The Novel That Isn’t a Joke

     Sometimes I just sit back and stare at my beautiful titles…I don’t even need to write a blog post about this; all I need to do is to put a title and a few sentences. But then again, I’d leave everyone in suspense…the suspense that scares readers away rather than drawing them into madness encouraging them to read my little blog. So I shall keep the suspense for my newest novel.

     I do realize that tomorrow is April 1st, known by most as April Fools’ Day. (I have a delightful story about pranks, but I shan’t go off topic yet again on this post. Ehehehe…I can’t keep the suspense away even if I try.) But to many writers like myself, it marks the beginning of madness of something called Camp NaNoWriMo.

     Wait…you have heard about regular NaNoWriMo, haven’t you?

     …

     *puts on sunglasses* *epic music plays in the background* I’m here to talk to you about the NaNoWriMo initiative.

     *takes off sunglasses* *digs out coffee and a Keep Calm and Carry On poster*

     NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. I’m sure many of you have heard about it. In essence, an increasingly large group of writers take the challenge of writing 50,000 words—a full-length novel—in the month of November. I would question their sanity if I were not one of them. As if that wasn’t exhausting enough, there’s another NaNo in April: Camp NaNoWriMo.

     In other words, I doubt I’ll have any hair left by the end of the month.

     For those of you who read my previous blog post, no, this story I am now attempting is not Master Williams’ story. I expect Anastasia to show up any time now…expect Britishness and a startling amount of tea and cats. Also, an adorable kid sidekick.

     And for those of you doing Camp NaNo, I can only offer this sage advice:

Character Takeover: Jason Williams

Hi! I see you’ve stumbled across my author’s blog. Were you expecting another philosophical outlook on life and the universe? Pfft. There are far more interesting things to do. Eating pizza, for example. You don’t happen to have any, do you?

Well, anyway, I suppose I should properly introduce myself. I know for a fact that some of you have heard of my fabulousness, but since my story isn’t properly written yet, most of you haven’t.

I see a lot of head-scratching among the audience…you do realize who I am, don’t you?

…I assumed Elizabeth had explained. I’ll have to have a little talk with her later. Basically, she’s decided that every so often (probably once a week), one of her characters will hack into make a guest appearance on her blog. This first week is my turn.

So, introduction. Madame Liz hasn’t figured out a lot of what’s going to happen in my story yet. I’m pretty sure it’s sci-fi, and I think I get to read people’s minds. (I’m looking at you, Emily-the-sociopath.) I certainly hope I don’t get killed off, since she’s so fond of doing that to people. Did I ever give you my name? It’s Jason Williams. I would say don’t forget it, but since it’s virtually impossible to forget someone like me, I won’t. But don’t forget it.

Well, Madame L—Elizabeth says that I’ve used up my time. Hopefully I’ll see you all again soon! Bring me pizza next time, though.

On Spring

*dusts off my poor, neglected little blog* Funny how I wanted a blog for so long, but once I have one, I forget all about it...

*glances at calendar* Ah, yes. Spring is here at long last. Though, here in Tennessee, it is wet and cold. The environment is trying to kill us, though the blooming flowers are pretty. And with spring comes many concerts...

In Which a Distracted Person Should Not Be Given a Curling Iron

The title says it all, I believe, but I shall expound upon it.

Every female at some point or other makes the mistakes (if they can qualify as mistakes; mishaps would probably be a better word) of burning their hair with a curling iron or tangling it in a hairbrush. Compound these two problems and you have a weapon of mass destruction, capable of devouring hair alive and scorching its meal while laughing derisively.

Well, maybe the laughter was my characters making fun of their clumsy brilliant author. Me, burn my hair? Me, get distracted with no one to help? Distracted? I'm never...oh look...a butterfly.

Once I had hopelessly ensnarled my hair in the mutant curling iron hairbrush, I went downstairs for help...only to remember that my family had left only a few minutes earlier. If my characters had been laughing before...

To wrap up a longer than necessary story, I spent half an hour trying to untangle my hair and, when that failed, to do some basic tasks. I discovered that it is all but impossible to brush one's teeth one-handed. Now I am left with a slightly bald patch and perhaps a bit more wisdom than before; I shan't ever get distracted while holding a hot object.

Oh look...it's snowing.

The Marvels of the Human Brain

It always seems, that when one sits down to do homework...

or sleep...

or do an urgent task...

one is assaulted with ideas that demand to be written down or acted upon now.


But when one actually needs ideas...they're gone. Fled into the dark abyss where plot bunnies cower and cliches lurk, leaving nothing but the dangling end of one's train of thought. This is the bane of every author's existence.


However, every thousand years or so, we actually do hit upon an idea at the right time and place. And when we do...beware lest you disturb us, for we have the strength of a raging fire and the force of the great typhoon. And also, to quote Sherlock, we "can't turn it on and off like a tap!"

The Trials of Amateur Photography

Here in Tennessee, our winter weather ranges from the icy teeth of a blizzard to a very mild autumn day. This year we've had hardly any snow, which I'm sure the schools appreciate, but the children hardly do. 

This rainy, cold day, I decided to ignore the urgent call of Aeschylus and attempt to capture some winter foliage with my camera. I envisioned taking beautiful pictures like the ones in nature magazines or Pinterest; a suspended droplet reflecting the surrounding greenery, a naked branch bejeweled with rainwater, an interesting puddle. I fired my camera until the rain forced me indoors. Hopes aglow, I played back the images one by one.

Blurry pictures. 

Busy backgrounds.

Dullness.

I hadn't learned to use all the settings, and so the images were far from what I'd hoped for. Most of them would be trashed, if not all. But instead of putting my camera away as angrily as I could without damaging it, I fiddled with it some more. Learning the settings. Adjusting the focus. Experimenting.

Next time a rainy day comes around, I'll be ready. 

The Beginning of the Wandering

     The mouse hovered over the "create blog" button for almost an hour. Me, write a blog? My trade was creative writing, where I got to kill care for fictional characters rather than chronicle my daily life. But I clicked the button anyway.

     Before I begin my wandering, I suppose I should explain the name. After I found out that my choice of a name had been dramatically taken by someone else, I began hunting for a name that would suit my devious purposes. I wanted to include the word 'typewriter'; to capture the forgotten satisfaction of inky keys hitting paper. But it lacked something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Something that echoed of wind and water, peace and war. Of adventures of forgotten heroes. Of great songs lost to the sighing of the wind. The teller of stories and the singer of songs: the wandering minstrel.

     And so, by combining the machine and the musician, the Wandering Typewriter was born. Though my life is hardly as interesting as the tales sung by the minstrels of old, I hope it shall interest you as you follow my journeying.

     Thus the wandering begins.