Time to Write for a Month

 What choice do I have this month? It's November and France is on lockdown until December 1st. If ever there was a time to take part in NaNoWriMo, it's now. 

NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. Apparently, I've taken part in NaNoWriMo nine times now, counting this month, but I've only won it twice. 

How do you win it? By writing 50,000 words from November 1st through November 30th. Somehow, I've managed to publish five novels even without completing NaNoWriMo every year. 

Since I moved to France, my writing has gone on a back burner. Four of my novels involve running away to France, so it's possible that since I ran away to France, I've lost the impetus to write about it. I think my social life is so busy now that I don't have time to write. Between working two jobs and meeting people for coffee, drinks, dinners, walks -- who has time to write? 

And I always loved going to a coffee shop to write. It was such a great excuse to leave home and any chores that waited -- laundry, dishes, dinner -- and immerse myself in writing. That's not really a thing here in small town France. A few of the cafes have WIFI, but of course they're all closed now for the month anyway because it's lockdown, confinement, quarantine. I can't see anyone unless we arrange to go to the grocery store at the same time. I can spend my time dragging the cat on his leash as an excuse to get out, or I can sit down and write. 

Now, the tough decision. What will I write? 

I'm 35,000 words into a novel that I began three years ago. It's call The Wedding Dress Theory and it's about a mother-daughter road trip through the United States as they try to repair their relationship. I think it's pretty good, but I'm unsure about the next scene, so I have let it flounder for a few years. And I can't overlook the irony that I now live in France but would be writing about a road trip in the U.S. Still, I could plunge in again and another 50,000 words would help me complete the novel.  

The next choice is that I've started to piece together stories about our move to France. I don't have a title for it. I know that lots of people have written about moving to France, but they are mostly Brits. Moving to France when you're British is like moving to Canada when you're American. You can be back home in a couple hours, and plenty of people do skip across the English channel monthly. So as an American who moved across the Atlantic, leaving behind children and parents, it's obviously a different experience. Any suggestions for a working title, that aren't "A Year in Provence," are welcome.

The other idea I've written a bit about is a hiking book, similar to Trail Mix, but this one is set in France and Spain on El Camino de Santiago, the famous hiking trail known as "The Way" in the movie with Martin Sheen. El Camino ends in Spain, but trails from around France, Switzerland, Belgium and Germany begin to connect to the trail. We've hiked two sections, and it couldn't be more different than hiking the Appalachian Trail and carrying all your belongings on your back, including a water filter, a camp stove, and a tent with a sleeping bag. Instead, we hike from one gite, B&B or hotel, to the next. It's not really wilderness most of the time because there are bars and restaurants nearby. But it is a challenge and can leave you with 3rd degree burns on the bottoms of your feet, as my husband found out. 

So, three options, and one of them should end up being 50,000 words by the end of November. That's 1667 words each day. And if I skip a day, then I'm in the red, trying to catch up by writing 3333 words the next day. 

So I'd better get going. I'm going to write 1667 words today about something, and this blog doesn't count. 

If you're doing NaNoWriMo, friend me. My writing name is creatively Paulita Kincer.  

How We Define Ourselves

The Irish blessing begins: "May the road rise up to meet you."
And that's exactly what happened to me yesterday during a run as I tripped and fell, landing on my hands, one knee and then thudding onto my side. I lay on the hard-packed dirt and gravel road for a few minutes assessing the damage.

At least I didn't land on my nose and break it. I've done that before. 
And it's been 12 years, so maybe I should count my blessings that I had a nearly 7-year streak of not falling.
But the fall injured more than my outside.
I had just determined that I was going to conquer these hills we are living on for 45 more days. 
  I'd been sluggish, walking a lot as I climbed the two miles up, then increasing my speed as I went down.
So yesterday morning, I forced myself to run farther before I stopped. I took a flatish detour past a flock of sheep then headed back toward the uphill. I felt confident, unstoppable even, before a rock jutting out of the road caught the toe of my shoe.
In slow motion, I stumbled, my hands outreached. I could stay upright, I could keep going, but a few steps in I fell.
And it's hard to fail at something you consider yourself good at.
I've been running seriously for about 18 years now.

 I trained for a marathon and tore my ACL. Nevertheless, I trained the following year and actually ran the marathon. I tout the benefits of running and often claim I use it as an antidepressant.
Yet, a submerged rock reached out to tweak me.
In the past, I have bemoaned that my two hobbies -- writing and running are best done first thing in the morning and I couldn't decide which to devote myself to. Now I haven't written seriously for 18 months, since we moved to France, and suddenly my running is off too.
Who am I if I'm not a writer or a runner?
I told my friend Janine that I felt like the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz with the straw being stuffed back into me, trying to restore me to what I was before.

If a runner falls in the woods and no one hears, did she make a sound?

I had the luxury of sitting on the road a few minutes, gravel embedded in my palms and a little blood on my knee, because the road is seldom used. A fall is different when you're middle aged than when you're young.
The distance isn't farther, but the thud feels harder.
And as I stood in the shower later, trying to take in deep breaths but feeling a pain under my ribs, I played with the idea of a collapsed lung or broken ribs. But by this morning, I decided the ribs were just bruised and I would be okay.
I didn't run this morning. Instead, after I taught for four hours, Earl and I went on a hike in a nearby state park. A few times, I placed my hands across my right ribs, feeling for that tender place where I had landed.
Maybe the fear is what makes the fall worse as we age.
But I can't let fear or inertia keep me down.
Tomorrow, I'll be back on those hills, forcing myself to run a little farther before I stop and walk to catch my breath. And maybe I'll even schedule some time to sit in front of my computer to put down words that tell a story, a story about two women on a trail in France.
I'm a runner.
I'm a writer.
So I'll end with another song, this one by Frank Sinatra who sang:
Now nothing's impossible, I've found for when my chin is on the ground,
"I pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again."

The French Escape

Fellow author and France lover, Suzie Tullett, is preparing for her latest book, French Escape, to be released.
So she allowed me to do a guest blog explaining how I had escaped to France. You'll find my guest blog here with a picture of me twirling around in the darkened streets of our village.

Take a look at Suzie's blog and consider leaving a comment and ordering some of her novels.
You'll find her at Suzie Tullett
Her novel The French Escape will be released September 20

An Author's Life

I once had a writing colleague tell me that there's no such thing as "writer's block;" it's just a lazy person's way to avoid writing.
Maybe.
I'd like to say that my life in France has been too happy to write much, but I've had plenty of sad times or doldrums, and that still hasn't sent me to the keyboard.

Perhaps I could claim that I've been too busy living my life to write, but I've read nearly 300 pages of a novel and watched two movies this weekend, time that I could have spent writing.
So apparently, not writing is a choice for me now.
I have another novel finished, waiting for editing, and a novel that I'm so excited about, but it's only half written. Guess I'm not that excited about it.
If I followed a schedule, sitting down to write every morning, I know I'd be caught up in the characters again and finish it in no time.
Discipline. I knew I was missing something.

NaNoWritMo -- National Novel Writing Month

I started out so strong in November with National Novel Writing Month.
The goal is to write a novel in one month. Well, 50,000 words, which doesn't quite reach novel length, but it's a sprint and a marathon to get the bones of a story done in such a quick amount of time. I've written parts of other novels during November, and I've even succeed in getting to 50,000 words a couple of times.
This year, I was determined to succeed. The first week, I was ahead of the daily word count.
I'm working on a novel that I'm calling The Wedding-Dress Theory.
Because I'm unsure how much of the plot I'll share when the book is published, I'll just give you the general idea that this is the story of a mother and adult daughter who have a tenuous relationship, and a tragedy prompts them to attempt to visit all 50 states in three months.
My successful writing paused on November 8. I was anxious about the election and couldn't seem to sit down and write. I assured myself that it would be better the next day. But the next day came and it was worse. I woke up to a new reality.
I spent time soothing my children, soothing my students, pretending that everything would be okay.
Part of the difficulty though, is that this wasn't a normal election with a candidate from the other side. This was a candidate who threatened people of color, people of other religions, women, -- pretty much the majority of the country has something to fear from his election.
People who voted for him claim that it wasn't racism; it was about jobs or the economy. Well, if they looked at the economy compared to eight years ago, they'd realize that wasn't true. In the U.S., we have 4.9 percent unemployment. During the recession, it reached 9.8 percent. Nearly half of those looking for jobs, have found them. No economy is perfect, and I realize that I live in a city with even lower unemployment, but I don't believe the economy claim.
In addition to Trump appealing to racists, I think a lot of people were afraid to have a woman president.
The past, nearly, two weeks have been depressing, like a death -- a death of the country we thought we lived in.
I unfollowed people on Facebook -- cousins who posted things like "protestors are paid" or "Suck it up Buttercup" bill.
This morning I cancelled brunch with a high school friend. We meet halfway between her house and my house. We've been friends more than 30 years. She's not political, but she is conservative. We don't talk politics, but so much of my life has revolved around the election, that I can't imagine talking to her about my life without referencing the despair I've felt, and that would be dipping into politics.
I still have a chance to finish NaNoWriMo. I'm only working one day this week, so I can write and write and write. (Plus also run and swim and lift weights, my way of dealing with the extra stress.)
Our family is having Thanksgiving with just us -- me, Earl and my three children. Not even significant others will be present, since Grace's live-in boyfriend is flying to New Jersey to be with his grandparents. I don't feel too stressed about cooking for just us, so even on Thanksgiving, I'll be able to work on NaNoWriMo.
Right now, I'm at 22,000 words. Only 28,000 to go.
I'll try to update you next Sunday to let  you know if I've been able to shake off my feelings of doom and dig into writing again.

Writing and Marseille

My week is busy with grading papers and writing.
I'm never really sure if anyone checks in on the blog and feels disappointed that I haven't written.
But, I have completed my first edit of Paris Runaway, my latest novel.
It's got a mother searching for her teenage daughter who ran away from their home in Florida to Paris chasing after the French exchange student.
The mother follows and learns about the importance of embracing life.
In addition to the streets of Paris, the novel will take you to Marseille, and into a Frenchman's bed.
Oh la la!
Thanks for sticking with me.
Here are a couple of pictures of Marseille.  The first is from the train station. In the background, you can see a hill and a spectacular cathedral sits on the hill overlooking the harbor. The church is called Notre Dame de la Garde.

And here's a shot of the ferris wheel along the harbor. 

Ferris wheels are becoming as ubiquitous as carousels in French towns these days. 

 

Inspiration in a Letter

I got a note from my aunt.
I had sent Aunt Esther a copy of my latest book. She has read both of my previous books, and when we talked at the beginning of June, I realized that she hadn't read Trail Mix.

When I told her the book was about two women hiking the Appalachian Trail, her eyes got round behind her glasses.
"Oh, that's my thing!" she said.
So I sent her the book that week, and the following week, I got a note from her, along with a check to repay me for the book.
Aunt Esther will turn 90 this year. She is married to my mother's oldest brother, Uncle Junior, as we call him. Luther is what Aunt Esther calls him. Uncle Junior fought in World War II in Italy.
But it isn't their story of romance during wartime that inspired me in the note this weekend.
Here's what Aunt Esther wrote:
"I let time run out on my DREAM to hike the Trail."
She told me about the times she had walked on snippets of the trail, at the trail head in north Georgia, across the Blue Ridge Highway, at the top of Old Man Mountain in Vermont.
"Last we made it to the beginning of the end (or beginning of the Trail). We hiked to within an hour of the summit the Ranger told us. We came to a boulder too much for us to get over."
I felt Aunt Esther's pain of a dream that slipped away.
"But I have had several hikes on the Trail and wanted so much to do the ENTIRE HIKE."
Daggers, as she let go of her goal.
She told me she enjoyed going on the hike with the women in my book.
Then she shared another aspiration:
"My other dream was to walk the Grand Canyon. But the Old Mother Nature's Clock just went too fast."
Another reminder for me, and for everyone, that time is passing.
We can talk about someday forever, until someday is gone.
"Thank you for sharing a story that took me on my Dream Trip. I pray you will have many more travels to share"
And, there's no time like the present to get started on my dream.
The stars may be aligning to send us on that journey sooner than we'd planned.
Stay tuned!

Writing Idiosyncracies

I've given myself a deadline to finish my latest novel in May.
I have a two-week break from my daytime teaching job, so I figure that I have no excuse. Even if I take time to workout in the morning and keep the house running with cooking, laundry and cleaning, I should have plenty of time to write.
If I don't buckle down and write, then I need to find a full-time job and stop calling myself a writer.

One of my most prolific and happy times as a writer was when I would go to Caribou Coffee to write.
Since Caribou Coffee closed, I haven't regularly settled on a place to write, other than at home.
Home is full of distractions, my children come and go. They ask for help with things or wonder if I have time to make them coffee before they run out to work or class.
The cats beg for attention; the pile of laundry demands equal devotion. A dust bunny blowing across the floor hints at other tasks that need doing.

At Caribou, which closed in 2012, I'd listen to music, sip my mocha and write.
The coffee shop had high ceilings with duct work visible. Wood or concrete floors and cozy nooks, along with warm lighting all made Caribou a welcoming place to work.
Often, if I was there in the morning, I'd buy a pastry. It had a cream cheese filling and the pastry was flaky with large granules of sugar on top. Yum.
Just recently, I brought home some pastries from the grocery store. The inside was cherry, but the outside was that flaky crust with large granules of sugar. Just like the pastry that inspired me at Caribou.
Suddenly, I knew that if I could eat one of those pastries in the morning, I could write!
That first day, I put away the remaining pastries so one would be there in the morning for my writing.
When Spencer came in from a friend's house that night, I heard the cabinet doors opening and closing as he searched for his post-midnight snack.
The next morning, no pastries remained.
So I went for a run then, still sweaty, went to the grocery and bought a box of four more pastries.
As I ate one, I wrote.
Things were going well; I figured I'd follow the same plan the next morning. But when I got home from work that night, the pastries were gone again.
This morning before I went to the gym, I stopped at the grocery and bought another box of pastries, so that when I got home, I could do some writing. Since Spencer is still in bed (almost noon) the pastries remained, and I was able to eat one and made some good progress on my writing again.
Once Spencer is out of the house (he's going back to college for summer classes next week), I'm sure I'll be able to to keep pastries here and write each morning.
I may gain 20 pounds, but dammit I'm going to finish that book by the end of May.  

Dreaming of France -- That's Paris: An Anthology of Life, Love and Sarcasm in the City of Light

Please join this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.

When I found out that Vicki Lesage and Adria J. Cimino were putting together an anthology of stories in Paris, I got excited. What's better than hearing stories about Paris?

Some of these short stories are blips of experience in Paris. Others are more complicated and slowly unwound with the scenery of Paris as the setting.
Cimino wrote a story, "Love Unlocked," about an activist trying to convince people to stop attaching locks to Pont des Arts, a bridge over the Seine. She chains herself to the bridge and meets a man searching through the locks.

"I'm unlocking it." He pulled a small key out of the pocket of his jeans, released the lock and tossed it into the trashcan a few feet away.
"Why did you do that?"
"Our story is over. We broke up today."
"You only wanted to get rid of your lock because the relationship is over? Typical. You're not doing this because you care about the bridge or our environment."

Some of the stories aren't about Paris. They are simply human stories that are set in Paris. Like "La Vie en Rose" by Marie Vareille about a young widow whose friends force her to go out with them after two years of widowhood. In a French bar, she meets a man who doesn't treat her as if she's fragile, and she begins to feel whole again.
In "Le Chemin du Dragon," an intriguing story by Didier Quemener, takes place in Pere-Lachaise cemetery at the mausoleum of Chopin. The young musician is about to make a discovery in the dark of the graveyard.
Along with enjoyable stories, I learned some things about moving to Paris, like the fact I should get an international driver's license before I move so I don't go through the pains that Jennie Goutet wrote about in "Driving Me Crazy." She spent three years and thousands of dollars for driving school, so that she could get her French license.
These stories are lovely little appetizers for those of us hungry for Paris.
The book is available on Kindle at Amazon for 4.99.
Thanks for playing along with Dreaming of France. Please leave a comment and visit each other's blogs to see more examples of people Dreaming of France.
 

End of Empty-Nest November

And so, the bliss that was Empty-Nest November comes to an end this afternoon when my youngest, 18-year-old Tucker, takes the bus home from college for Thanksgiving week.
And honestly, even when the kids aren't around to take care of physically, they're still in my minds and on my phone.
We've drunk a lot of wine. Eaten some delicious meals, and skipped cooking other meals when we didn't feel like it. We've had friends over and met friends out, at our whim.
We have enjoyed the extra freedom of not having the kids at home this month, but I do still miss them. I think I'll be ready for some bonding time when they arrive. Grace and Spencer will be home on Tuesday.
So for this, my last morning kid-free, I went for a glorious 6-mile run with weather in the mid-40s. It feels like spring compared to this past week of ice and snow.
I fixed myself a breakfast of raspberries and yogurt with honey, along with a cappuccino. And  one last splurge, I baked some chocolate croissants for Earl and me to enjoy while we spend our morning writing and trying to catch up on NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).

I'll still be doing many of these things once the kids are home, but I won't be my first priority any more. Every mother knows what that's like. And although it may induce a little guilt to put ourselves first, there's nothing wrong with it every once in a while, like during Empty-Nest November.

Wine and Books

My friend Najah has enthusiastically taken over the job of marketing my book. Well, at least when it comes to trying to find venues for a book launch.

She invited me last night to join her at a new wine shop that would allow us to hold the book launch if we bought a case of wine. It's called a Micro-Winery, I guess like a Micro Brewery. They make their own wine right there.
So Najah and I met last night to do a wine tasting. We each got a flight of five wines, and of course, we shared with each other too so we could narrow down the three wines we would include if we bought a case and had a book launch.
We enjoyed tasting our wines. And we shared a bread and cheese plate, but we talked about the disadvantages of having a wine tasting in this part of town, since it was about 15 minutes away from my part of town.
We could have the book launch at a coffee shop near my house. The owner had offered and we could bring in our own wine.
Then Najah started talking about where I would stand to do my reading.
"I'm not really sure about doing a reading," I told her. "I'd feel so self-conscious."
"You have to do a reading!" she insisted. "People know you as a person but not as an author."
We looked at the calendar. We talked about possible dates. She suggested that I order more copies of the book.
I explained that I didn't want to try to sell the book at the launch. I wanted it to be more of a celebration, not pressure for people to buy something.
We discussed that I could have bookmarks made to give out at the book launch.
Then as I was driving home in the dark, I wondered about the whole idea of a book launch after all. My latest book, Trail Mix, came out in September. December is an awful time to have anything extra. Maybe I shouldn't have a book launch but keep plugging along writing and selling books online.
I have to be careful here. I might be selling myself short, convincing myself that I don't deserve a book launch.
Here's a copy of the poster that my friend Leah made to help me promote my novels. I think maybe I'll just put that up in the coffee shop.

Someday, I'll get the timing right. I'll have a book come out as planned and I'll have a big celebration. I'm just not sure that three months later, right before Christmas is the right time.
But if I do have a book launch, rest assured that you'll all be invited.

How A Childhood Book Affected My Life

I had an epiphany yesterday while on Facebook. It wasn't the usual epiphanies, like the fact that I'm wasting a lot of time on Facebook.
I was reading my friend Tracie's post about the top 10 books that changed her life. From The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg as number 4 on her list.

She listed
I commented that I loved this awkwardly titled book. If you don't remember it, it's about Claudia, a middle class girl who lives in the suburbs of New York and decides to run away and hide in the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art. She ends up taking her little brother along.
I can't remember what was going on in the girl's life that made her want to run away, but I remember the awesome adventure that she had as she and her little brother figured out how to hide in the museum each night then decided where they would sleep. They collected coins from the fountain and ate out of vending machines. A new exhibit of a statue (from Mrs. Frankweiler's collection) that is believed to be a Michelangelo intrigues the whole city. Claudia and her brother Jamie are intent on determining whether the statue is really the work of Michelangelo. They end up visiting Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, and she lets them research in her files before the kids return home in Mrs. Frankweiler's limo.
As I reminisced about this childhood book that enriched my normal Midwestern  life, I realized I'm still trying to achieve the goal of escaping on an amazing adventure.
Sure, I've had adventures. I went away to college and to grad school, landing in Kentucky, Ohio and Washington, D.C. I moved away for a job in Florida, and turned down jobs in New Orleans and Las Vegas.
I worked as an au pair for three months in France. My husband and I have traveled to Europe several times.
But still, I don't have that clandestine adventure like 12-year-old Claudia. That's probably why I wrote the books that I've written. As a matter of fact, The Summer of France seems similar in so many ways. The family escapes from their Midwestern life to run a bed and breakfast in France. The main character Fia learns that her great uncle has a hidden secret from World War II, and she must help solve the mystery and save her uncle from danger.
Clearly, From the Mixed Up Files had more impact on me than I remembered until Tracie listed it on Facebook and reminded me of the joy the story brought me.
And my other two novels are also about people escaping. In I See London I See France, Caroline sells her minivan and takes her three children to Europe in search of the woman she was during her the European adventures of her college days. And in Trail Mix, two women whose children have gone off to college find themselves without a purpose, so they take off on an adventure to the Appalachian Trail.
Maybe my initial reaction to any problems or changes is to take off an adventure, to change the scenery and hope the problem fades. Perhaps that's why my husband and I plan to retire to France, picturing a new chapter
opening when our parenting days are finished (mostly)
If you haven't read From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, I highly recommend it. Who knows, it might send you off on your own adventures, or at least you can enjoy Claudia's exploits. And then maybe you'll give my novels a try, knowing that the characters go on trips and mostly end up learning something about themselves.

Positive Over Negative

Why is it that as a writer, as a woman, I let criticism eat away at me but let praise slide by as if it's not important?
Does anyone else do this?
I noticed this morning that I had a new review on Amazon for The Summer of France from May 11. The reader gave me a 5-star reviews! Then I noticed another review from April -- a 4-star review. Those are awesome, but rather than basking in the glow of good reviews from readers, my eyes were drawn to a 2-star review from January. That reader called the book "trite." Then a review from December called the book, "A waste of time."
These are the only two, 2-star reviews I've received on my novels, but those are the ones that will stick in my brain.
Why can't I focus on the review that says "a wonderful book" or the one that says "Surprisingly intuitive about the emotions involved in a life-changing situation."
I need to focus more on the positive and let the criticism go, like a bubble blown through a wand, it floats away into the air and disappears.
Hmm. Maybe it would help if Amazon didn't feature the two negative comments.
Enough ranting for me.
I'm going to go for a swim to help me forget. Then maybe I'll check the reviews on my other novel.

Blogging Every Day

No one may have noticed it, but I posted on my blog every day this month.
I didn't necessarily make that my goal, but once I started posting and I got so far, I thought I might as well continue and try to come up with something every day.
I've made a lot of blogging friends through my love of books, and I regularly participate in blog memes three days a week. There's my meme, Dreaming of France on Mondays, First Paragraph on Tuesdays with the beginning of a book I'm reading, and Saturday Snapshot on Saturdays.
That only left me four days to come up with other topics.
Before I became a book blogger and an author, touting my own novels, I wrote a lot about my family.
As a matter of fact, when I got busy writing about books, one reader said to another reader, "I guess Paulita isn't blogging any more."
What she meant is that the only thing I blogged about was books -- mine and other authors' books.
So I'm trying to hit a happy medium -- writing about my family, my life, my job, my dreams, my observations, and also books that I read.
I'm not sure it's made a difference, and I haven't really committed to blogging every day for the rest of the year, or even next month.
But I appreciate those of you who take the time to read my blog, and those who leave comments too. It makes me feel a little less alone in the world.

Winning

This evening at 7 p.m., I finished writing 50,000 words as part of Nanowrimo, National Novel Writing Month. I already had 25,000 words written for my novel A Charm of Finches, and now I've added 50,000 words, which means a grand total of 75,000 words.
So how many words does it take to make a novel,  you may ask? My first novel, The Summer of France, was more than 80,000 words, and I've had people complain that it was too short. My next novel coming soon, I See London, I See France is around 100,000 words.
Romance novels might be around 60,000 words, so different novels are different lengths.
Any way, I completed 50,000 words in November.
That means I'm a winner.

As you can see from this nifty, retro animation winner button. 

And this one, which shows I've won an empty treasure chest. Maybe it's just a treasure trove opening as I put my words on the page. 

And here's a banner which I could put on my Facebook page, but I probably won't. But if you haven't yet, and you'd like to, you can visit my author page Paulita Kincer on Facebook and like me. I'd appreciate it.

Giveaway Winner & Life Getting in the Way

I know I owe everyone the name of the giveaway for Mike Dixon's book Wolf Wood.
I promise to do a fair and square drawing on Saturday and write a real blog post about it..
Meanwhile, I'm shuffling along on my NaNoWriMo challenge and I've written more than 14,000 words so far this month.
NaNo has some cool widgets that would tell you how much I've written. I can't predict whether this will change as I update my word count or not.


So, I'm busy writing, plus the usual family stuff. Plus I have a sinus infection and apparently a trick knee. The sinus and the knee pain have kept me from running very far. I'm sure both are hurting my progress on my novel.
And my novel has just gone in a strange direction, but I figure as long as I keep writing, there will have to be some parts in there worth saving.

Writing in November

Right now, I'm feeling very happy about my writing. Not that the writing is especially fabulous, but I'm meeting my schedule, so that makes me happy.
November is NaNoWriMo which stands for National Novel Writing Month. The goal is 50,000 words in a month.
I have a careful schedule that requires me to write 2000 words per day, along with editing my other novel.

Here's a book cover that I rejected for my next novel. But I'll reveal the new one soon. 

Of course, my family hasn't disappeared, so I also have some things to take care of there -- cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, talking to them, listening to them!
Plus, there are those pesky classes that need care and tending too. I've put grading on my schedule too. And, truthfully, that's the only place I've fallen behind.
But I gained an extra hour last night, so I'm going to try to catch up today.
It looks like my computer and I will be spending the day together.
How bout you? What does your Sunday look  like?

NaNoWriMo Arrives in 2 Days

November is National Novel Writing Month.
Who's with me?
Crickets????
The point of National Novel Writing Month is for me to avoid finishing the edits on my other novels.
Oh, wait. That's not the point.
Hundreds of thousands of authors and would-be authors join Nanowrimo in an attempt to write 50,000 words of a novel. Fifty thousand words does  not quite equal a novel, but it's a good chunk of one.
My last novel was about 80,000. The one that will hopefully be published in November is over 100,000 words.
Since my first novel The Summer of France was set in France. And my soon-to-be-published novel, I See London, I See France, is also set partially in France, I decided to focus on a novel that is set right here in Columbus.
Here's the synopsis:
 When was the last time 34-year-old Maeve left her apartment? She can't really remember. Maybe six weeks earlier for a haircut. She works from home, has a treadmill in the corner of her Columbus apartment, and Amazon plus Green Bean delivery bring everything she needs to her door. 
But this wasn't how it was supposed to turn out. Maeve sets out to turn her life around with Feng Shui and a search for her childhood friends who knew the real her.

Nanowrimo has this weird thing where it asks the author to give a synopsis of the novel and an excerpt plus a book cover. How is all of this possible for people who haven't begun their novels yet? Luckily, I'm about 25,000 words into  my novel. If I write 50,000 words in November, I'll have 75,000 word and I'll be close to a finished novel. 

I wasted some more time not editing my novel and creating a mock book cover:

Don't worry. I'm not quitting my day job to do book covers.

And, here's an excerpt from my 25,000 already written words.

Pausing at the window, Maeve realized how glorious the leaves looked from her second story view and suddenly, she wanted to get out there to experience it. She hadn’t felt that way… well, she couldn’t remember when she’d felt that way. Before Joe had broken up with her? Before she’d met Joe? Enthusiasm seemed to have drained from her life sometime between childhood and this 34^th year she found herself in. “This must be the enthusiasm gap the politicians are always talking about,” Maeve thought to herself then smiled.
Had it been during her college years that she became blasé about everything? She had hung out with a lot of hipsters whose main goal had been to try new things only to dismiss them. Maybe she’d embraced that philosophy too much. She’d taken it to the point where she really did stop feeling joy at the taste of chocolate melting on her tongue or a fresh breeze blowing against her cheeks.
“Today is the first day… Wait. I’m not ready to go there,” Maeve said aloud to her bedroom.

NaNoWriMo asks authors to choose their genre. I definitely consider this novel Women's Fiction, but I don't have that choice on NaNoWriMo. I could choose Chick Lit, which of course is dismissed out of hand by many people, or I could choose Mainstream Fiction. I chose Mainstream Fiction.
So, starting Friday, I'm off to see how many words I can add to my novel.
I'll keep you updated on my journey.
I'd love it if any other authors would friend me on Nanowrimo so we can cheer each other on. You'll find me at Paulita Kincer.

Creating Likeable Characters

I started reading a book and can't stand the main character. Lissy Ryder, the main character in the Jen Lancaster book, Here I Go Again, is insufferable. She was the mean girl in high school and she judges everyone around her, even though she is broke, expects her daddy to pay for everything, lost her job, got dumped by her husband, and gained a lot of weight. I suppose the author is setting up Lissy at the bottom of the barrel so she can redeem herself, but I don't think I'll stick around long enough to see her turn into a nice person. She reminds me of the character in the Shopaholic books. I can't read those either. 

Here's an excerpt from page 19:

I stab a piece of shrimp with my fork while my mother recounts the conversation she had with my dad earlier today. I guess all the arguing I thought I dreamed was real. Apparently not only is Daddy opposed to settling my debts, but he also wants me to do more with my day than mope. He thinks I should take a job, any job, like maybe working retail, until I find another PR gig. My mother reassures me: "I insist you hold out for an executive position. The mall! Can you imagine? My li'l girl is not working' behind a tacky makeup counter jus' to pay some pesky charge card..."

I know that characters are supposed to grow and change throughout a book, but I want that character to be someone I would fundamentally like if I ran into her, right from the beginning. She might have a few lessons to learn, but she wouldn't be a total, self-absorbed bitch.

I decided that brunette Reese Witherspoon would
be perfect to play the role of Annie in a movie. 

I'm thinking about character as I consider changes to my manuscript I See London, I See France.  The main character Annie is a stay-at-home mom and she has been engulfed in childhood minutia. She has no idea what she wants in life any more. But how can I make her more likeable from the beginning so people want to spend time with her before she sells the minivan and runs away to Europe with her kids? Sure, later in the book is the allure of the Gyspy man and the older Frenchman, but at the beginning when she doesn't know her own identity, how can I make her more appealing to the reader?
Here's a section from the beginning of the book after Annie's husband Scott walks out on her:

So where did it all go wrong? Sometimes I wished I could point to the big moment. I could say Scott had affairs, or he drank too much or he spent money we didn’t have on get-rich-quick schemes. But none of those things were true. Our marriage was slowly worn away by the daily grind.

Somewhere after the kids were born, we chose separate paths. He chose to spend 12 hours a day at work and I chose to be with the kids constantly.

I considered myself basically happy, just exhausted by motherhood. I didn’t expect to feel like that forever though. Someday the kids would grow up, move away. Scott and I would have time for each other again.
            I stayed home with them from the beginning. Loving mostly every minute. Okay, there were whole sections that I had blocked out because I was too tired to remember them, night feedings and colic and washing cloth diapers. But the parts I did remember seemed to be mostly idyllic.

I'd love to hear from readers and writers about what connects you to a character and what could make that character more sympathetic.

Writing For Women or Men or Both

I've been pondering audience recently.
My first published book, The Summer of France, has both a male and female perspective. It has a mystery and some historical details from World War II. It has a motorcycle/car chase, for goodness sake. That makes it appropriate for a man or a woman to read.
My other books (as yet unpublished) are more aimed toward women readers. I See London, I See France is about a woman trying to decide what she is outside motherhood. She is so overwhelmed with her children, ages 9,7, and 5, that she doesn't recognize what makes her happy any more. So the conflict is internal.
When her husband walks out one afternoon, she sells her minivan and takes her children to Europe to try to find the passionate self she was in her 20s when she studied in Europe. Her husband, of course, is angry that she disappeared with the kids and threatens to have her arrested and take the kids back.
A couple of writer friends have read parts of it recently, and one suggestion was to add an outside conflict to make the novel more attractive to men.
Of course, that seems overwhelming. Is she chasing something around Europe? Is she searching for something? Why can't she simply search for her real self, while trying to be a good mother?
Now I'm torn. Do I revise this book and add an external conflict? Do I keep it in its same form and label it women's fiction? Do I move on to another one of my novels that already has the potential for "action"?
What do you think when you read novels? Do men only like external conflict?