Well, I won.

I can't say that I feel any sense of satisfaction after turning out 50,600 words of the literary equivalent of poop, but I would like to take this time to commend tiny dog's second consecutive Nanowrimo victory with the completion of earth's worst novel, Fanboy.

NaNoWriMo: to the bitter finish

I once had a dream in which I was standing on the shore of a smallish world that was sinking into the ocean. Behind me, people ran importantly about, frantic with the false assumption that they were going to stop our collective fate with histrionic gestures and denial. Which is usually how these things go.

I stood on the very edge of the world, watching the water come up over the curb of the sidewalks, and knowing that, no matter how I felt about it, someone was turning the light out on my future right that very minute, and I was going to stand there and like it, because there was no second option. It was a sick, sliding feeling, like smothering a baby, something horrible and grim and quiet and murderous, standing there, and waiting, and feeling all of my worthless dramatic emotions bubble up, for one last bit of air.

I woke up of course. But I actually went through that experience, virtually speaking, so I know exactly what it feels like. And I am here to tell you that writing a plotless, 50,000-word, 30-day novel about drunk people crashing cars is actually even worse.

Much worse.

NaNoWriMo progress meter

Tiny dog has been more or less update-free as I struggle to keep up with the daily word count requirement (1,666 words, to be exact) required to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November.

The progress meter should show you about where I am in this endeavor, as it updates dynamically each day.

The novel, as I have stated below, concerns a group of very pathetic individuals in a band that isn't very good. They spend a lot of time not actually practicing, and instead, lying about things, drinking, and crashing cars. Here is an excerpt, totally selected at random from the document:

Jen took the guitar from me, and sat there cross legged, staring down at her unfolded pages of lyrics. She plays rhythm guitar in Fanboy, but spends most of her time, when she's not in a depressive funk, telling everybody else what to play. They hate it, especially Eddie hates it, and he counters with his own, usually substandard ideas: ill-timed solos out of nowhere, a chord change that would curl your ears, derailing Jen's creations with his manly hubris, as men are known to do. She's almost always right. She's a good songwriter, a great songwriter. If she wasn't, she'd be out of the band, and probably so would I. The garage would be the same myopic gathering of white-boy guitar heroes of middling ability that litter the garage band landscape from coast to coast.

Whatever. There you have it. That kind of crap, 50,000 words of it by December 1. Wish me luck.

Nanowrimo 2K4: Week 2

New...

Fanboy is a disaster, but it continues on into the night, at word 13,000 or so, rudderless and plot-free, changing tenses like a teen changes pants. God help these characters, they are cheating, lying, talent-free, adultering, wine-guzzling car-wreckers, every last one of them.

Former rant...

Nano is here. The novel, Fanboy, is on word 1,700 or so, and so far, is a load of horse poop. It concerns some people in a band, who are possibly a little to old to be in a band, but are in one anyway. Fighting ensues...

Formerer rant...

We take this time out from our efforts to convince you not to greenlight George W. Bush's half-baked and detrimental agenda for this country with your vote to remind you that you had better get ready to write your novel this November, because National Novel Writing Month, aka, Nanowrimo, is almost upon us.

Tiny dog victoriously crawled across last year's finish line just in time with the sprawling ode to angst and violence, Last Seen Leaving, and plans to take the keyboard to town once again this November to crank out yet another book. Cast aside your whiny excuses and join the ranks of global speed novelists this year, we're expecting you.

Hey, peeps. Send mail to mail@tiny-dog.com.