I'm going to Hell

In case no one knows about it yet, I feel the need to point out that it is actually National Novel Writing Month (It should really be International, but whatever). I really should have said this before the month started, so if you wanted to you could join in, but I'm selfish like that, I didn't want you stealing my glory.

I've wanted to do this for a few years, so this year, despite not being any more prepared, or with more time than any other year, I took the plunge and signed up at NaNoWriMo.org. Here's five reasons I shouldn't have done this:

1. It's 1,666 words a day, the number of the beast!
2. I hardly write in my blog.
3. I don't have a plot.
4. I'm as easily distracted as a chubber* at a buffet.
5. I can't actually write.

The basic premise is that you spew out 50,000 words in one month. It is an incredibly rough first draft that you can then do whatever you want with. Even if that is storing it away and calling yourself a writer for the rest of your life, which is what I plan to do. I'm struggling a little at the moment though, having just crossed the 4,000 word mark last night, while I'm supposed to be at around 10,000 by the end of the day. Yeah... that's not gonna happen.

To give you an idea of the sheer stupidity I've got myself involved in, and just how much of a plot I don't have, my book will feature: Angels, demons, rats in armour, skinned vikings, ghost Romans and possibly freaky dead orphans. Sounds great doesn't it? It's also not supposed to be a comedy, as it's intended for adults. An example of just how much I intended this to be for adults occurred in my first day of writing:

The Wench: "So what's happening now?"
Me: "Well, my main character is a girl who's just about to be raped in a mental hospital."

I'll let you all know when I get it published!

*After searching Urban Dictionary for known meanings of 'chubber' I thought I should point out I'm not talking about a hardening penis, but am in fact referring to a fat person. That's another of those UK-US mix ups like what you call 'chocolate' we call 'inedible swill'.

Labels: NaNoWriMo, orphan, Rats, religion, stupidity, UK, US, wench, writing

I had more bad news over the weekend as I found one of my pet rats had died over Friday night. Sneezy wasn't the most originally named pet, and I shouldn't say but she was my favourite. The sneezing was an indication that she had an infection, and she was sneezing when we got her, and despite our efforts, never really got better. She did well to last the six months.

The Wench came and woke me up on Saturday morning, worried that she wasn't moving, so I got up to take a look. We found her curled up in her house, having past away during the night. I was surprised by how upset I was, as I had become very attached to her. Here's my Top 5 things I loved about her:

1. She used to come and say 'Hi' when I got back from work
2. She'd climb up the front of her cage to get a treat, then hang there and eat it
3. She could jump nearly 4 foot from a standing start
4. For a small rodent, she was surprisingly interactive and intelligent
5. When we got them out to play, she was the most adventurous

Sneezy left behind her sister Shy (I bet you can figure out why she was named that). Shy was quite stressed all Saturday and it didn't take us long to decide to get some more friends for her. After all apparently the best toy for a rat, is another rat. But we had a day of mourning and did nothing on Saturday as a mark of respect.

On Sunday we buried Sneezy in my parents garden; our garden is nearly non-existent. Then we went and got two more rats, which we named Misty and Sugar (we've become slightly better at the naming). We weren't going to put them together straight away, but Shy found a way through our defenses and they seemed to be fine together so we left them like that. Shy seemed much happier with the company.

Goodbye Sneezy, you will be missed.

Labels: home, Pets, Rats, suckage, wench