Why I Will Never Do NaNoWriMo

To write a novel you need coffee, a computer, pens, paper, and...a Viking hat?

Every couple of years I decide I'm going to do National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The idea is that you write 50,000 words in 30 days because, um, you can? I've actually never paid much attention into the whole "unleash your creativity!" narrative behind the whole thing. I write for money, which usually means keeping my creativity pretty well leashed.

I try it every couple of years instead of every year because I fail miserably, remember my failure the next year, then forget about it the year after that and try again. So here is a list of why NaNo never works for me, to be read by me in 2014:

1. Daylight Savings. Suddenly it's the middle of the night at 4:30 p.m. and hibernation seems like a valid life choice.

2. Illness. At least seven days of every November will be devoted to sniffling on the couch in my bathrobe, sitting on the couch with a sniffling, bathrobe'd Baby Razor, and/or poking the prone form of Mr. Razor while telling him that no, that sniffle is NOT going to kill him.

3. Thanksgiving. Perhaps this holiday is not a drama-bomb for you and yours. Be sure to give thanks for that next Thursday, because my family is still feuding over who's hosting.

4. Christmas. Between Baby Razor and her seven cousins, trying to find something that they like/don't already have/won't cost me a kidney is a part-time job.

5. Alcohol. Look, there are a lot of seasonal beers and I feel like it's my job as a knowledgable drinker to try as many of them as possible, okay?

6. Parenthod. Even after three years, I continually underestimate the effort of stay-at-home parenting. This is an old example, but the current ones range from unfunny to depressing, so here you go:

When Baby Razor was about two-years-old, I got a big freelance project and was debating whether I could do it while taking care of her or if I needed a babysitter. One day I was sitting in the basement working on the project while she happily played by herself and I thought, "Oh yeah, I can totally work and mom at the same time." Then I looked up. My daughter had a) found a pile of cat puke I'd overlooked and b) shoved it in her mouth.

I got a babysitter.

7. I Might Not Want to Write A Novel. I know, that one should probably be at the top of the list. Aren't all writers supposed to want to write a novel, though? I'm starting to wonder. Because it turns out I actually enjoy having other people tell me what to write about, whether it's Etruscan relics or ovarian cancer surgery. I like the resulting checks too. Fifty thousand words and no check? That's just a crappy cost-benefit ratio.

Anyway, my NaNo non-novel was going to be about a 19-year-old starlet in Hollywood having lots of sex and getting really famous. If the fact that I couldn't motivate myself to write about sex and gossip isn't enough proof that I'm never going to be a novelist, I don't know what is.

p.s. I was inspired to try again this year by The Hairpin's Nicole Cliffe, whose novel is going about as well as mine.

Return of the Man in the Yellow Hat

Last year, I lamented the closing of Curious George & Friends bookstore in Harvard Square. Many of the square's independent businesses have closed since I moved to Cambridge in 1996, but that loss made me the saddest. (So far, that is. If Tealuxe ever closes, I am going to wear black and listen to nothing but The Cure for weeks.)

So I was delighted when I heard the store was reopening with new owners. I bookmarked their website! I followed them on Facebook! I stalked them all over the interwebs, basically, which is how I heard that they had their soft opening last Tuesday. Accordingly, I bundled up the baby and the husband and headed to Cambridge on a chilly, gray Sunday to check it out.

The new owners (who were charming and nervous, bless them) totally redesigned the store's layout. The cash registers have moved from the center of the store to a corner by the door, completely opening up the space. It's much brighter and easier to navigate with a stroller or hyperactive toddler. There's less merchandise, but I suspect the old store was overstocked, so that's not a complaint.

There are a lot of really sweet, kid-friendly touches, like the little padded space at the bottom of this bookshelf:

I think that spot will be popular, because Baby Razor waited patiently (ok, "stared like a crazy person and repeated I wanna sit in the bed! at increasing volume," but at this age no hitting or pushing = patient) until another little girl left. She then snuggled with a George larger than her for approximately four seconds before sprinting to the other side of the store.

Mr. Razor, meanwhile, hung out with an assortment of Georges on a corner bench seat and read about Margaret & H.A. Rey's amazing escape from Paris during World War II.

I shopped, of course. I didn't look much at the books (although I noted that all of my/my daughter's favorite authors were represented) because Baby Razor's personal library is up over 300 books at this point. I loved the all of the t-shirts from Out Of Print Clothing and the small but beautiful selection of children's clothing and hats from independent makers like Maisey Mae. There are also toys, games, and stuffed animals to be had.

Then, of course, there is every Curious George product known to man and monkey. I liked that they had merchandise featuring illustrations of Curious George from the original books as well as stuff featuring George and his friends from the PBS cartoon. Baby Razor likes the books, but she LOVES the cartoon. Whenever I mention something like going to the library or camping or kindergarten, she says, "Like George!" I got her a t-shirt of the cartoon's animal characters because she knows them all by name.

I realize was predisposed to love the place, but I think even if I were unfamiliar with it and/or my kid wasn't a Curious George superfan, I still would have found it charming. It's clear that a lot of thought, effort and love went into The World's Only Curious George Store, and I wish them the best. I'll definitely be going back!

A story from my subconscious

(The main character looked like this guy, which is weird, because I don't even find him attractive.)

The Awl surveyed people about their work-related dreams, and I was thinking that I never have writing-related dreams. Then I realized that that totally wasn't true, since I had a doozy of one the other week, possibly fueled by exhaustion and cold medicine.

I dream stories sometimes, either imaginary episodes of tv shows that I watch or narratives made up out of whole cloth. This one started out with a bartender/manager at a popular restaurant in a coastal tourist town. (I think it was supposed to be Martha's Vineyard or Cape Cod, but it totally looked tropical. My subconscious went for the more favorable filming location, I guess.) The restaurant staff was like a big, crazy family and waitresses, bartenders, cooks, and hostesses were always just wandering into the manager's house, eating his food and expecting him to mediate their problems.

But then the elderly, offsite owner of the restaurant decides to sell it! And this was the part when I poked myself into the dream and said, "Wait, I thought that the manager guy owned the restaurant?" And someone else told me, "No, he's like the de facto owner because he's run it for so long. The actual owner lives in Florida or whatever." Yes, that's right: I was getting plot updates from characters in my own dream.

The new owner comes in and tells everyone she really wants to respect the history and traditions of this restaurant that's been around forever and is beloved by locals, visitors, and most of all, its staff. Then of course she goes and strips out all the old decor and repaints the place, all while continuing to be super sweet to everyone's faces. Then she fires the beloved manager. The line I remembered most clearly when I woke up was one of the waitresses saying, "Jesus, she's like a cross between Paula Deen and Sarah Palin."

So the staff plans a revolt, and I either woke up or don't remember what happened next, but I remember being in the dream and feeling gleeful about the mischief that was about to occur. I also remember sitting at the bar in the manager's house talking to two of the waitresses, telling them I was going to write a story about this and they should tell me what they wanted to be called in the fictionalized version of this dream I was having.

I haven't written fiction in years. I like creating characters, but I lack the patience to think of anything for them to actually do with themselves. I think my subconscious was trying to give me a kick in the ass, but again: lazy and impatient. Maybe I can crowdsource. If one of you gives me the rest of the plot; I will write this story. Ok, go!

I Hope Nobody I Know Owns This Sweater

Sometimes I wonder what it's like to be an Anthropologie copywriter. I mean, I love overpriced faux-bohemia as much (okay, probably more) than the next girl, but they sell some crazy shit. Case in point:



Me: What the Jesus is this?
Leigh: Are those...BOOB FANS?
Me: To keep them cool, maybe?

It's called the "escalope bolero," which is French for "scallop" and not "boob fan," sadly, and if your bosom really needs aerating, it'll set you back $228. Yeah, you read that right: two hundred twenty-eight shiny American dollars. I hope they use some of that ridiculous profit margin to pay their poor copywriters.

Where Have You Gone, Man in the Yellow Hat?

Curious George & Friends opened in 1995 as Curious George Goes to Wordsworth. The name changed when Wordsworth went out of business in 2004. I started shopping there in 1996, when I was 18 and my niece was two. Now my niece is 17, my daughter is two, and Curious George is closing.


They were closed yesterday when I went to pay my respects (and do some discount shopping).


All the bare shelves used to be so packed with books that you'd have to wiggle them back in after you were done looking at them. That book you loved when you were a kid, whose name you forgot even though you could still describe the cover? They had it.


I never minded paying full price for books & toys there (instead of less at the big box stores) because I knew everything in Curious George was chosen with love and care. I will admit that I felt a little bad about being the aunt who gave two gifts instead of six, though.

But even at full price, I imagine they'd have to sell more books than anyone buys to continue to afford the $15,000 a month rent.

I'm heartbroken, and I felt a little silly about it because as my mom loves saying, it's not like somebody died. But as I was taking pictures through the windows yesterday, three separate people came up to the door, read the sign, and said, "Oh, no." At least I'm not alone.

[Totally Selfish Side Note: Does anyone know what happens to the store's decorations? Because I would shank my neighbors for a chance at George in the rocket ship.]

Amusing Word Choice of the Day

(So then I said, "You don't even control oil in the T-zone! Hard labor for you!")


(Originally titled "Typo of the Day," but a little research changed that.)

Skimming the Benefit website for more beautifully-packaged, expensive shit to put on my face, I decided to read the FAQ for their new skincare line. Yes, I'm the nerd who reads FAQs, even when I know that they are not really frequently asked questions. Anyway, I came across this (bolding mine):

What’s the ideal order or routine of the skincare collection? What do I start with?
You can mix & match the collection with your current regime but one example of using the products together is: remove it makeup remover, foamingly clean facial wash, refined finish facial polish, either total moisture facial cream or triple performing facial emulsion, it’s potent! eye cream, ultra radiance facial re-hydrating mist (although mist can be used any time throughout the day).

Regime! I love it! I am now picturing my soap & exfoliator as tiny dictators in aviator sunglasses and sailor caps, ruling the sink-top with an iron dispenser pump. The tubes tell me that "regime" is actually an accepted synonym of "regimen," but is that going to stop me from imagining that my Sephora samples are fomenting revolution in my make-up drawer right now? No, it is not.

Self-Promotion

I'm working today in an actual office. On the one hand, there is no natural light; but on the other, nobody has pooped their pants. So far.

In lieu of my adventures in corporate America, here's some writing I did for the Boston Phoenix's Best Reader's Poll 2011:

Best Local Nonprofit
Best Barbecue
Best Burgers
Best Gluten-Free Menu
Best Pies Vs. Cupcakes
Best Restaurant, Romantic

This was very much not a case of writing for the paycheck. I honestly love and recommend all of these places. I'm just sad that I didn't get to do the Boomerangs write-up too. Although given how much of my home is decorated with pieces scavenged from there, it's entirely possible my write-up would have been, "It's terrible. Don't go there. MORE FOR ME, MWA HA HA HA."

Like Falling Off a Bike

Whoa, this writing thing is harder than I remembered it being! For the past six months, I haven't been writing regularly for the first time in nearly eight years. I started my first blog in March 2003, got my first professional writing job a few months later, then wrote for fun and profit until August of last year. Then I moved, and my daughter started walking and, more importantly, falling down, and suddenly all of my free time was taken up with childproofing and taking deep, calming breaths.

Sadly, this means that I haven't worked in so long that my husband now has to take deep, calming breaths whenever he looks at our bank balance. So I started this blog to get back in the habit of writing every day while I begin resurrecting my freelance career, and I'm glad I did, because writing that first post felt like trying to swim through pudding. It was like writing in something other than my first language; I kept thinking that if I just had the My Brain To English dictionary I'd be fine.

But I got through it, and I posted, and it's not great, but it's something. Now I just have to keep something-ing until it all starts feeling natural again. Which, at this rate, may not be until sometime in 2018.