Training for NaNoWriMo 2004
Novel writing as a spectator sport might sound Pythonesque, but let's give it a try. In the true spirit of sappy Olympics television coverage which gives more airtime to the human interest angle than the actual sporting event, I'll give you a short preview of this year's novel writing competition from the perspective of one contestant.
Writing a novel in 30 days is a little like competing in the Tour de France. You can't just wake up one morning hop on your bike and start peddling. You've got to buy a ticket to France first. That and you have to train. I'll tell you about what I've been doing to get ready for NaNoWriMo.
At the end of September I ``completed'' a third draft of the novel I started writing after moving to Long Island. (I'll start the fourth draft sometime in early 2005.) With that project in the bag, I decided to keep myself sharp by working on some short stories. I wrote drafts for three short stories and am presently in the middle of a fourth. I've also been writing the last half of an ``action/thriller'' that I started (for fun) early this year. Basically, I've been getting up every morning and writing as much as possible to stay in shape.
I spent about two weeks in October preparing to write Catherine. I composed about a forty page outline and a cast of characters. I printed this outline and kept it next to me while I wrote. It was an invaluable resource and kept me on track.
The Event
I couldn't decide exactly how to publicize my participation in NaNoWriMo. Should I just report a daily word count or give my readers more? In the end I merely logged my progress on my blog. Any more than that would have distracted me from writing.
I completed Catherine on the 26th of November with about 51k words.
Excerpt
This excerpt is the last quarter of Chapter 2. In Chapter 1, Adam tells about the first time he ever saw Catherine, back at the Saint Thomas Aquinas College campus in Texas. Most of the action in Chapter 1 concerns Adam's friendship with Polly, Catherine's roommate, both in Texas and in Rome. The last part of Chapter 1 is about Adam's brief affair with Melanie, an old high school flame. The affair ignites on the eve of Adam's departure for Rome. Adam has arrived early to the Rome campus and has just been startled out of a nap by a knock on the door.
I opened the door. Catherine stood framed in the doorway.
``Hey,'' she said, then added, ``did I wake you up?''
``It's not a problem I shouldn't be sleeping anyway.''
``I've been running around like crazy just to stay awake,'' she said. ``I'm not sure I believe this theory about staying awake. You end up just feeling tired and I bet you'll wake up in the middle of the night anyway. We're going to be here for six months. What's the rush to get on the local clock?''
``Classes start the day after tomorrow,'' I said. ``You want to come in?'' I almost asked where Thad was, but decided I really didn't care where Thad was so I skipped it.
``I was looking for Polly. She's not here is she?'' Catherine nodded her head at the interior of my room. The bunks were around a corner formed by the small bathroom.
``No, I haven't seen her since this afternoon. We had some lunch at Leonardo's. Then she said she had something to do. She may be with Martha Jennings, who I understand has just had a child.'' Martha Jennings was the wife of Prof Jennings, the director of the Rome campus.
``Sure, I'll come in,'' she said swing stepping across the threshold in her light casual manner.
The rules back at the stateside campus concerning having women in a guy's dorm room were that the door should remain open at least the width of a shoe at all times and that if the guy and the girl sat down on the bed at least one of each of their feet should be kept on the floor at all times. It wasn't clear to me if these same rules applied on the Rome campus. Because all of us were above the legal drinking age in Italy there was no prohibition against having alcohol on the campus or in the dorm rooms. Maybe the rules concerning open doors and feet on the floor when women where in a guy's room were also relaxed. In reality, none of these rules were enforced back home. Nevertheless I still hesitated before pushing the door closed. I still couldn't bring myself to latch it.
I had already flicked on the light when I opened the door for Catherine. I watched her saunter to the center of the room and look around. It wasn't much to see. A closet on the left with my suitcases still unpacked sitting side by side. A single bed in the back corner on the right. Bunk beds opposite the closet on the right wall behind the bathroom. The ceiling was high, maybe fifteen feet. Two naked bulbs lit the room from a fixture in the center of the ceiling. There was one desk in the room, next to the bunk beds with its back against the bathroom wall.
Catherine spun on the ball of her foot, a full nonchalant three-sixty as if taking in the room in a pirouette.
``I haven't had time to decorate yet,'' I said.
``Hey, it's cool you have a balcony though,'' she said heading for the balcony door. She tried the handle.
``It's probably locked,'' I said.
She worked the bolting mechanism and opened the door.
``We only have a window,'' she said. ``How come you guys get a balcony and all we get is a lousy window?''
``The difference between a triple and a double,'' I said. Then added, ``maybe.''
She stepped out onto the balcony. I walked over and stood in the doorway. The balcony looked west. There was a full view of the garden. There were a couple of large trees. Out door tables and chairs. Even some classical looking statuary. Beyond the low brick wall topped by an iron rail fence that defined the limits of the campus was a narrow, steep valley. On the next hill was the ruined villa.
``It's beautiful,'' said Catherine.
``What? That house over there?''
``Yeah. There's something dignified and old about a ruin. Have you been over there yet?''
``No. I haven't done much today. I've not even unpacked.''
``Let's go over there,'' she said turning.
``What, now?''
``Why not?''
``What time is it?'' I asked while simultaneously consulting my wrist watch. ``Six-thirty.''
``We have plenty of time. Dinner's not until eight.''
``Eight?''
Catherine took my arm and began to conduct me across the room. I managed to just pull the balcony door shut, but didn't lock it.
``I need to put my shoes on,'' I said.
After I had done that, I found myself following Catherine down the stair well and emerging out of ground floor door of the six hundred wing on the opposite side of the building from the garden. The topology of the campus was such that the six hundred wing, the southern most building, was at the lowest point. What was ground level for the six hundred wing was the basement level of the two hundred wing. Evidently there was no one hundred wing, or nothing called that. The building that should have been the one hundred wing was home to the faculty.
I walked up the hill on the narrow asphalt road that ran along this east perimeter of the campus. We talked about unimportant things, the trivialities of life and the trials of international travel. Yes, I'm excited about being in Europe for a semester. No, the food on the airplane was not good and the vino blanco was horrible, tasted like plastic.
I went with Catherine out of the gates of the campus. Then walked west along a service road. Below us was a four lane highway with a steady flow of traffic. Instead of turning and walking across the over pass we continued along the service road until it turned into a grassy path that veered off through some trees. The path led us to the ruin.
``The rumor is that Mussolini's mistress lived here during the war,'' said Catherine.
``Polly said that,'' I said.
``Do you think Il Duce made love to her in the ruins?'' She laughed airily.
``If they did make love here,'' I said, ``it was probably not a ruin.''
``Of course,'' she said. ``I think its more romanic this way.''
We approached the villa from the north. The entire northern side of the villa had been blown away. A field of rocky rubble lay between us and the part of the structure still standing. I was reminded of a doll's house and how the side is cut away and you can see into the rooms. The villa had two levels. The exterior of the villa was a pinkish tan. Where the walls had been broken away was a white concrete underlayer. Metal reinforcement rods and ripped away wire mess protruded from the broken walls.
``Certainly, modern construction,'' I said.
``I was hoping it had been here for a thousand years,'' said Catherine.
``We'll see plenty of that kind of stuff this semester,'' I said.
Catherine started making her way carefully through the field of rubble. The chunks of broken concrete were weather worn and were being swallowed up by grass. I could make out the outline of the foundation and exterior walls that had been blasted apart.
``Be careful,'' I said.
Catherine balanced on a wobbly block and then stepped lightly on to another hunk of debris.
``I'll be fine,'' she said.
I followed Catherine through the debris field. She stepped up into the ground floor of the cut away doll's house. The floor was covered with pebbles and dirt. Some of the floor tiles were still in place, but many others had been shattered and dislodged. The bits of tile crunched under the weight of our feet. I looked around at the structure wondering if we were in any danger of a collapse. The last thing I wanted to happen was to get killed by a falling building during my first day in Roma. The structure still remaining appeared to be solid enough. Catherine was already half way across the room and heading for an archway on the south side of the villa. I followed her.
I stood behind her on the threshold of the arch. Before us was a deep green valley crisscrossed with a few fences. Sheep grazed. They were white puffs of fluff scattered on a green cloth. In the distance we could see some buildings. The outskirts of Rome perhaps. I didn't know what I was looking at. I had not fully oriented myself yet.
``It's beautiful,'' said Catherine.
``The view?'' I asked.
``Everything,'' she said. ``It just feels different. Everything looks familiar, but its just so foreign at the same time.''
The stucco on the frame of the archway was rough and cool to the touch.
``Things seem more real here,'' she said. ``Back home, everything seems disposable. If a bomb hit a house in America, there'd be nothing left. It's almost as if we weren't planning to stay. The Italians are different. They put up a building and they expect it to still be there in a hundred years or five hundred years. That's normal for them. Anything more than fifty or so years old in America is already falling apart.''
From where we were standing we had a view of the west side of the campus. I could see my balcony door from here. The light was on in my room. I could see a figure moving around.
``Will must have arrived,'' I said. Catherine looked where I was pointing. ``He said he would be coming in on a later flight. I think he flew through London for some reason. Cheaper fare maybe.''
``Who's your other roommate?'' asked Catherine.
``Nick.''
``That's right. You said that last semester.''
``A lot has happened between now and then,'' I said. The expanse of time defined by my week with Melanie had created a huge temporal gulf between the present moment and everything in my past.
``A trans-Atlantic plane flight,'' said Catherine.
``Christmas break,'' I said.
``That's right, what did you end up doing?''
Catherine, being Polly's roommate, knew about my situation. My parents's recent divorce, their respective relocations to Arizona and Kansas City.
``Couldn't bring myself to take sides, so I stayed in Arlington.''
``What did you do? Stay with a friend?''
I hesitated. ``In a way,'' I said. ``An old grade school friend.''
While something inside me wanted to proclaim my love for Melanie, I found myself again for the second time in one day reluctant to mention my rekindled love affair with Melanie. I avoided the subject with Polly because I didn't know how to tell her without leading to the inevitable change in her mood to a darkly quiet jealousy. I had seen Polly's jealousy before when I would show interest in other women.
But now, with Catherine, I found myself again unable to tell about my week with Melanie. It wasn't because I thought she would tell Polly. I wasn't really trying to hide the news from Polly anyway.
This was the first time that I had ever spent any length of time at all with Catherine alone.
Looking back on the events of that first day, I don't recall any specific moment where I realized that I was in love with Catherine. Finding Catherine attractive was not new. I had always admired her appearance and secretly envied Thad of his catch; however, had never articulated to myself any desire to actually have Catherine for my own girlfriend.
I didn't really know what romantic love was then beyond physical attraction. But I knew romantic love was more than physical attraction. I had been physically attracted to Catherine for a year and half, but had never thought of that attraction has having anything to do with love.
Being alone with Catherine in those ruins of a villa said to be the home of Mussolini's mistress awakened an awareness in me. Without Thad and Polly around and the interpersonal noise created by that group dynamic I felt something at a nearly conscious level. Had we stood there for very much longer I might have been tempted to reach out and pull her close to me, an uncharacteristic (for me) gesture of affection. But at that moment Catherine turned and stepped up past me. She grabbed my hand. She was light as a helium filled balloon. I lumbered along side of her. We jumped together from the broken side of the building and into the field of rubble. She let go of my hand when we hit the ground. She started leaping nimbly through the scattered of debris. She was as skillful and graceful with her feet as a gazelle.
``I'll race you back,'' she called out laughing.
I ran after her.
