System Shutdown

Well.


You know that piece of crap computer I mentioned in my post "Holy..."   ? Yeah. It finally quit on me.


See, it took another fall. And the screen broke. THE SCREEN IS BROKEN. I can not navigate the screen. Which means no more Minecraft. No more Steam. No more ANYTHING on that computer.

It is dead. So dead. And it makes me sad.

However...


The day my computer decided to take the deadly fall, I had the thought to back my novel up. That morning, I emailed myself the novel. I don't know if it was fated or if my muse decided to give me a good nudge in the shoulder, but I'm so very glad I did it. I saved 90 pages of writing from being lost forever. I worked DAMN hard on those pages, and I'm more than grateful that I thought to back them up.


In any case, I'm still way behind, so I need to get back to work. Short, distracted post today, cos my head is all funkadelic.

Role Reversal

WARNING: This post contains the "F" word and a whole lot of anger. Tread cautiously if you dare to continue.

Technically I am no longer a teenager. I accept that, I understand that. I have a responsibility to act more mature, more adult in mindset. There will be times when I will fall back on teenage irrationality, rebelliousness, and my old tendency to lash out. That's to be expected; I'm still in a transitional phase.

When you hit forty, you shouldn't be in that transitional phase.

I believe when you've gone past thirty, you should definitely be acting your age. You're not old, but you are older. You've long since passed into adulthood. You should certainly be acting like it.

And despite all this, something is seriously amiss.

Someone in my life, someone who is over forty, is acting like a teenager. She talks about men in her life, how she's falling for them, how some are just so mean about standing her up. 

She talks about them to me. She thinks I should be old enough to listen. I certainly am, but here's the thing; she's not young enough to be complaining to me about them. That's MY job. I'm twenty years old. I'm young enough where man troubles are supposed to bother me, and I'm supposed to tell HER about them. It is NOT supposed to be the other way around. 

My head banging targed.

I get that men can be troublesome. I get that they grate on a female's nerves and psyche SOMETIMES. But for God's sake. Be an adult. Grow up. I'm tired of playing the role that YOU'RE supposed to have. I'm tired of being YOUR mother. I have guy troubles too, but you won't even listen to me anymore. So I don't bother telling you. I've been keeping it bottled up for a while, and although that's natural to me, it's not supposed to be. I've been listening to the man troubles you have for quite some time. And today I finally told you to stop.

You guilt tripped me. You made me feel bad when I told you that I didn't want to be the ONLY adult in the  house. (Of course, I didn't say it that way, I hinted that it was strange to have our roles switched on us.) And you put on the puppy eyes and the sad voice.

What the fuck.

Even you? Even YOU'RE pulling that move on me? When you keep telling me not to listen when others do it, you turn around and use it against me, knowing exactly the kind of effect it has? You would make me feel bad about myself for saying that? What the fuck. 

I had to draw another butterfly today. Because the last thing I said to you was, "It's these kinds of things that make me wish I was just...done." And I wanted it all to be done. I still do, but that butterfly is stopping me. 

But seriously, what the fuck. I still feel like the adult in the house dealing with a teenage mom. I don't know. Is there any way  around this? Is there any way to either A) get the message across and discuss it like two adults or B) just be able to take it and shut up about it? I don't even know. I'm sick of drawing butterflies because of someone else's misplaced teenage tendencies. If you were one of my young friends, I'd understand. But you're not. You're my mother. And you just keep making me feel bad when I want you to act like it. It's not fair. 


Also, I would ask if you are reading this, please don't pass this on to the person I wrote it about. I'm not looking for a fight, I'm looking for a way to express my irritation. I needed to tell someone. I don't need this person to read this. Please be respectful.

Revelations

I haven't played any of the Assassin's Creed games. Why? 

• I can't afford them.
• My computer can't handle them.
• I don't have a game system for them

Guess what? I want them. I want to play them, and I have since my friends Nick and Gabby talked to me about them. I have wanted them more since I got the Revelations soundtrack from Nick. 

Okay that was a bit random. Just a bit.

I got stuck for several days, so if you were watching the count on my NaNoWriMo widget, it didn't change much. I was stuck. STUCK. I couldn't write anything for days. My brain felt gritty and the creases were full of sand particles. (I'm pretty sure this is the way Nick has described it before, so just FYI it probably wasn't my original thought.) 

My brain was brokeded. Kyle would love this, though. 

Then, for some reason, it was suggested that I try new music, and that the Revelations soundtrack would probably be one hell of an inspiration.

Oh. My gosh. That was the kick in the pants I needed.

For those of you who haven't heard it (I haven't finished it yet) I will tell you this; the first few songs I heard sounded like ice and snow. A peaceful ice and snow setting. There was white. There was periwinkle. There was that shade of blue the snow turns as the sun is setting on  a snowy, cloudy day. There was grey. Then it sounded like clouds. Crystal clear and clouds. And then there were some songs that were earthy and warm, the way the ground is at sunset on an early summer day. It radiates warmth, but not burning heat. It sounds so...natural. It sounds all so close to Earth itself. It was so refreshing. It rinsed out all the grit in my mind.

Suddenly, chapter seven was done. Is done. And new additions to the other chapters were coming into place. 

With that came some more roadblocks, but these are much less troublesome. They're roadblocks, rather than mind blocks. I have so much catching up to do, though; my bar stats look like a roller coaster rather than the staircase they're supposed to. 

Out There Questions #1

When I say "out there", I mean questions I'm going to ask "out there" to my readers, not necessarily a strange question.


Okay.


Today I'm going to pose a question (or two) to anyone reading my blog, because it's been NAGGING me. I'm going to do this every once in a while, just for fun and (hopefully) responses.


Here's the situation;


Most girls have guy friends. Most guys have girl friends. There's a barrier between them due to some vast gender differences (guys normally mind hearing about "that time"). Girls get very emotional, that's a fact of life. We all know it, we girls all do it. We get upset and we cry and we need a friend and SOMETIMES, sometimes we need our guy friends. 


SOMETIMES, though, guys do not know how to respond to that. My perception of it is that if a girl is a blubbering weepy mess, guys really want to distance themselves for a bit. NOTE. This is only my perception, and is not necessarily true. This is also not based upon experience, as I try not to blubber to my guy friends, and my guy friends have not made a big deal of my emotional explosions. 


I try not to get too emotional with my guy friends because I truly don't know how they'll react, no matter what they say. No offense, but humans in general will say they will not get bothered, and when the situation arises, it bothers them. Girls and guys alike are guilty of it. 

I didn't dare put up a gender difference cartoon, for fear of being lynched by either gender. 

So my questions are these.


GUYS: When a girl needs you and is an emotional mess, how do you react? How can girls present the problems they have in a way that you'll sit and listen to them (if you're the kind of guy who gets bothered by tears)?


GIRLS: How do you ask a guy when you need help with emotional trouble? How do you want your guy friends to react? 


Please spread this post. PLEASE SPREAD THIS POST. I need/want answers, people! I'm going to post this on Facebook. Share it, comment, can be anonymous or whatever, but please, get it out there! I'm not doing this for shameless promotion, I'm really trying to get some answers. Thanks in advance!

Four Horsemen

There are four people who I talk to every night. They know who they are. I doubt they read this blog, but in case they do, this post is for you. 


I woke up today feeling alright. But as the morning progressed, I was beginning to feel sadder and sadder. I didn't know why. I started talking to a friend and I only felt worse. I hit a block and couldn't say anything. I sat and listened to him (not to say it wasn't worth listening to; he's got things of his own going on, and why turn down the opportunity to let someone get their thoughts out?). I couldn't ask him to reciprocate. Because it doesn't matter that he's my friend, I feel like he doesn't even care. In fact, I'm pretty sure he doesn't. (But that doesn't matter anyway; why should he?) 


So I grew more and more troubled, more angry at myself, more saddened and upset. And then I got an image in my mind.


I saw myself sitting in my shower, the water spraying down, and a knife in my hand. I saw blood on the knife, and it was my own.


For those of you who don't know, I went into the hospital in April because I tried to kill myself. For a month prior, I was cutting myself. I didn't know about the Butterfly Project until I had my first relapse that June. For those of you who don't know what it is, I've posted it below. 

The Butterfly Project:
The Rules are:
1. When you feel like you want to cut, take a marker, pen, or sharpies and draw a butterfly on your arm or hand. 
2. Name the butterfly after a loved one, or someone that really wants you to get better.
3. You must let the butterfly fade naturally. NO scrubbing it off.
4. If you cut before the butterfly is gone, you've killed it. If you dont cut, it lives.
5. If you have more than one butterfly, cutting kills all of them.
6. Another person may draw them on you. These butterflies are extra special. Take good care of them.
7. Even if you don’t cut, feel free to draw a butterfly anyways, to show your support. If you do this, name it after someone you know that cuts or is suffering right now, and tell them. It could help.

I've had a few relapses. I hadn't thought to draw a butterfly. I didn't think I had a name to write in it. Today I remembered four people who I could name it after. Instead of drawing four butterflies, I wrote their initials in one of the four sections. 

I did not draw this butterfly. I just added the initials.

N.G.


K.C.


E.A.


S.K.






I'm sure they don't read this, but it still is a thanks to them. I won't hurt myself today. Not today. Because of them in this butterfly, I can be stronger. This is not to say that I don't have any other friends whose initials belong. There are plenty of people who, if I had enough room, would have their place in my butterfly. But today this one is dedicated to these four, because we're all in a group together. I love this group I'm in. I'm glad I was invited in. To the four who have their place in this butterfly, thank you. 


I'm sorry this post is so dismal. I'm hurting a lot and I'm not sure why. The next post will be better, I promise. 

Melted

Alright. So. I can safely say Matthew Gray Gubler is GORGEOUS. Can DEFINITELY say this. If you don't know who he is, he plays Dr. Spencer Reid on "Criminal Minds".

So much sexy. So much cute. Sorry if I'm drooling.

WELL.


Not only is he absolutely drool worthy, apparently he's too adorable for words in personality. A friend of mine sent me this quote of his about his idea of his perfect woman:


"[she] must love decorating for holidays, mischief, kissing in cars, and wind chimes. no specific height, weight, hair color, or political affiliation required but would prefer a warm spirited non racist. cynics, critics, pessimists, and “stick in the muds” need not apply. voluptuous figures a plus. any similarity in look, mind set, or fashion sense to mary poppins, claire huxtable, snow white, or elvira wholeheartedly welcomed. i am dubious of actresses, fellons and lesbians but dont want to rule them out entirely. must be tolerant of whistling, tickle torture, james taylor, and sleeping late. i have a slight limp, eerily soft hands, and a preternatural love of autumn. i once misinterpreted being called a coal-eyed dandy as a compliment when it was intended as an insult. i wiggle my feet in my sleep, am scared of the dark, and think the Muppets Christmas Carol is one of the greatest films of all time. all i want is butterfly kisses in the morning, peanut butter sandwiches shaped like a heart, and to make you smile until it hurts."


...


...


...


I melted. I MELTED when I read that. I squealed and melted in my seat. Who SAYS these things anymore? This is the kind of thought process girls swoon over, and would take a man in a heartbeat if he said these things and MEANT them. Well, maybe that's just me. But this is too damned adorable, and I am so jealous as to whoever snatches him up. I could very well be his perfect woman. I COULD VERY WELL BE  HIS PERFECT WOMAN. And I know I won't be, but it's still okay to dream a little, right?


Now, I apologize for all the fan girl squealing and drooling and staring. Return to normal begins in three...two...

OH WAIT IS THAT HIM TOO?!

I think this is going to take a while. 

Stomach Ache and Stats

If  you look to the right of this blog, you will notice an image. It is titled NaNoWriMo 2011. This is my word count widget. For however much you keep checking my blog (that's to whoever does) you'll be up to date with my word count. I'm not up to par with the stats (hence why the bar is red today) but I'm slowly catching up. I caught a few snags, mostly with transition. 

: | Normal typing
>:[ Getting close to transition
X[ Transition
xO RAGEQUIT!

As usual, my stomach is acting up. I can't eat for fear that it won't stay down (and what a waste that would be). I'm also too tired/lazy/ill to cook real food for myself, so even if it WILL stay down, I won't get up and cook. I consider myself too busy upping my NaNo stats. Ah well.


I have to pose a question, though. It concerns my story, and I've never had this kind of experience though, so if you have, would you mind sharing a little knowledge?


Situation: You wake up naked next to your friend in bed. You almost had sex the night before, but they fell asleep. How do you react? What do you say or do? What about after?


Yeah...Ciara's got herself into an awkward position. I already wrote the scene and I'm going to continue it, but I need it to be realistic. I'm most likely going to end up changing it, but it would help if I knew what to change it TO. So yes. Please comment if you have any knowledge to impart. 

If We Had Theme Songs...

Life would probably be a lot more interesting if we had themes. I'm sure we've given ourselves our own personal theme songs, ones that seem to fit our personalities, tastes, and desires. As such, I listened to a lot of Celtic music to prepare for NaNoWriMo, and to inspire me in my writing. 

On a spur-of-the-moment search, I found the colours of the tale itself, and I found them in this picture. Go figure.

While I listened, I found my characters. I found my setting. I found my story. Every sound, every note seemed to flow and blend so well, and it formed what I hope to be one of my better tales. So to better help you feel the story and understand the characters themselves, I've decided to dedicate this post to the where, the what, and the who of Dirt Under Her Nails.

THIS I heard over a year ago in my search for beautiful Celtic music. I listened to it again and discovered that it was the perfect opening to the story. If I were making a movie, this song would be in the opening credits.

Alas, this tale is not going to end happily, or so I've come to believe. I feel the end credits are best played by THIS SONG. At this point, I expect her to die. Though this is not her death song, it's far too pretty, far too sweetly sorrowful for an end like hers. This is just the final credits. 

Ciara's DEATH is much more somber, much less tug-at-your-heartstrings sad. I'm still unsure on whether or not she will die, but as far as I know, she's a goner. 

The CLIMAX of the tale is heart-pounding, frightening, and could possibly be quite despairing. Not that this song is despairing, but in Ciara's heart, ths song probably plays when she has to take the final step (or crawl, if I get to that point)

KILCROHANE itself (that's where my story takes place) is a very peaceful little village. I've probably stereotyped the quaint Irish town, but it's exactly what I wanted for the story; quiet. Pretty though.

While Ciara is actually TRAVELLING through the town, this is what would be playing in the background. Kind of an "in her own world, in her own thoughts" tune.

DAVEY'S PUB, now THERE'S a fun place. Always upbeat and exciting, no matter what time of the day or night you happen to find yourself there in. I plan on  having a few interesting encounters here. 

You know the scenes in movies where you've just got a character staring out a window, lost in her thoughts, especially during times of trouble and frustration? This HERE sums it up quite nicely. 

Yes, I've mapped this story out quite nicely, I believe. 

And now to introduce you to the characters themselves.

First, the MAIN main character;

• Ciara Donnelan
• 23, brunette, brown eyes
• Heavy set
• Quiet, but outgoing with close friends

Second (and yet to be introduced) my main antagonist;

• Faelix
• Appears 28, ginger, green eyes
• Tall, built 
• Barbed wire tattoo stretching across the back of his arms, forming a T down his back and down his legs
• Demon.

Third, my second antagonist (recently introduced)

• Etain O'Brien
• 24, blonde, blue eyes
• Short and slender
• Prissy and mean, a bully
• Typical envy of all

Fourth, and quite important, my MC's closest associate (possible romantic involvement? We shall see.)

• Kieran McMirin
• Older of twins, 24, ginger, blue eyes
• Lanky and tall
• Mischevous and exciting
• Intelligent and protective of his loved ones

Well, there you have it. This is the soundtrack to my story. I'm behind on the word count (as usual) so I really need to kick back into gear in order for all this to be worth the organizing!

The Smell of Cologne

Alright. I've been sick again, tired, and also missing my word count for TWO DAYS STRAIGHT. That's why I didn't post.


Today I have something though.


I mentioned my laptop decided to Blue Screen of Death on me. Well someone has been working on fixing it. Now, he's a friend. I'm not necessarily attracted to him. But he sat on my couch, and the couch absorbed his cologne.


Ladies. You know what happens when you smell really good cologne? Know how you go bonkers and just want to steal the shirt of the one who's wearing the cologne?


I think I went bonkers when he left. I curled up on the couch and fell asleep trying to capture that scent. I'm probably going to catch hell for this later. I'm not sure if he reads this blog or not. But I wanted to steal that scent and fill the house with it. 

You know you get that face when you smell it. You know you do.

I can't even begin to describe how wonderful the smell was. I just can't. The colour of it, though, I suspect was blue. It smelled very blue, almost aqua. And that's a pretty colour for a smell. It's refreshing but not necessarily a "clear" smell. It was a misty scent. It wasn't oceany either. Whatever the case may be, it smelled lovely, and when I fall asleep on the couch again, I'm going to find it. And I'm going to melt when I smell it again. 


To the wearer of this cologne, I didn't mention names so you're okay identity-wise. But still, sorry about that. It just smelled really REALLY good. 

NaNo Stressing

I'm waaaaay behind on my stats today. My word count is supposed to hit 5,000. I haven't made it past 4,000 yet. Yesterday stressed me out so much and carried over to today that I never got the drive to work. 

Yup. Me D:

But as promised, I have something for you to read. This is the last bit of chapter one; it's one of the times Ciara (my MC) is going to have a good interaction with others. She's kind of a loner, really,and that might show a bit in this snippet. 

“Another pint, Davey,” muttered Ciara.

Davey's Pub was packed, as it always was on Fridays. The place buzzed with chatter, laughter and the cbinks of glasses on wood. The fans above kept the pub from being stiflingly hot. The dimmed chandeliers and lights cast a warm, cozy glow. Ciara had to admit, she'd known the right pub to go to for a calm, comfortable evening.

Davey, the bartender, filled her glass with Guinness. “You seem to be in fine spirits tonight. Not in a state, are ya?”

“Fancied a night out is all.” She gulped a quarter of her beer.

“Uh huh,” he said slowly. “On your lonesome?”

“Yeah,” she grumbled, “Nobody I know to spend it with.”

“None of your work mates?”

“Not a one, so far as I know. Kieran and Kevin, well, Kieran really, I don't see him outside of the bakery. Aileen wouldn't go near me unless she was forced. Dunno about Maggie though.” She heard a burst of loud laughter, and recognized the mouth from which it came. “Alright, now I do. Maggie's around.” She downed the rest of her beer/

“Aye,” he assented as he filled her glass again, “She frequents.”

“And still manages to get up at unholy hours for work? Bless her heart,” she said in awe.

“Davey!” she heard Maggie cry, “Another black and tan over here! And a pitcher of Guinness for the rest of 'em!”

Ciara turned in Maggie's direction. The “rest of 'em” were Kieran and Kevin, Aileen, Moirin, and Breandan. The entire bakery was gathered in a snug, laughing and enjoying the night. She turned morosely back to the bar. She'd never felt so lonely.

“You'll have to get off your arse and fetch it yourself!” he called back.

“Fine then, I will!” Maggie strode over to the bar as Davey set a pitcher on the bar. She looked over and saw Ciara, who by then was looking forward and acting nonchalant. “Well stop the lights! I wasn't expectin' to see you here, of all people!” She clapped a hand on Ciara's shoulder. “What are ya doin' sittin' here on your lonesome? Come join us!” She tugged her up and nearly dragged her to the snug.

“Well now!” said Kieran, “Fancy seein' you tonight!” He scooted and shooed his brother aside to make room for her, and she slid gingerly next to him.

“I thought I'd have a night out,” she said weakly.

“Well you've picked the perfect night for it! You won't be drinking alone!” He put a quick arm around her. “Hey! Get the girl a sandwich, would you, Davey?” He glanced back at her. “My treat.”

“Not on your life!” she replied, “Davey, scratch that! I'll not be having it!”

“Oh yes she will!” countered Kieran.

“Don't do it!”

“Davey, do it, I insist!”

“Will you two make up your feckin' minds? I've got customers you know!” he roared in reply.

“Go on then,” Maggie said, “Let him treat ya! It's not often a man'll pay for your meal, girl.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Go on, Davey, get the girl a meal,” said Kieran. To Ciara, he said, “Relax, would you? It's no big deal for a friend to treat you once in a while. And I've never seen you here before, so let me take the chance while I have it, alright?”

She responded with a roll of her eyes and a swig of her beer.

As the others chatted, Kieran kept his conversation with her. “So why don't I see you out and about?”

“Can't afford it,” she said, “The flat doesn't pay for itself, you know.”

“Don't I know that,” he nodded. “Ever thought about a flatmate?”

“I keep to m'self, not really keen on the idea of having a flatmate.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Sounds lonely.”

She chuckled. “It's how I like it; quiet and peaceful. But yes, lonely at times.” She stared at the plate that was suddenly set before her. “Do you actually expect me to be able to eat this?”

“What's wrong with it?” rumbled Davey, offended.

“This thing is the size of my head!” she gawked.

The table laughed, and even Davey let out a small chuckle. “You'll be full for the next few days, at least,” laughed Kieran. “Haven't you had a sandwich before?”

“Not like this,” she admitted. She'd never seen one so stuffed. Meat was practically falling out from between the bread. Miraculously, the bread kept it in a precarious balance with cheese and sauerkraut. The height of it couldn't possibly fit in her mouth; it looked as if it would hit the tip of her nose and the bottom of her chin in the same moment if she tried to take a bite. Gingerly, she tried to lift the monstrous thing.

“No, no no, you've got to grab it! Grip it hard and firm, or it'll fall all over the place!”

With a sigh, she snatched it up, her fingers gripping the bread tight. She took a bite (well, half, really, for that's all she could manage) and moaned a sigh of pleasure. She swallowed.

“I do believe I'll be frequenting this place, if only for the food.” The table cheered and Kieran slapped her on the back.

“You'll be pub crawlin' with us, not all on your lonesome anymore, yeah?”

She could only nod, as her mouth was full of corned beef and swiss cheese.

I Feel So Alone

I want someone to ask me why I'm hurting.


I'm sure that's a normal, everyday human thing. Who doesn't want help when they're upset? It's normal. People reach out to others for a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, a hand to hold onto, etc.


So why the HELL can't I?


I feel like I'm a sorry excuse for a being when I'm hurting like this. I feel sick thinking that something as useless as I am exists and would even consider someone listening to me when I need them to. I become enraged at myself, and it makes it all the worse, because then my head and emotions become even more jumbled. Even typing this is making me hate myself for feeling like I need to speak out. I'm posting this in the hopes that NOBODY sees it. 


I'm hurting. I feel so alone. I can't reach out to my friends. Despite being told over and over that it's okay, I just haven't learned how. I haven't learned how to push past this giant mental block. This mental block says "You're such a pain in the ass. You're wasting their time. Look at how happy they are. Do you really want to bring them down? Look how upset THEY are. THEY need someone to listen to them more than they need to be listening to YOU. Look, they have work. They have school. They have lives. They are busy. Do you really want to make their lives more difficult?" I don't know if anyone understands that. I don't know if other people hear that too. I don't understand where it's coming from. I believe my friends. I trust my friends. I know they would do what they could to help me, just as I'd do for them.


But I feel like if I bring it up, it's like they almost HAVE to do something. They HAVE to listen. I don't want anyone to feel like they HAVE to listen to me. 


Some would suggest keeping a journal to vent to. It doesn't help me; because who reads it? Me. Nobody else. Nobody hears my anguish and nobody could realize I'm upset. I sound contradictory. Yes, I want someone to ask. No, I don't want them to know. Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no. I understand that it drives people bonkers when I act so confusing.


All I'm sure of is that I need an ear and a shoulder. I'm not even sure of what's wrong. That is the worst part of all. I don't even know why I'm hurting so much.

NaNoWriMo; Day One is Success!

1713.

That is the number I last put in for my NaNoWriMo word count. I put that in half an hour ago.

I can't believe it. I made it through the first day. 

You know, if I were in my story right now, this is what I'd be doing. At least, if it was suddenly warm and sunny in Kilcrohane...

Okay, I admit, I figured I'd make it through day one. You see, I stay up till midnight on Halloween (like most, if not all, the NaNoers) to watch the timer tick down to zero, then set to writing IMMEDIATELY. I hit 909 at 3 am, and went to sleep because my head was pounding. I took a few breaks today, though, because my head and body are still not cooperating with me. I thought I'd be having dinner tonight, as my grandmother was taking me to a soup kitchen-type meal. Turns out it was closed today, and I told her to drop me off at home, that I wasn't going to eat. (Just a note; last night was my first real meal in 3 or 4 days...if you count half a can of corned beef hash as a meal). I got back, tried to work again, and my body was raging. It had been excitedly prepared to eat, and it wasn't getting fed. I ended up having to sleep it off for half an hour or so, had a few crying fits and panic attacks, and then I got back to writing. I finished the word count with the help of VERY supportive friends and a lot of Celtic music. 


So far I've introduced the hectic life of Ciara Donnelan, my Main Character. The main thing we've learned about her is that she is mostly a LONER, like her creator (yup, that's me),  but the few friends she has, she has a special closeness to them. I can't post a passage for two reasons;

1. I'm not on my computer, where the text is saved.
2. I'm afraid someone might steal it, silly as my ideas are.

Maybe, MAYBE I'll start posting things when I get more into the story. I really should show off what I'm working on, just so that if anyone reads it, there might be disappoint if I don't finish it. Disappointment prior to failure is a great discouragement from quitting. Next time I post about NaNo, I'll be sure to include something.


But for now, I'm going to celebrate my first victory.