I forgot to say "Rabbits Rabbits" first thing this morning for a whole month of luck, so that'll explain why the PC decided to fall over dead this morning. It's been giving us small hiccups and strokes for about a week now. We think it's the graphics card, or maybe the motherboard. Either way it decided to give up the fight this morning. Yes, just as NaNoWriMo begins with an exultant dawn with trumpets blaring, and energy crackling. What an early morning anti-climax to motivation to have the PC not even get past the memory check.
I will soldier on though, this is what life is about right? Writing is like this. We give our characters a challenge, and then throw a few problems at them to see how they get around it. Obviously my author has decided to toss rocks at me instead, thanks, but I'll get through it. I still have my laptop, even though I despise it. It's awful for word processing because I can't stop my thumbs from dragging across the little doodle pad thing and I'll notice I've moved the cursor two paragraphs up and am now inserting new text into it - makes this an editing nightmare. I'll have to figure out how to disable the scribble pad, but I'm too lazy or just can't be bothered and decided to just suffer it which is dumb really because who needs that frustration? Certainly not me, nuh-uh no way.
So, I've decided to go with my children's book which is something of a Mozart/Little Man Tate meets Harry Potter/Matilda, of course having just finished HP(and Matilda as I've been chapter reading it to SassyFace) has inspired this decision, but I have been working on it for about six months off and on. It came to me in a dream to be honest, just a boy, his Sassy-face-esque attitude and his name; Garfalo Crummie. I don't know why but I love this name, and how neat it came to me in a dream! That's like Kismet that is, it'd be a sin not to use it.
So I'll probably be ink-n-papering a lot of the story and then typing it until I stroke out from frustration on the laptop. It'll Garfalo, his Mom, a good guy, a bad guy who may be Garfalo's dad or uncle or something but certainly a blood relative (I feel torn about this because I don't like dead mother stories and so don't want to write a dead Father story because that would be hypocritical, but JKR did it with perfection, Harry's Mom died in such a noble, brave way that I accept it completely. It's not like she just died and everyone forgot about her. If I could get that to work, I'll do it.)
Now, on a positive note, I've been doing lots of weights exercises concentrating on the supportive muscles around the breasts. Pectorals, shoulders, traps and upper arms. Can I just say that two months of effort has made a shocking change. I'm sporting a top rack, let me tell you! And as much as I'd love to show them off in all their glory, because my pride is deep, I'm not going to. But I pass the pencil test now - that's all I'm saying, and I've not been able to do that since....ever. I once was able to hold a desk sized stapler under there. I've now got perky. I hop about singing the perky song and dancing the perky dance.
Awright Garfalo, it's just you and me for the next four weeks.
***Edit - Shorty is learning her colours. She was going through a box of markers and pulling each one out and announcing its colour to my hearty approval and applause, when she picks up a turquoise marker and shouts "Look Mummy, look: A Tortoise! Tortoise Mummy!"
Aren't kids great.