever make up, we just don’t need to. We share a common love of good coffee, internet and computers, and the occasional good movie.

My school requires that all the students pass USMLE Step 1 before we begin our clinical sciences. Now that I had taken the exam, I should have started getting my stuff together to leave home once more and travel, but I didn’t trust fate quite that much yet. I instead focused on spending time with my parents, traveling with my mother to different parts of India, fighting with my brother and plotting improbable schemes in my head where I was a famous surgeon coming home, or a prodigy on the wards. Those were good times.

In April, I was in Goa with my mother. She decided I needed to go because I was getting peaky at home. So we packed our bags for a three day trip and left. Goa is one of my favorite places in the world, full of beaches and sun. It is a land of quiet and peace for me, mostly because of the sea. I love the oceans, the vast emptiness and fullness of the gray Lord. We spent two wonderful days in the beautiful city of Panjim, a city full of history and beauty and of course, the tropical fruit that grows only by the seaside with plenty of rain, like cashewnut and the cashew fruit.

On the night of that second day, dad called.

“Hi Dad”
“Hi honey, how are you?”
“I’m great. How are you and how was your day?”
“I’m good ma. My day… as usual, I handed out lots of work, traveled a lot on the bus and because you people aren’t home, came home late.”
“Okay… stop making us both feel guilty!”
He laughed. Dad hates being left alone at home.
“I just picked up these envelopes outside the door. Let me look through them, just a minute, okay?”
“ookay.”
“I have a letter for you.”
“For me? No one writes to me.” It hit me a few seconds later.
“It’s a white envelope that has your name on it and – “
“Who is it from?” Even though I knew the answer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.
“I don’t know. Let me see. Aaah, it says Educational Commission for Foreign… It’s a long name. Who are these people?” knee-jerk daddy reaction. I love him.
“They conduct the USMLE, dad.”
“But you already took the exam, why are they writing to you now?”
“Appa, that is probably my result.” There, I said it. My result was here. My mother gave me a toothy smile from across the bed. “Ask appa to open your result. Lets get this over with, all this suspense.”
“Amma, I don’t want to know. I got out of that exam hall in less than six hours, totally. I don’t want to know how badly I’ve done.”
Meanwhile, on the phone, my father finally got the idea and asked me, “So shall I open and look?”
I suppose I don’t have a choice, so yeah “Go ahead,” I mumbled, already wishing I’d had a lighter dinner. All I’d had really was rice and yogurt, but the way my stomach was knotting up, it felt like a wedding feast was rumbling around in there.
Two whole minutes of agonizing suspense while I prayed to every God and Goddess I knew in the Hindu pantheon, stared at my mother and clutched the phone. Then, my mother’s untrustworthy phone died. YIKES.
My mother, more aware of the idiosyncracies of her last-millenium phone took it from me and turned it on, called Dad back. While I waited, wringing my hands and feeling completely ridiculous and awkward. I wished we’d left it as a two day trip instead of a three day trip. I’d have been home to receive and open my result instead of being at the very untender mercies of a faulty phone that badly needed replacement. Now, I was stuck in a hotel a twelve hour bus ride away.
Because I wasn’t having enough fun, the bus agency called to inform us that our bus home had been delayed by six hours. Six whole hours of agony added to my already heavy load. I thought I would never make it through alive, that long.
Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Offline Soft Words

  • Shoppe Keeper
  • *
  • Posts: 1103
  • Soft words falling... gently... fading away into time
    • The Guinea Pig Poet
Re: NaNoWriMo Day 2
« Reply #2 on: November 03, 2008, 03:24 PM »
While I raged at the poor lady from the bus agency on the room service phone, my wonderful mother had managed to call dad and warn him I was really uptight about the whole results affair, and he had better not draw it out too long. So I got back on the phone with dad, and the conversation went something like this:

“So I opened your envelope.”
“Okay.”
“There is one sheet of paper inside it.”
“Okay.” Hurry up already!
I hear the rustle of paper being unfolded. Dad’s phone picks up little sounds like that, or maybe my ears were working overtime with my imagination, adding sounds to the images in my head.
“Do you want me to read out everything? There is a letter-like bit at the start.”
“Just tell me the numbers.”
“It says you passed, then there are two numbers, which one do you want to know?” I had mom’s phone on speaker mode, since apparently it was the only way to keep the damn thing from going off in the middle of a conversation. I’m sure dad found it extremely disconcerting to hear his voice booming back at him, but I was beyond caring. Mom was giving me that toothy smile again. I suppose she was trying to encourage me, but it was evident that she was hugely enjoying the torture dad was unintentionally putting me through.
“Both.” My responses to dad were monosyllabic. Absolutely abnormal.
“There is a 208 and an 86 below it.” I can hear the lightbulbs and the smile even on the bally phone connection. “You passed with 86%”.
I can’t breathe for a few seconds. The most I’d let myself hope for was an 80. 86 is a miracle. On an exam where 70 is passing and I have classmates with 99, 86 is admittedly low, but it is what my self-esteem needs.

I apparently lost my power of speech too, but my mother, fortunately didn’t and cheered along with Dad. I couldn’t keep up with my thoughts – I did it, I made my parents proud of me, he didn’t break me, I’m finally going to start clinicals soon. I hope my teachers are proud of me. I hope I get a scholarship for the clinicals, I hope I can go to the US for my clinicals.

Mom pulled the phone out of my numb fingers and brought me back to earth. I couldn’t wait to get home and see for myself, I couldn’t believe my results were here though I knew what they were. I had to see it with my own eyes, read it aloud to myself as I used to read the tomes of medical knowledge I had crammed into my brain for two whole years in preparation for this exam.

“Ma, how soon can we get out of here?”
“Lets call around and find out what is the earliest bus we can take tomorrow, it is too late to leave tonight. Lets not get on the ghats late tonight, okay?”
Not really… I don’t care about the ghats. My results are home, and I’m not. “Can’t we go now?”
“You heard me. I know its hard, but lets stay safe. Now, do you have enough brains left to go look for the telephone directory?”
“Which one do you want – the Yellow Pages or the regular boring one?”
“Whichever one you find first. I’ll call your brother, meanwhile, and let him know.”
“Dad can call him, can you pack instead?”
“Just look for the directory, okay?” Mom was as excited as I was. I inherit my focus and stubbornness from her, I think, and my impulsivity and philanthropic side from my father. It’s a heady mix.

Mom finished her good-byes with dad, called my brother who was on his way home from work and passed on the good news. We didn’t need to talk about not calling anyone but my brother to tell them about my result. Everyone else could wait until I arrived home and saw that scrap of paper for myself. Unspoken agreements are awesome, especially when they’re with mothers.

Hunting up a directory in that hotel room with its yawningly empty drawers and wardrobes wasn’t an easy job, but I struck gold in the bathroom cabinet. Don’t ask. I found a brand new copy of the 2006 Yellow Pages in there. I rushed back to the bed, where my mother was pulling the day’s purchases out of assorted bags and pulling the clothes out of their professional showroom packaging to get them ready for the rough trip home in a haphazardly packed suitcase. I was already thumbing through the giant volume for a list of travel agencies and bus services when I handed it over to mom.

We trawled through a long list and called up a couple, they didn’t sound too good. The thing about being an Indian is that when something is offered for way too cheap a price, it makes you suspicious of the whole deal. So we dropped that idea and decided to dash to the bus stand the next day and board whichever bus had seats. We didn’t have too much luggage, just two bags, so it wasn’t a big deal. The decision made, I helped pull stuff out of the bulky packing that stores seem to think is essential, and together we got stuff all packed up inside of an hour, and went to bed early.

The thing about goa is that the place is so relaxed, almost nothing moves on the street till the sun is baking the earth about 9 am. There is no breakfast place or anything like that open in the sleepy part of the state that we were staying in. Of course, we were there on “official” work, my mother was there as part of her job, but I of course tagged along because it is too good an opportunity to pass. Goa is always worth a visit in my book, no matter where you end up, the spirit of the sea is always gnashing its teeth against the rocks. I suppose it has very blunted teeth by now, I mean c’mon, how long has this thing been going on, but it must be like a beaver whose teeth grow out as they are worn down. Must be nice to have that sort of teeth, but I doubt the seaspirit appreciates how vitally important this is having never lost its teeth.

For example, it was probably never ridiculed at school because its front two teeth were missing. It was probably never in a school picture the day after those teeth fell out or while they were in the process of growing back thus making it look really buck toothed. Sea Spirit was probably never denied chocolate or candy because it was bad for the teeth, hey, whats a few bad teeth if your gums are gonna keep growing out healthy new teeth for you to gnash for eternity? Most importantly, it has no dentist visits, no need to have dental health insurance, and no need for fillings, root canals or other fun dental procedures.

Now you know I love to digress and expound on scholastically impossible thoughts, like sea spirits and their immortal teeth. At 7 in the morning, I was up bright and ready to leave, and then mom gets a call at 8 – the branch she was at needed something sorted out and some questions answered, if she was still in town, could she come down? They’d send a car over, and sorry for the inconvenience. Sigh. My guardian angel was hooting with laughter by now.

So after we were done at the office and the car dropped us at the bus stand in the sweltering afternoon, we walked around all the buses trying to find an air-conditioned bus that was leaving soon – we do have some standards. There was no way we were getting on a non-ac bus for the twelve hour journey home. After a lot of hunting and grumbling and lugging increasingly heavy travel bags around and successfully dehydrating ourselves, we got space on a bus leaving at 5:30 p.m.; our original tickets home were for the 5:45 p.m. bus, but we very wisely cancelled them in the morning on our way to the office in the bulky, non-ac white Ambassador.

The ambassador is probably the last bastion of true babu-dom. No one buys those anymore, I don’t even know a dealership that sells those cars. All the new cars I see are the ubiquitous sleek Hyundai or Honda or Suzuki or Ford. The Ambassador is now solely a government vehicle, the one that high-raking public servants (including ministers of state) are given in order to “increase the efficiency of their public service”. It is usually a white car that has trouble fitting into little alleyways, and therefore entire cavalcades of these gas-guzzlers requires main streets and expressways to be cordoned off. But these cars almost qualify for the SUV tag, or the ATV tag – they run in any oddity of the tropical Indian weather, in any terrain and are reliable and strong – probably most of the bulletproof ones in use today are about twenty years old. Once a status symbol (back in the good old days when working for the government was prestigious and guaranteed you a match made in heaven), today it is a relic of the unwieldy past swept under the carpet by the bureaucracy it serves.

SO we got on to this huge bus, a family of five squished into two seats behind us – mom n pop with three squally beings of indeterminate sex all under the ripe little age of three, and therefore unable to understand the meaning of “SHUT UP!” – and finally we left the bus stand at 6:30 pm, after the conductor was woken up from an unplanned snooze in the back of one of the other buses.

Didn’t any of these people realize how tense I was? Couldn’t they tell I was tense and ready to bawl if I was kept away from home for one more minute? Sensitive, hospitable Indians – sheesh – apparently they are so only to others, not those of their kind.
Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Offline Soft Words

  • Shoppe Keeper
  • *
  • Posts: 1103
  • Soft words falling... gently... fading away into time
    • The Guinea Pig Poet
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #3 on: November 12, 2008, 03:32 AM »
In case anyone has been following this thread, I have not been updating with daily posts because of the following reasons:

1. I've been sick-ish, and doctor's visits are a four hour committment for which I don't have four hours. Plus, that involves travelling.
2. My story ran dry and too boring to write by day four, so I started another story - I'm currently almost 6000 words in, and hope to hit 15000 by this coming Monday.
3. That story has no connection to this one, so I will probably delete this thread and use the posts as part of something else I am planning.
4. My current "novel" requires me to research stuff because I can't do things the simple way and neither can my characters.
5. my life is a mess of words. words cannot begin to describe it.
6. My computer is also a mess, and it wants to die.
7. I am doing a clinical rotation, so I am at the hospital 8-5, which does not leave me with too much time before I have to drag my sorry self to bed, kicking and screaming.


So um yeah. Sorry. You'll just have to wait to see my name in print.

Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Offline Mystic1

  • Senior Alley Host
  • *
  • Posts: 3022
  • To know virtue, acquaint yourself with vice.
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #4 on: November 12, 2008, 03:47 AM »
Makes a left at the next corner, in hopes of finding a new thread to follow.

I'm waiting on pens and needles to see your name in print. Bad news, I HATE needles. Good news, I'm quite patient.  ;D Good luck with the rotation and I hope you feel better. G.  :blusmoke
I believe in making the world safe for our children, but not for our children's children, because I don't think children should be having sex.

Offline Soft Words

  • Shoppe Keeper
  • *
  • Posts: 1103
  • Soft words falling... gently... fading away into time
    • The Guinea Pig Poet
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #5 on: December 01, 2008, 12:09 AM »
So here's the nano update - I won NaNoWriMo 2008. I finished the second story I started.

Highlights include:

- I wrote almost 25000 words in the last three days.
- I lost atleast 4000 words twice, till I learnt the best back-up was to email the newest version to myself.
- In case you're wondering, my brand new pen drive/memory stick died after I saved the document on it, and I lost that version.
- Total amount of words lost: 40,000
- Official NaNo count: 50,558
- Total amount of words typed: 90,558
- Total amount of chocolate consumed: (secret)
- Total amount of coffee consumed: three-fourths of a one-pound bag of eight-o'clock original flavor
- Total number of people I can now gloat with: muahahahaha - at least 27
- I used high school chemistry and LCD laptop screens to help my characters out of a tight spot
- One of my characters is a medical student (big surprise)
- the other is a student of archeology and architecture, but he dosen't use it, but he said that where his interest was
- My characters refused to kiss - they said they didnt want to kiss where anyone could read it. I was bawling with laughter and the two-year old peeked in to see if I was okay.
- I baked cookies for the first ever time this month - and they were awesome. (butter cookies with chocolate chips - YUM) the two year old ate about six of them - certificate of taste.
- Those cookies were the reason I went from 3000 words to 20000.

Ummmm yeah. I have my big beautiful nano certificate, I have my winners badge (look below) and I have a 50558 novel written. I need to research a lot of stuff, I need to do an outline of scenes and divvy up the whole thing into chapters - its one long story right now.
I still have to give a lot of my characters a plausible background (considering it is a sci-fi-twisted-romance-thriller-of-sorts, it shouldn't be too hard!), but I am just going to take it easy for a bit and...

here's the best part - I'm going to do a 30:30 - thirty poems in thirty days. starting, um, tomorrow.
(why do I do this? why am I addicted to words? why why why? am i not insane enough for myself?)

Right now, I'm going to celebrate with chocolate cake.

[float=left]3355-0[/float]
Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Offline Mystic1

  • Senior Alley Host
  • *
  • Posts: 3022
  • To know virtue, acquaint yourself with vice.
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #6 on: December 01, 2008, 12:58 AM »
Congrats on the win!! Glad to see all the hard work paid off. Chocolate and words,  shrugs I suppose you could be addicted to worse things than those. Hey, save a piece of that cake for me...or at least bake me a batch of cookies. will try anything once. I want dibs on the first published copy. (Autographed, if that wouldn't be too much trouble.) Can't wait to read it.  :blusmoke

 :wine  :rose  :rose  :coffee
I believe in making the world safe for our children, but not for our children's children, because I don't think children should be having sex.

witt

  • Guest
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #7 on: December 01, 2008, 07:48 AM »
That's wonderful!

Offline Soft Words

  • Shoppe Keeper
  • *
  • Posts: 1103
  • Soft words falling... gently... fading away into time
    • The Guinea Pig Poet
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #8 on: December 02, 2008, 12:46 AM »
Witt, G

Thank you both so much!
I almost gave up, I considered giving up.
Then the amazing roomie happened, and I did it.
Publication... we'll think about it later. I have plot holes big enough to fit a small country in.

like this one: when an alien species takes someone captive, wouldn't they take away the captive's possessions such as backpacks? Evidently, my aliens haven't been talking to me.

First dibs at published copies, def. Will send you pictures of the cookie next time I bake them. The two year old left the cake out, so I ate it all. Sorry.

Think that covers everything - need to go edit my pomey for my personal 30:30...


:)
Arti.
Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Offline Mystic1

  • Senior Alley Host
  • *
  • Posts: 3022
  • To know virtue, acquaint yourself with vice.
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #9 on: December 02, 2008, 01:27 AM »
Coooookkkkkiiiiiiieeeee!!!!  :tongue With all that sugar from the cake coursing through your veins, you could probably write thirty poems in thrity minutes...Good luck. Perhaps the aliens mistook the backpacks for anatomical structures?  :blusmoke
I believe in making the world safe for our children, but not for our children's children, because I don't think children should be having sex.

Offline Soft Words

  • Shoppe Keeper
  • *
  • Posts: 1103
  • Soft words falling... gently... fading away into time
    • The Guinea Pig Poet
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #10 on: December 02, 2008, 01:38 AM »
Perhaps not. The captives took 'em off in front of the aliens.
Now I don't know why.

eeeek.

30 poems in thirty minutes? sure. if they can be two-four syllables long. :p
I bake a mean cookie! They were incredibly good, even though I substituted a whole stick of butter with a can of condensed milk. With chocolate chips and almond essence.
The two year old didn't really leave the cake out - I don't want to accept it was me that inhaled it all. ***looks around - what cake? there wasn't any cake here!***

I did just post poem #1 though.
Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Offline Mystic1

  • Senior Alley Host
  • *
  • Posts: 3022
  • To know virtue, acquaint yourself with vice.
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #11 on: December 02, 2008, 02:03 AM »
Wrong! Wrong! Never ever ever ADMIT to anything. If you're caught there are only three things to do...deny, Deny, DENY!! You've almost got it right. Let's suppose I actually believe there wasn't any cake? That's fine, EXCEPT I have a written confession which implies there was a cake.
I know this goes against your nature as a poet, but in future, refrain from writing anything down. But if you must write something down, lie...and believe it. For in the midst of each belief; there exists a lie. You see? Off to read the first of you poems.  :blusmoke
I believe in making the world safe for our children, but not for our children's children, because I don't think children should be having sex.

Offline Soft Words

  • Shoppe Keeper
  • *
  • Posts: 1103
  • Soft words falling... gently... fading away into time
    • The Guinea Pig Poet
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #12 on: December 02, 2008, 02:14 AM »
rofl, G, roflmao.

Or I would be, if I weren't scared of waking up a bunch of people who are fast asleep.

Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Offline Mystic1

  • Senior Alley Host
  • *
  • Posts: 3022
  • To know virtue, acquaint yourself with vice.
Re: NaNoWriMo
« Reply #13 on: December 02, 2008, 02:34 AM »
As I never actually observed evidence of the aforementioned confection...I can neither confirm nor deny the validity of its stated presence. Therefore, in the absence of any corroborative facts or witnesses, I must admit defeat and say; as I had not seen it for myself, there was, in reality, no cake. G.
I believe in making the world safe for our children, but not for our children's children, because I don't think children should be having sex.