NaNo Notes & Chapter 3

NaNo Notes:

So much about writing comes from emotion and what we are feeling in the moment. In the editing stages, I suppose there is a great deal more of thought, but when you're spitting out 50 words a minute, it's hard to manage to maintain a sense of impressive quality. We're going for quantity in NaNoWriMo... proof that we can succeed at novel writing.

That is why it is so important to have a good sense of emotion about you when you're writing. Doing something you normally wouldn't do or finding a different adventure can really help your writing experience. For chapter 3, I went on a hike. I found a glorious little spot at a local state park and made myself at home next to a roaring creek. I felt so relaxed and happy, I let all of my energy flow directly into my writing.

Find you happy space or do something different and exciting. Use that energy and gusto to write an amazing story.

Happy writing!

PS. Visit www.nanowrimo.org for more information about  Camp Nanowrimo and other noveling adventures.

Chapter 3: Joe: Uncanny disbelief

I'm a male nurse, recently graduated from the University and the only job I could manage is a personal care assistant position with a local home care facility. The hours are terrible and most of my clients are as grumpy as can be. It's hard to do your job when you're arguing with a 190 pound human being that holds the mental capacity of a 2 year old. Sometimes I wish I could pick them up like children and put them in time out.

Elisa has always been a little different. She's difficult, that's for sure, but she never seems to be offended by me personally. The things she says at first glance sound straight out of a law firm program. It's not until you look at the context and the words she's actually putting together that you realize her rants are really paranoia and insanity. I hope I never end up with dementia.

Today was really surprising though. That young pip squeak shows up and all of a sudden there's this other woman sitting in the living room. Elisa came to life as she expressed adventures overseas and around the country. She's so very smart. Of the places she's mentioned, I've can only remember being at Assateague National Park. The horses are beautiful and all but the way she speaks is so captivating.

"In my youth," she'd begin, "I traveled to the Atlantic on a hike. My band set out on a month long escapade that included visits to every major park on the Northern Atlantic Coast. We were so wild then. I believe it was Teddy Roosevelt who began the project to protect and preserve America's great landscape and he's done a fine job of it, assuming the current regime hasn't managed to destroy the life and liberty of this land."

She sounded so eloquent and intelligent. As if her mind had come back to her with the simplicity of this child's esa of amazement. I wondered how I could ever have missed such a beautiful wonder.

"It was so long ago now," she continued ominously. "It is the small spaces in time that we can find that move us. The beauty and simplicity of our present world that can amaze and inspire us. I'd never dreamed of any of those places before I'd seen them. Alone in time, everything seems to be full of life: the water rushing before you, the leaves shivering in a fine breeze, the dew dripping in a fine haze, a bird whistling in the daytime. Life can be heaven if you see it."

I kept thinking of my life and everything I'd done. For being 24, nothing outrageous was standing out in my world. Don't get me wrong, I have a loving family and a few good friends, but when you're sitting at a crossroads with 30 options, it's hard to make the right sort of decision and have confidence in it.

Elisa and this Aaron seemed to have a full life story while mine was simply dull. I wanted adventure and a full life with people that were interesting and cared about me. Is that too much to ask? I'd wonder.

As I spent the night in my own home watching American Pickers at long last, I wondered what else Elisa had to say. I also wondered if she'd really suffered from dementia. Those memories were so real. What had caused this poor old woman to live like this?

NaNo Notes and Chapters 4-5

NaNo Notes:

It's hard to write consistently on a daily basis. Especially when you're forcing yourself to write the same content for a specific amount of time. My latest craze to boost my writing mo
tivation is the writing sprints via Twitter @NaNoWordSprints. There's so much pressure to write freely for a length of time. By then end of the sprint, you feel exhausted but confident that you've completed something. I'm averaging 500 words per sprint. When my daily word goal is only 1,000 words, that's a major contribution.

Before I post my latest chapters to the world wide web, I would like to add that there is a time and place for each process in writing. There is no space for editing in my current time and place. Without further ado:

Here's my latest chapters.

Chapter 4: Elisa's Perspective

I'd given up long ago, never anticipating that my life would be different from here on out. No one ever asked, but I'd been in this house for the past twenty-two years, and I'm only sixty-seven. Years and years ago, I was only forty-five.

Aaron's been around everyday. We started out in my dark living room. Then she opened all the windows up. I stammered about the neighbors being able to see in and spy on me, but this young girl had enough polite and simple talk to bring the best out of me.

As it always was, my memory was never worth much. In particular, though, these past 22 years, my memory seemed non-existent. I didn't know much of anything about my first 45 years. The days after never had much of significance, but my memory was never solidified enough to determine one week or month or year from the next.

This Aaron girl was changing my world. She had a vast amount of information and was willing to share. She literally was opening up my world.

One day, Aaron and I were sitting out on the back porch eating a picnic lunch. Joe was scheduled to stop by any minute now. Aaron had been going on about this video on her computer that was hysterical. She kept going on about how she loved to watch the 'you tube' videos and how they were done by real people without the television studios or producers.

This kind of fascinated me, especially since most of my paranoia was a result of conspiracy theories with big companies.

When she showed me the first video on her computer, I was excited. It was fun and exciting. The video was hysterical and I enjoyed it very much.

It was three video's later that the darn thing began ringing. Aaron got really excited, "Ooh! It's a call from Emma, a friend from back home."

I didn’t mean to flip when I saw, but I couldn’t help it. Images of camera spying on everyone flashed before my eyes. Arrests and these things called ‘human deletion’ kept crossing my mind. I couldn’t imagine what all of this was about. I just knew that a video of someone from far away was not private.

“Stop,” I whispered and ducked out of the video camera view.

Aaron did nothing, “It’s alright Elisa, it’s only Emma. It’s a private call.”

“Nothing is private when it invades the content of you individual’s home,” I hissed quietly, “Stop. It. Now.”

Aaron still did not turn off the computer. Instead, she continued to argue, “No, Elisa, I a gave it permission.”

I couldn’t help myself, “this device deceives both the beholder and the begotten, cease now, or I shall be called to enforce my civil rights.”

Aaron, “But… Elisa…”

“Aaron is everything ok?” I heard from the laptop.

With that, I fiercely slammed the device closed. “Go. Home.”

Aaron stood in a huff and ran off the porch to her home.

Chapter 5: Aaron:

I’d never imagined how terrible Elisa could be. Her words were so venomous and scary. I could hear the words she was saying, but I wasn’t connecting them to the right emotion. I kept thinking that she didn’t want to meet Emma, because she was an outsider. To me, Emma at would be a great person to meet and help Elisa.

I think, however, that it was really the computer that scared her. She was terrified when she discovered that it could video record us both and someone else far away. I’m not quite sure what she is so afraid of, or why. It’s not like anything is so terrible with a video conversation. I hope that she can forgive me, but I fear that I have lost her.

“Go. Home. Now.” she’d said. That scared the life out of me. So mean and determined. I ran with fright and fear. I can’t help but see that she’s hiding something. Or maybe, she’s hiding something from herself. Something that she can’t seem to find in herself. How else could she begin to explore her past and present self.

Elisa is always so closed in with her little home and small perspective. She’s lost much of what has made her unique and specials as I know she is. How can I bring the best out of her?

I couldn’t go back for a few days. Joe came knocking every afternoon wondering where I was. I finally answered on the third day and told him I was sick.

“I hope you feel better little miss, because ol’ groucho over there is not nearly the same without you. You bring out the best in her Aaron,” he smiled.

The next day I knocked on the door. That was strange, because I usually just barged right in.

Joe answered with a puzzled look, “Feeling better Aaron? We’ve missed you, aren’t you coming in?”

“Joe can we talk?” I pleaded.

“Of course, come on in,” he smiled.

“Privately,” I begged.

“Ahh…” he said, “Elisa told me she’d been cross with you that last day.”

When the door was finally closed behind him, I folded my arms and told him everything Elisa had said and my ignorant reactions to each of it.

“She didn’t understand,” I sobbed.

“She might never understand,” Joe consoled, “but you’ve got to keep trying.”

“What if she’s a reason for these thoughts and feelings…” I huffed.

“She might not,” Joe reasoned, there’s so much to learn from Elisa, but we have to be willing to listen at all times. You taught me that my dear!

"Well, is that how she will be or is that the extent to wich you can improve youself over itme?" Aaron winned.

"I'm just looking for something that's bright and important in my life," Joe whispered.

We sat down for dinner later that night together, like some sort of suedo family. For the first twenty minutes, Elisa said nothing more than pass the potatoes. Joe tried to make small talk about this and that. I responded curtly. After we’d finished the main course, Joe brought out the biggest chocolate cake I’ve ever seen.

Usually, he makes Elisa eat like a nutritionist. The boy himself is barely a scarecrow. I couldn’t imagine how he could manage to cook something so foreign to him. Yet, here before us was the most magnificent cake you could ever imagine. There were little chocolate sprinkles decked across the most velveteen icing you could ever picture.

“Oh my,” Elisa giggled.

“You can say that again,” was my response.

At that, it was as if nothing had ever come between us. We moved on with a greater understanding of one another. Elisa, that I could not bear to lose the faith of my friends and that she was indeed one of my greatest friends. And I, that Elisa could not bear to be brought completly into my current world. She must remain tethered to some extent to her own past and challenges.

Joe sighed with relief. “If I’d known that chocolate cake could make women this happy, I’d have never lost a girlfriend yet.”

“If this cake’s as good as it looks, I’ll marry you myself,” Elisa laughed.

“Not if I get to him first,” I giggled.

Joe smiled and with great haste, dished us out each our own thick slice. I enjoyed the cake with all of the ecstacy a girl could muster. Each bite seemed to decompress and take away every ache and worry. I felt free and happy all at once.

“There’s a secret ingredient,” Joe laughed, “I found it from a friend back in nursing school. It’s proven to naturally increase endorphins.”

“What’s that?” Elisa and I both gave Joe a puzzled look.

“Chocolate,” he laughed.

And it was as simple as that. Our relationship, the three of us became just the same as chocolate. There was no other goal in our lives than to boost endorphins and make us feel better.

Elisa began to wonder then, I could see it in her face. Her paranoia seemed to be kicking in.

“Might this ingredient have been altered by any foreign or federal government. They tend to use such devices to achieve mastery over our individual decisions. I feel violated,” she huffed and pushed the cake away.

“Elisa,” I pleaded, “this ingredient was not made by some foreign or local government, the cake was created in your own kitchen by Joe himself.”

“Joe?” she questioned, “In my own kitchen?”

“Yes, Elisa,” I replied hastily, “and you trust the safety of your own kitchen, do you not?”

“I indeed make sure to excuse all items of questionable authenticity and authority from the home. That which is not safe must not live in the same dwelling as my family and livelihood. It is my constitutional right to choose from a variety of offers, which best serves my family.”

“And you trust Joe, Elisa. Don’t you?” I prodded in an attempt to see her through the end of her tangent.

“He is, most sincerly, the only man I have managed to trust in these past twenty-two years,” she harumphed.

“Then do you suppose this cake is poisined?” I asked.

“I do not…” she resolved.

With that, we both broke into the grandest smile. Elisa understood what I had done for her. I provided her brain with that which it was lacking, logic.

We toasted with a piece of cake. At first bite it seemed so hopeful. The texture was perfectly pleasing to the pallet. It was the flavor that revolted us.

Elisa and I took a deep gulp and looked to Joe, “Did someone poison your food… It tastes funny…”

“I made it myself!” harumphed Joe, “it looked just as it was supposed to in the book. I read the whole recepie and everything!”

“I don’t suppose you remembered the sugar dear,” smiled Elisa.

“Well, you were out, so I brought some from home.. but now that I think of it, the sugar did have a very odd consistency.”

“I do suppose we’ve been drugged!” Elisa squealed with laughter, “with moldy sugar!”

Because the statement was so completly outrageous and hysterical, we all burst out into the loudest gafaw you could imagine. We were practically rolling on the floor, when my aunt knocked at the door.

Joe let her in as he wiped happy tears from his face.

“Come in please, we were just trying my desert… it seems I’ve…” Joe began to explain but I quickly cut him off.

“Auntie,  dearie, Joe’s being modest. We’re laughing because he’s made simply the most delicious cake we could imagine. Only he’s deemed to name the cake something horrible. We’ll tell you only after you’ve tried it.” I tried to be cute and cunning.

“Ok…” she cautiously took a very large bite. At first, she plunged the cake into her mouth with confidence. I could see the reaction play across her face. First, she showed joy and happiness at eating some yummy piece of food. Then I saw as she found that the texture didn’t seem to hold right, disinegrating in her mouth. Finally, to her horror she got the last of the aftertaste in which the sour cake flavor was simply unbearable.

“Delicious…” she choked.

That put us over the edge, my aunt practically had to carry me home and I laughed the whole way.

Chapter 2: Aaron: A Determined Encounter

Here goes Chapter 2 of my CampNanoWriMo experience!

Chapter 2: Aaron: A Determined Encounter

Its been years since I felt like I really belonged. I think I would have felt better if I’d never understood what it felt like to be a part of something. When I was really young, I remember my brother and parents and friends laughing with me and giggling. We did everything together. By the time I entered kindergarten, everything was beginning to change. It seemed all at once that my brother was diagnosed with cancer and they began ‘testing’ me. It took three years, but eventually my brother passed away and my school slapped a ‘diagnosis’ on me. They made me go to special classes and do different work. It drove me crazy.

I knew I missed my brother, but I was so young and didn’t know how to handle everything life threw at me. I disconnected from my family and friends and focused on doing my own thing. My parents broke down after my brother. My dad went into a working coma: work, sleep, work, sleep, eat, work, sleep… My mom, on the other hand, went into an exhaustive hypered frenzy. She began to fundraise, traveling across the US to gather people who would listen and give money to the hospital Ben lived in for his last two years.

That left me pretty forgotten. I had my own struggles, but compared to Ben’s they were nothing so my parents didn’t even address them as a struggle. The summer I turned 11, I was hog wild. I’d wreck things at home, get bad grades, and sometimes pick fights at school. I was really smart, but I’d never sit still. Mom never even noticed. Dad must have blinked in his vegetative state because he noticed I needed attention long enough to send me to Aunt Bella in good old Pennsylvania. She lived on a busy street, so no bike. She worked 40 hours a week, but by then they were all confident I wouldn’t kill myself during the day.

After two work days of sleeping all day and doing not much at night, Aunt Bella decided I needed a project. She gave me three choices: clean out the attic, meet the neighbor, or go home. Somehow she expected these choices were logical, fun, and that I’d thank her. I didn’t.

That brings my life story up to this doorstep. I’m not shy by any means but I have a general distrust of adults… and children, anything but infants really.

Standing in the doorway watching that ignorant kid jabber away, I wasn’t convinced that I’d be doing anything great. When I finally realized what he was saying, I realized that he was talking about this Elisa woman like she was a child, like she had no choices, like an infant.

My Aha! moment clicked in and I decided I had to meet this woman. She spoke very clearly and slowly. I could tell she had a hard time forming words. Then she said the few words that would ever let me to trust anybody:

“Then you’ve been taught to respect my rights as human and citizen,” she croaked.

My heart filled with joy. In her quirky way, she was surprised that she’d gotten attention and respect. Empathy overpowered me, “People are people.”

That first day, I was there for what seemed like hours. I didn't say much, but Elisa had so many stories to tell me. I heard about her wild adventures to faraway lands with incredible people. That poor sap Joe was just as surprised as I was. I didn't leave until late that night, but as Joe and I walked out I asked, "Didn't you ever hear any of those stories before?"

"Mostly she just spews out trash about the United States Constitution, her civil rights, and how something has violated her Catholic beliefs and the first amendment. I never imagined she had so much to say," he admitted.

"You ever ask?" I chided.

"She never let me," he admitted, "she's too busy yelling at me or arguing over things."

I shook my head, You have to listen if you're really going to help someone, I thought. "Goodnight Joe, I'll see you tomorrow."

Camp NaNoWriMo: Chapter 1

I Thought I Saw

Chapter 1: Elisa: The Knock Heard Round the Television

I've lived in this house for forty years. I can count the things that have changed within it, a piece of furniture, a picture in an old picture frame. It’s what's been happening outside that has me wired. There is just so much going on, so much that I have missed, in this house all these years.

“Elisa,” Joe called from the side porch entrance, “I’m here…. Let’s see what our agenda is for today.”

The ignorant nurse-y boy was here. There was so much he didn't know. So much he brought into her house that endangered her. The phone, the notepad which he used to take notes of her condition, and worst yet: the television he ‘gave’ to her as a ‘gift.’

As usual, when he walked in the door, he turned on the television to the sport channel and began to work with medications in plastic vials. She could hear the clicking of each pill as he dispersed them between her weekly pill box. He had no expectations of her. No questions to ask of her preference or appeasement to these shiny little pills. He did not know of the woman who existed.

In frustration, I yelled out with ferocious enthusiasm, “You are in violation of my civil rights as a citizen of the United Stated!” Each word belted from my chest. It was all I could muster.

“Now, now, Elisa,” he cooed as if to a lowly child, “you mustn't get all worked up again. I like my job here and if the neighbors hear you hollering every time I get here, they’ll thinking I’m really hurting you and lock me up.”

He pushed my chair into the bathroom and began the preparations of washing me. I sat there, defeated once again. He thought I was crazy, always crazy.

Joe sighed, “You like me, don’t you Elisa. It’s not me your mad at right?” He probed for attention. “Seems like you’re the only thing I've got right these days.”

I let out a low gurgling moan. This poor boy, I thought, twenty something and begging for attention. He should have a pretty little young thing to give him all of that, not some grumpy invalid old lady.

“You search for the atonement of your sins,” was all I could manage to put forth into his world.

At this he smiled, beautiful young eyes shining down as if I’d actually said the right thing. “You know Elisa,” he giggled, “I bet you've got more going on in there than I could imagine. I wish I could hear your thoughts.”

I gave him a smile and sat idly as he washed me. My word wouldn't always come clear. More often than not, they were awkward and simply wrong. I just couldn't explain what I was thinking clearly.

When we were finished with my daily washing, we moved on to the living room. I knew Joe liked to watch the TV. I would even tolerate most of what he put on. I loved some of the comedies that would play endlessly, even some of the action or adventure movies thrilled me. There was something exciting and inviting about an intentionally fictional world.

There were two types of television that I would not tolerate. I refused to watch reality television and most adamantly… the news.

Joe was trying to coax me into watching a really strange reality TV series called American Pickers. My poor defeated brain kept spewing out statements like, “These men proudly display the unhealthy non-role models of America. They broadcast our deepest weaknesses to our enemies.”

“But they've got so much old stuff on the show,” he begged, “they’d love your old time refrigerator.”

“They are a danger to the American society,” I’d wail, “and in violation of the civil rights designated by the United States Constitution.”

Joe sighed, nearly in resignation when a knock sounded at the door.

We both jumped, most assuredly because the front door was only about three feet away from where we were both sitting. The knock was so dominant, with full gusto it sounded throughout the whole room.

Joe looked toward me with eyebrows raised. No one ever visited me. When I say ever I don’t mean that I had some long lost ungrateful son that had moved across the country, I mean that there was no one to visit. Joe didn't even know that the person who paid for his grateful services was not a member of my family or friends circle.

The bewilderment across my face at the sound was enough for him to decide that it must be some Jehovah's Witness here to spread the good word. He left American Pickers on TV intentionally hoping I would fall in love with the lanky man and agree to watch it.

“How can I help you?” Joe asked politely at the door.

“I would like to speak with my grandmother,” a young voice chirped determinedly.

“I’m sorry,” Joe cooed in his polite but wiser-than-thou voice, “I don’t believe Ms. Elisa has any children.”

“No,” the voice grumbled, “of course not. The program which has sent me here is for young at risk youth to interact with wise, old, and sometimes grumpy elders. She’s meant to give me wisdom so I don’t ruin my life and I’m supposed to inspire her to live again.”

Joe continued to explain idly that I should not have been entered into any such program due to my current state of mind. He went on and on about how my ‘condition’ was not befitting to help anyone. He continued, “I would rather such a program be informed that Ms. Elisa is in dire need of a professional psychologist, instead of a little girl.”

I could not see the child, my chair was turned instead toward the television. I could, however, hear the stammer in Joe’s voice. His hesitation in sending her away and his distress when she did not seem to budge. He stammered on for a good length of time without pausing to let her get her explanations in. Mostly, I was sure he simply wanted her to show some sort of resignation and to leave defeated.

Finally, Joe paused long enough to take a much needed deep breath. I heard her determined voice then. “Listen, I don’t care if she’s loony. My other options are much worse.”

“Shouldn’t an adult have brought you the first time? Or at least informed her nursing facility,” Joe argued.

“What is your name?” she demanded.

“Well…” he stammered, “Joe.”

“Nice to meet you, Joe, I’m Aaron.” I heard her, “Now the way I see it we have two options. First, I could go away and you can have a quiet evening of Double Jeopardy or something. Or, you can let me in and at least allow this Ms. Elisa to decide for herself. If you’ll let me remind you, Ms. Elisa is not an infant, but an adult.”

Joe didn't say another word and I heard the door close. A young girl no bigger than my rocker marched in.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“My name is Aaron. I have been assigned to your home to provide entertainment and company at least two days a week. I’m 11 years old and I’m living with my Aunt next door for the summer. She asked if I would come try to sit with you. Mostly, I think she doesn't know what to do with me. I can be very high maintenance.”

What a deal of spunk, I giggled to myself. “And what has led you to determine I will allow such an arrangement?”

“You've got nothing better to do,” she sighed, “and neither do I.”

“Joe’s told you to go?” I half said, half asked.

“I expected you to be of an age to decide for yourself,” she shifted nervously.

“Then you've been taught to respect my rights as human and citizen,” I tried to keep it together without getting weird, perhaps this young girl will listen and understand my pain.

“People are people,” was her only reply.