Friday, November 2, 2012

Day 2

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

When I got to grade school, I was asked to write a story about spring. The Easter bunny seemed a likely subject, but most of my other classmates where already writing about him. So I penned the story of the little known Easter Worm. He wanted it more and worked harder than the bunny because of his disability – what with having no limbs and all. My carefully handwritten story had the honor of being stuck to the fridge with magnets for all to see - alongside my recipe for homemade pizza dough that included detailed directions to ‘pinch the crust as high as mountains’. My mom loved both these stories so much. Although I wrote them over 35 years ago, we were talking about them as recently as 2 months ago.

When I was older, I was prone to ear infections and missed a lot of school. During one of my prolonged absences, I decided to write a story and took a legal –sized pad of paper and pencil with me everywhere I went.  The story was about a runaway girl and her pony, and they are stranded in high tide against the bluffs of a beach. Riveting, right? I guess I have a story after all.

My best friend and I were totally horse crazy, and to that end I spent hours of time playing with model horses, playing ‘horse’ at school – which involved lots of galloping around and whinnying, and endless road trips imagining a wild, black stallion running alongside our car, trying to catch a glimpse of the small girl in the back seat. I had an ongoing dialogue in my head about the fantasy horses that I owned and the wacky situations we got ourselves in, while I drove our neighbors crazy as I played hand ball against the side of their apartment for hours: ka-chung, ka-chung, ka-chung.

I’ll end my qualification with two short anecdotes from high school. I’ll elaborate in greater detail later but when I was 16, I got sober. I had an English class where we were required to keep a journal. Our teacher would scan the journals, just to ensure we were actually writing and not just repeating a single word over and over: bewbs, bewbs, bewbs, bewbs.
Obviously, I love writing - so this was a fun, easy requirement. I also found that journaling was very cathartic and I wrote out my beginning experiences as a sober alcoholic. I took the teacher at his word, and also figured no one would be interested in what I wrote anyway. That is, until he returned disclosed that he’d read every word. I was more than a little sketched out – but also flattered…in a creepy way. He’d been touched by my experience and told me that he was rooting for my recovery.

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