Current NaNoWriMo Word Count since November 1: 35,201
Cool, procrastination music video for proper writing atmosphere:
I am thankful for: surviving the 70s, the 80s, the 90s, and whatever we are calling the decades after that because everything shrank up then, including the date digits. We can’t be cool again until the 20s. That’s in January, people. Get ready for bigness.
Big hair. Big teeth. Big family. Big attitudes. Well. Some things never change.
Excerpt from a random bit of writing (I missed two days of writing and the pain involved in catching up was unreal):
I was dreaming. Alec Trebeck was looking in the mirror and working a can of mousse through his thick distinguished hair, working it up to epic heights. Ronald Reagan appeared next to him in a robe. “Dude, is that a wig?” he asked. Then he read the back of the can. “Can I borrow some of that?”
“Evacuate immediately,” said Alec.
“Huh?” Ronnie looked confused.
I cracked open an eye and in the pitch darkness, a circle of red danced across my wall and disappeared. I heard a car outside rolling slowly down the street and Dufus started barking in the hallway. I rolled over just enough to wipe the drool from the side of my mouth and sat up and shook the sleep from my head.
“Everyone evacuate immediately. There is a gas leak in the area.”
Are you kidding me? I grabbed my cell phone and read 4:30am before it conked out. I reached the other direction but my sweatshirt wasn’t where it belonged. I slid off the bed, stumbled over the piles on my floor, and slapped at the lightswitch. Nothing. The electricity was out.
“Dufus! Can it!”
“Gina? Gina what’s happening?”
“Hold on, Gramps. Stay where you are, I’m coming.”
My bag was on the peg, thankfully. I hauled it over my shoulder, opened the door and heard Dufus scuttle into the living room. Through the front window, I saw a patrol car going by with all it’s lights on. The megaphone on it’s roof blared across the neighborhood and, although it was dark everywhere, I could see people moving around outside.
“Everyone. Please evacuate the area. There is a gas leak.”
“Gramps, we need to go. Where’s your bathrobe?”
I stepped to his bedroom door, where he stood in his boxers, knobby knees and spindly chest. His robe was on the door where it always went and I helped him into it. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness.
“Gramps, can you get your slippers on?”
“Sure, Gina, where’s the fire?”
“Gramps, that’s not funny. The cops say it’s a gas leak. I wonder where? Grab your teeth and I’ll grab your emergency cash and let’s get to the car.”
I herded him into the living room. My car was parked right outside. I could see other neighbors car lights coming on, as they scurried around. I reached into the freezer, behind the broccoli that had been there for a solid ten years and pulled out a small container of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. Inside was Gramps $500. I hoped fervently that he hadn’t dipped into it in his poker enthusiasm. I gave it a quick shake and heard a reassuring thump. Tossing it into my bag, I took Gramps by the hand and we dashed out the front door.
I beeped open the passenger door and got him into a seatbelt.
“Wait here while I get Dufus,” I said, and set my bag on his lap.
“What about my teeth?” He was waving them around.
“Just toss them on the dash.” I slammed the door shut.