nanowrimo

my friend, the lovely lisa reid, and i have signed up for national novel writers month (nanowrimo). it begins november 1. in a mad thirty day rush, participants attempt to write a 50,000 word novel. the theory is that if you have a deadline, you can get it done. in nanowrimo's eyes it's all about quantity rather than quality. write, write, write. just get it on paper (it's actually more like, "get it into your word processor," but i digress). other writers hold you accountable, cheer you on, offer advice, etc. sounds like fun. it also sounds a little insane...which is why i absolutely have to do it.

i'm no math genius (which you already know if you read my proposal to fix the economy), but i figure we'll have to write a minimum of approximately 1700 words per day to finish. (why didn't nanowrimo select a month with 31 days? i'm sure i'm gonna need that extra day!)

i hope to post what i've written to this blog daily. i've decided to write a story based on a rather tongue in cheek post i made on my myspace blog. it's a silly quip i had about a storyline for a western novel or screenplay. i know how the story begins and ends. all i have to do is write the middle part, right? check it out:

* if i ever write a western novel or screenplay, it will begin thusly:

prairie pete stretched and yawned as the brilliant arizona sunrise roused him from his hearty, well-earned slumber. he’d only been on the trail for two days but he was already hot on the trail of the thieving scoundrels who’d stolen his prized golden spitoon. "they are going to pay dearly for their pilfering," pete muttered to no one within earshot -- no one, that is, except his beloved horse, needles.

spoiler alert!! ;) and here's how it ends:

* if i ever write a western novel or screenplay, it will end thusly:

justice had been served. parson pete (the wrangler and reformed ne’er-do-well formerly known as prairie pete), golden spitoon tucked neatly in his saddlebag, had risen to the formidable challenge and single-handedly defeated the scofflaws. and while the sun silently set over the arizona desert, pete happily chawed and spat and prayed, while into the living rock he carved the names of the dead men.

only 49,866 words to go. i'm gonna need a really big pot of coffee...