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Nature is gross

The Sunday before Halloween, Geoff and I carved a pumpkin. I haven’t carved a pumpkin in about ten years. We carved a basic Jack-o-Lantern face, with gap teeth and turned down eyebrows. I didn’t want the deer that roam the neighborhood to mess it up so I kept it inside until Saturday morning, when I went to put it outside the house. And here’s what I found…

The whole pumpkin was full of this cotton-like white mold. I tried to clean it out and the pumpkin’s forehead started to buckle. Ended up tossing the whole thing and we didn’t have any Halloween decorations for the trick-or-treaters. (Which turned out to be fine, since only one group of trick-or-treaters came all night. Oh well. More candy for me!)

Then, yesterday morning, Geoff found this swimming the breaststroke in the pool…

The picture doesn’t do justice to this insect’s massive size. It was almost three inches long. That’s as big as a hamster! We saw another bug like this a few weeks ago after the heavy rain. That one was on its back, writhing around on the ground in its death throes, and I swear to god it looked like a little alien baby. Anyone know what it is?

NaNoWriMo – am I insane?

I’ve considered taking part in National Novel Writing Month for the past few years, but never took the plunge. This year I’m actually going through with it. The goal is to write an entire novel, of at least 50,000 words, between now and November 30.

This kind of goes against everything I believe in. When it comes to novels, I am a slow writer. My first novel, which I never finished, was in progress from my senior year of high school until a couple of years after I graduated from college. (I joked at the time that I’d spent a fourth of my life working on it, which was true, but also painful.) The one I’m finishing up now has about six years invested in it. In between, during the year when I foolishly thought that novel was “done,” I started another one that I got maybe 150 pages into before I felt like I was really starting to understand what it was about. Then I put it on hold indefinitely.

To make a long story short, let’s just say that for me, writing a novel has never been a quick and dirty affair.

Okay, but there’s also this: I don’t want it to take me another six years to finish my next novel. Now that I’ve written one to the point of “so close to being finished I can taste it,” I feel like I have a much better understanding of how a novel is structured, and of the process I need to go through to get it done. I thought this novel was pretty solid back in 2007 when I “finished” it, yet during revision process, I’ve rewritten almost the entire book. The storyline hasn’t changed, but themes have been pumped up, dialogue has been reworked, the narrator’s perspective has shifted. It’s sort of like how every seven years, the molecules in your body completely regenerate. Over the course of six years (and mostly in the last 14 months), my book has become an entirely different manuscript from the one I started with.

Knowing this, why should I even obsess about the early stages of a novel? Wouldn’t it make a lot more sense to bang it out as quickly as possible—and with as much forward momentum as I can muster—and then take some time to really think about the story, the structure, the characters, and use that quick first draft as the basis for the inevitable revisions and rewrites that will turn it into a real boy?

Maybe yes. Maybe no. I’m willing to try it and find out.

I started yesterday. So far I have 4,271 words. This is brand new, not a regurgitation of anything I’ve written before. I’m not going to go back and edit what I’ve written. The goal is to just push forward. I have a basic idea of what’s going to happen… and by basic, I mean I know that one character is going to get romantically involved with someone, and later in the book with someone else. There will be a love triangle. They all work together in the same office. And, um, that’s about the extent of it. I’m not even sure of the narrator’s name yet.

Worst case scenario, I spend an hour or two each day in November forcing myself to write something that I end up trashing at the end of the month. Even if that’s what ends up happening, I think it’ll be a worthwhile experiment. But as I know from writing short stories, sometimes the coolest ideas come out when I’m not thinking about them at all. Writing a story and not knowing where it’s going to end—surprising myself with the ending— is one of my favorite parts of being a writer. I’m kind of hoping that’s what will happen during NaNoWriMo. Keep your fingers crossed.

Scribblenauts, as reviewed by me

Adventure Gamers has just posted a feature I wrote about Scribblenauts, a unique game that released this fall for Nintendo DS.

I don’t really remember the big uproar Scribblenauts received at E3 this year. I was closed up in a small meeting room most of the time demoing Telltale’s Tales of Monkey Island, which had made a surprise appearance at the show, to the shock and amazement of pretty much everyone. (The fourth episode releases today, btw!) But when I returned to reality at the end of the week, I started hearing about this incredible game—positioned as an “emergent” game by its developers, 5th Cell— that would allow the player to conjure up any object they could think of, to solve puzzles. It sounded like Harold and the Purple Crayon meets Zork meets a game I can play lying on the couch (which is my favorite type these days), and my interest was piqued.

At Comic-Con and PAX I tried to get a look at Scribblenauts, but at both shows the crowd around the demo kiosk was so thick, I decided to be patient and wait for the release—which I would devour as soon as I possibly could. So of course when Adventure Gamers offered me the opportunity to cover the game, I jumped for it. (I even shelled out my own money since a review copy wasn’t available—that’s dedication!)

The game arrived in the mail while my parents were visiting, and thinking my mom might be as intrigued by the unusual premise as everyone else in the world seemed to be, I started playing it with her. We got through the tutorial, then the first few stages, then we hit a stage where the instructions were utterly vague. Maxwell was at the beginning of some sort of race, and we had to figure out how to speed him down the ramp so he could perform a jump and cross the finish line. We tried a bicycle, then a motorcycle. Rather than speeding gracefully down the ramp, he slowed down until he did a somersault and anticlimactically came to rest before hitting the jump. We tried sprinkling motor oil on the track to make it slippery. We tried equipping Maxwell with a jet pack. After a bit of tinkering, my mother turned to me and said, “Do you think this is fun?” She clearly didn’t.

I picked it up again later that night, flying solo this time. I finally managed to win that race but I have no idea how. A few stages later, I got some giddy pleasure out of knocking down a stack of milk bottles by dropping a hippopotamus on them and thought maybe that confusing level had been a fluke. Maybe I’d get used to the hard-to-handle controls. Maybe after a bit more time, I’d understand what made this game so brilliant, it had the press all aflutter at E3 and beyond.

Or maybe not.

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