National Novel Writing Month and I'm hoping to do just that - write at least a 50,000 word novel in a month.
This is the first time I've attempted this feat and I'm hoping that I can accomplish it and "win" NANO (to "win", means that you finish) which would be a massive accomplishment.
For me, the hardest part about writing a novel is getting the words out quickly, which means getting them out before I start obsessing over grammar and mechanics and spending an hour or two on one sentence or paragraph. Writing it hard work - really hard work - but it's work that I enjoy and I'm really committed to this new novel.
Before you ask, no, I haven't given up on my other novel by any means and am still working on it, although it's been on the back burner ever since we decided to switch the perspective again. This project is different in that its subject matter is based loosely on several experiences that are very personal and dear to me and to others I'm close to. I'm writing this novel for many reasons but primarily because I can't not write it - it's inside of me and wants to come out and has decided that now is the time.
I'm not good at writing pitches - that's something I really need to work on - but I had to write one when I signed up on the NaNo website so I thought I would end with it:
Those Who Remain Behind
by Ali K. La Pointe
When a teenage boy dies in a cabin fire, the lives of three woman - his mother, his girlfriend, and his teacher - are aligned in grief. But when the funeral is over and each woman goes her separate way, she finds that in the days that follow, she is not alone.
Those Who Remain Behind is the story of a boy trying to find his way to the afterworld and the woman who just can't let him go.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Pinkerton's Birthday
Tomorrow is Pinks birthday; she was born on Halloween but like me, she does not enjoy dressing incognito nor does she appreciate being approached by costumed folk. She does, however, enjoy a party (as does her mother) so we're throwing her one tomorrow.
It is going to be a good time for our little family: we are foregoing the traditional pumpkin-and-ghost motif, opting instead for a Pagan/Autumn themed party, which I'm thrilled about because it means no decorating or entertainment except for perhaps spreading a little pixie dust and the strains of Witchy Woman playing in the background. There will be games: Matt will no doubt challenge her to a rousing game of laser pen tag and when needed, I will open and close the hall closet door as she bats her black twist tie underneath it and then tries to retrieve it.
Birthdays are special; now that Matty and I are married, we are going to start infusing a few traditions into our little family dynamic and what better time to establish the first one than birthday time?
Birthdays are the one day a year that it's perfectly suitable for one to take complete ownership of the day: if Pinks wants to sit in the window for hours chirping spells to the black cat who has taken to crossing her path, well, that's just fine with us.
I believe in tradition but only when it's agreed upon and believed in, which is why I feel it's important for new families to affect their own customs and not just continue the traditions of others for traditions' sake. So, having said that, here are the ones we will put into action tomorrow:
1. Birthdays must be celebrated on the birthday itself, not on the weekend before or on the weekend after.
2. The birthday girl or boy gets to choose how she or he wants to spend the day and calling in sick to school or work is absolutely an option.
3. Birthday girls and boys will receive one substantial birthday present instead of a myriad of small gifts and when it is "first bicycle" year, the bicycle appear fully assembled at the foot of the bed before the aspiring cyclist awakes.
4. Birthday cards are not optional and must be signed with more sentiment than "Love, Matt"
(er, um, that was just an example, folks...)
5. Birthday girls and boys may begin talking up the upcoming birthday beginning on the first day of the birthday calendar month, i.e. on June 1st each year, I get to start saying "Guess how many days until my birthday" as many times as I want.
6. There must be a family photo to commemorate each birthday, each year.
7. Angelica Pinkerton is allowed to play with any toy of her choosing on her birthday, including all Ticonderoga pencils, hair clips, twist ties, bobby pins, closed safety pins, etc. - i.e. all of her favorites that her father usually takes away from her.
So, What's La Pointe of It All? It's this - I believe that birthdays are what we get in exchange for growing older which is why tomorrow we will be celebrating Angelica Pinkerton's first full year of life with the first of many La Pointe Family Birthday Bonanzas !
It is going to be a good time for our little family: we are foregoing the traditional pumpkin-and-ghost motif, opting instead for a Pagan/Autumn themed party, which I'm thrilled about because it means no decorating or entertainment except for perhaps spreading a little pixie dust and the strains of Witchy Woman playing in the background. There will be games: Matt will no doubt challenge her to a rousing game of laser pen tag and when needed, I will open and close the hall closet door as she bats her black twist tie underneath it and then tries to retrieve it.
Birthdays are special; now that Matty and I are married, we are going to start infusing a few traditions into our little family dynamic and what better time to establish the first one than birthday time?
Birthdays are the one day a year that it's perfectly suitable for one to take complete ownership of the day: if Pinks wants to sit in the window for hours chirping spells to the black cat who has taken to crossing her path, well, that's just fine with us.
I believe in tradition but only when it's agreed upon and believed in, which is why I feel it's important for new families to affect their own customs and not just continue the traditions of others for traditions' sake. So, having said that, here are the ones we will put into action tomorrow:
1. Birthdays must be celebrated on the birthday itself, not on the weekend before or on the weekend after.
2. The birthday girl or boy gets to choose how she or he wants to spend the day and calling in sick to school or work is absolutely an option.
3. Birthday girls and boys will receive one substantial birthday present instead of a myriad of small gifts and when it is "first bicycle" year, the bicycle appear fully assembled at the foot of the bed before the aspiring cyclist awakes.
4. Birthday cards are not optional and must be signed with more sentiment than "Love, Matt"
(er, um, that was just an example, folks...)
5. Birthday girls and boys may begin talking up the upcoming birthday beginning on the first day of the birthday calendar month, i.e. on June 1st each year, I get to start saying "Guess how many days until my birthday" as many times as I want.
6. There must be a family photo to commemorate each birthday, each year.
7. Angelica Pinkerton is allowed to play with any toy of her choosing on her birthday, including all Ticonderoga pencils, hair clips, twist ties, bobby pins, closed safety pins, etc. - i.e. all of her favorites that her father usually takes away from her.
So, What's La Pointe of It All? It's this - I believe that birthdays are what we get in exchange for growing older which is why tomorrow we will be celebrating Angelica Pinkerton's first full year of life with the first of many La Pointe Family Birthday Bonanzas !
Thursday, October 29, 2009
This is SO Weird...
Hey gang -
Sorry I've been MIA the past few days - I'm trying to flesh out some ideas for a new novel; I've been caught up in memory and researching details and staying away from other thoughts.
Don't fret - I will be back tomorrow no doubt but until then, here's a freaky story I read this morning on CJane's blog (She's NieNie's sister and a fab blogger). It left me with goosebumps so I can just imagine how she felt experiencing it! Check it out but don't forget to return to La Pointe of It All tomorrow!
http://blog.cjanerun.com/
Sorry I've been MIA the past few days - I'm trying to flesh out some ideas for a new novel; I've been caught up in memory and researching details and staying away from other thoughts.
Don't fret - I will be back tomorrow no doubt but until then, here's a freaky story I read this morning on CJane's blog (She's NieNie's sister and a fab blogger). It left me with goosebumps so I can just imagine how she felt experiencing it! Check it out but don't forget to return to La Pointe of It All tomorrow!
http://blog.cjanerun.com/
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Fried Freedom
Did you watch Oprah yesterday?
Ok, so it's true - as much as I trash talk Oprah, I must admit that this season has been pretty awesome: consensual incest, Mike Tyson, Copenhagen, the Mermaid Girl (R.I.P), and what could be the answer to my future happiness - fried PBJ&Banana sandwiches.
I've been DVRing the show each day and watching it either with Matty while we eat dinner or while I wait for him to come home for dinner. Yesterday, I watched it while I was making dinner (a whole wheat crusted 3 cheese pizza, NOT out of a box or the freezer) and I was struck by this dude who admitted that yes, he had up and quit his full time job in the computer field to instead spend just THREE weeks a year selling fried PBJ&Banana sandwiches at the Texas State Fair.
I was gobsmacked - he traded approximately 1840 hours of work (I factored in 6 weeks vacation to give the guy a break) for three weeks at the fair. Now, even if he worked 24 hours a day for all 21 days of the fair, that would still mean he gained 1340 hours of his life back.
1340 hours of life. I can't fathom that - I commute 400 hours a year; add those house to the hours I spend at work, grading and planning from home, and conferencing with kids, and I work about 2600 hours a year, plus the 500 or so hours I spend tutoring: over 3000 hours a year. If I worked his 21 days at the fair, I would gain back 2500 hours of my life.
That's ridiculous - 2500 hours to live, love, laugh and be happy. To write, think, read, and reflect. To visit, travel, organize, and relax. I can't imagine how lovely life might be if I owned the hours in my day instead of owning a very small stock in them.
A tiny, tiny bit of stock.
What's La Pointe of It All? Well, I guess it's that I need to figure out what delicacy I can turn into deep fried deliciousness so I can get my ass to Texas for those three weeks each year and then, well, kick off my boots and enjoy some deep fried freedom.
Ok, so it's true - as much as I trash talk Oprah, I must admit that this season has been pretty awesome: consensual incest, Mike Tyson, Copenhagen, the Mermaid Girl (R.I.P), and what could be the answer to my future happiness - fried PBJ&Banana sandwiches.
I've been DVRing the show each day and watching it either with Matty while we eat dinner or while I wait for him to come home for dinner. Yesterday, I watched it while I was making dinner (a whole wheat crusted 3 cheese pizza, NOT out of a box or the freezer) and I was struck by this dude who admitted that yes, he had up and quit his full time job in the computer field to instead spend just THREE weeks a year selling fried PBJ&Banana sandwiches at the Texas State Fair.
I was gobsmacked - he traded approximately 1840 hours of work (I factored in 6 weeks vacation to give the guy a break) for three weeks at the fair. Now, even if he worked 24 hours a day for all 21 days of the fair, that would still mean he gained 1340 hours of his life back.
1340 hours of life. I can't fathom that - I commute 400 hours a year; add those house to the hours I spend at work, grading and planning from home, and conferencing with kids, and I work about 2600 hours a year, plus the 500 or so hours I spend tutoring: over 3000 hours a year. If I worked his 21 days at the fair, I would gain back 2500 hours of my life.
That's ridiculous - 2500 hours to live, love, laugh and be happy. To write, think, read, and reflect. To visit, travel, organize, and relax. I can't imagine how lovely life might be if I owned the hours in my day instead of owning a very small stock in them.
A tiny, tiny bit of stock.
What's La Pointe of It All? Well, I guess it's that I need to figure out what delicacy I can turn into deep fried deliciousness so I can get my ass to Texas for those three weeks each year and then, well, kick off my boots and enjoy some deep fried freedom.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Fauxthentic Vintage Tourism
I think I'm on to something - screw trying to earn a living from writing or any of my other passions, I'm going to start a travel company focused on selling a bucolic experience to workaholics who hate themselves and want to feel like they are truly living the good life.
This morning we hopped in the car and headed west to Long Valley to meet up with Erik and Tiffany at Hacklebarney State Park for our 2nd Annual Hike and Drink.
Last year, we hiked and toured wineries somewhere along the NJ/PA border; this year, we decided to meet in the Chester area for some walking and talking, followed by some hot apple cider and homemade doughnuts.
I was REALLY looking forward to the doughnut part and even pumped my arms a bit up the last incline to burn a few extra calories.
Apparently, so were about 200 other people.
When we got to the apple cider/doughnut farm, the fields were parked full of cars - many with PA and NY license plates - and the line leading to the deep fried goodness resembled the one at Disney's Space Mountain back in its 1985 heyday.
The look in Tiffany's eyes spoke volumes: she didn't wake up on a Sunday morning to drive an hour, hike another hour, and not get her reward - she was willing to wait in that line.
Frightened by the thought of it, I slowly back peddled toward the car park and Matt instinctively followed my lead. Although Erik would have waited in the line because he is a righteous partner, he had us to use as an excuse not to and before long, we were caravaning away from the farm and back toward Chester.
That's when we hit the Chester Traffic Jam. Now, I've always known that Route 206 is a crapshoot in terms of traffic - I've been driving that stretch of road home to PA regularly since 2000 and I used to go there often on the weekend to hike and have a scone at Sally Lunn's - but never again will I go anywhere near that part of NJ on a fall weekend.
I'm warning you, folks - stay away from Chester on the weekend because it's become another stop on the Tri-State Fauxthentic VIntage Americana Tour.
That's right - just like New Hope was destroyed in the late 90s, followed by Lambertville a few years later, Chester has turned into a shit show of nostalgia seekers. Tempted by hot apple cider, corn mazes, and a Sunday "Farmer's Market", hoards of thrill seekers looking to find a slice of Rural American Experience - and perhaps a fauxthentic blanket chest or jelly jar - mobbed the streets of this quaintish village this afternoon.
Now, I say quaintish because only one side of the main drag comes anywhere near to being quaint. The South side of the main street is lined with a few attractive shops that appear promising at first sight but upon entering, one is oppressed with the bourgeois stock (yes, you guessed it, Vera Bradley products, mixed with faux Yurman and Tiffany costume jewelry and I think even some Wilton Armetale metal products that if one actually wanted to purchase, one would do so with a 20% off coupon at either Macy's or BB&B. Seriously).
The town has a few nice restaurants, Sally Lunn's scones and clotted cream do rock, and the coffee shop is pretty darn decent (there used to be a kick ass pie shop but no one ever got rich selling homemade pies). The clothing stores are pseudo upscale but geared toward the mom crowd and I don't mean the "Boden mom" crowd, I mean the "my mom" crowd so they are lost on me. While not to my tastes, the South side of the main drag is nice.
The, um, North side however is horrific: each shop is worse than the one before it and the wares sold by each are as moldering as the buildings that house them. Dolls, lawn ornaments, costumes, seasonal crap - ugh. I almost slit my wrists when we happened upon the Doll Hospital (yes, when a doll arm is ripped off in a bout of sibling tug-o-war, some freaks actually take the doll to this place for "surgery". That thought makes me puke in my mouth a little) but I was afraid I might stain someone's Fauxthentic Experience and he or she would sue me.
Because that's the thing about the Fauxthentic Experience - despite its cheesy, borderline creepiness, people prefer it to its actuality. Dude, I remember when a drive in the country on a Sunday afternoon was a routine part of life and if an apple cider/doughnut place appeared, fantastic - the family would veer off and make a 10 minute pit stop. If the fam happened upon a cute village while out driving, great: a lunch stop occurred and then if there was time and availability, perhaps a bit of window shopping took place.
But times have changed. Sadly, what I noticed yesterday was that most of the people stopping for cider or browsing a village shop were looking to purchase something that, unfortunately, can't be bought.
So, What's La Pointe of It All? Well, if you live in NY or NJ or anywhere else with a "Live to Work, don't Work to Live" mentality, please remember that authenticity is a way of living, not a destination.
This morning we hopped in the car and headed west to Long Valley to meet up with Erik and Tiffany at Hacklebarney State Park for our 2nd Annual Hike and Drink.
Last year, we hiked and toured wineries somewhere along the NJ/PA border; this year, we decided to meet in the Chester area for some walking and talking, followed by some hot apple cider and homemade doughnuts.
I was REALLY looking forward to the doughnut part and even pumped my arms a bit up the last incline to burn a few extra calories.
Apparently, so were about 200 other people.
When we got to the apple cider/doughnut farm, the fields were parked full of cars - many with PA and NY license plates - and the line leading to the deep fried goodness resembled the one at Disney's Space Mountain back in its 1985 heyday.
The look in Tiffany's eyes spoke volumes: she didn't wake up on a Sunday morning to drive an hour, hike another hour, and not get her reward - she was willing to wait in that line.
Frightened by the thought of it, I slowly back peddled toward the car park and Matt instinctively followed my lead. Although Erik would have waited in the line because he is a righteous partner, he had us to use as an excuse not to and before long, we were caravaning away from the farm and back toward Chester.
That's when we hit the Chester Traffic Jam. Now, I've always known that Route 206 is a crapshoot in terms of traffic - I've been driving that stretch of road home to PA regularly since 2000 and I used to go there often on the weekend to hike and have a scone at Sally Lunn's - but never again will I go anywhere near that part of NJ on a fall weekend.
I'm warning you, folks - stay away from Chester on the weekend because it's become another stop on the Tri-State Fauxthentic VIntage Americana Tour.
That's right - just like New Hope was destroyed in the late 90s, followed by Lambertville a few years later, Chester has turned into a shit show of nostalgia seekers. Tempted by hot apple cider, corn mazes, and a Sunday "Farmer's Market", hoards of thrill seekers looking to find a slice of Rural American Experience - and perhaps a fauxthentic blanket chest or jelly jar - mobbed the streets of this quaintish village this afternoon.
Now, I say quaintish because only one side of the main drag comes anywhere near to being quaint. The South side of the main street is lined with a few attractive shops that appear promising at first sight but upon entering, one is oppressed with the bourgeois stock (yes, you guessed it, Vera Bradley products, mixed with faux Yurman and Tiffany costume jewelry and I think even some Wilton Armetale metal products that if one actually wanted to purchase, one would do so with a 20% off coupon at either Macy's or BB&B. Seriously).
The town has a few nice restaurants, Sally Lunn's scones and clotted cream do rock, and the coffee shop is pretty darn decent (there used to be a kick ass pie shop but no one ever got rich selling homemade pies). The clothing stores are pseudo upscale but geared toward the mom crowd and I don't mean the "Boden mom" crowd, I mean the "my mom" crowd so they are lost on me. While not to my tastes, the South side of the main drag is nice.
The, um, North side however is horrific: each shop is worse than the one before it and the wares sold by each are as moldering as the buildings that house them. Dolls, lawn ornaments, costumes, seasonal crap - ugh. I almost slit my wrists when we happened upon the Doll Hospital (yes, when a doll arm is ripped off in a bout of sibling tug-o-war, some freaks actually take the doll to this place for "surgery". That thought makes me puke in my mouth a little) but I was afraid I might stain someone's Fauxthentic Experience and he or she would sue me.
Because that's the thing about the Fauxthentic Experience - despite its cheesy, borderline creepiness, people prefer it to its actuality. Dude, I remember when a drive in the country on a Sunday afternoon was a routine part of life and if an apple cider/doughnut place appeared, fantastic - the family would veer off and make a 10 minute pit stop. If the fam happened upon a cute village while out driving, great: a lunch stop occurred and then if there was time and availability, perhaps a bit of window shopping took place.
But times have changed. Sadly, what I noticed yesterday was that most of the people stopping for cider or browsing a village shop were looking to purchase something that, unfortunately, can't be bought.
So, What's La Pointe of It All? Well, if you live in NY or NJ or anywhere else with a "Live to Work, don't Work to Live" mentality, please remember that authenticity is a way of living, not a destination.
Friday, October 23, 2009
There is a Place...
There is a place in this world -
not a home or a town or a city -
but a place that is larger than us most,
that is a desolate as an empty ferris wheel
or as deafening as an abandoned beach.
It's a place for men but it's full of boys who
live there in a disenfranchised
way by choice; And so they try to win,
but not just for winning's sake, which is why
i love those boys and fashion yellow ribbons
from outgrown futbol jerseys:
an exchange of mesh for flesh, in thanks.
** this is dedicated to my nephew, John Aloisio Affield **
not a home or a town or a city -
but a place that is larger than us most,
that is a desolate as an empty ferris wheel
or as deafening as an abandoned beach.
It's a place for men but it's full of boys who
live there in a disenfranchised
way by choice; And so they try to win,
but not just for winning's sake, which is why
i love those boys and fashion yellow ribbons
from outgrown futbol jerseys:
an exchange of mesh for flesh, in thanks.
** this is dedicated to my nephew, John Aloisio Affield **
Thursday, October 22, 2009
615 Monroe
We used to live in an apartment down the street,
five and a half blocks away, near Sinatra's old place.
It was the 18th place to house my stuff
but it was the first home I'd lived in since Ash Street.
Each square foot was packed with happiness, for a
total of 471 (which included him and me).
We were the first to sit in the living room,
eating from TV trays, lit in the light of the Empire State.
Climbing four flights of stairs with grocery laden arms
wasn't glamorous. Nor were the Guitar Heroes next door.
We found our new home while there in our old
and soon my life was packed and carried back down.
And tonight when I'm full of chat but not awake.
I'll ask him if he remembers the bed that was so high,
and he'll assure me its the one we're in.
five and a half blocks away, near Sinatra's old place.
It was the 18th place to house my stuff
but it was the first home I'd lived in since Ash Street.
Each square foot was packed with happiness, for a
total of 471 (which included him and me).
We were the first to sit in the living room,
eating from TV trays, lit in the light of the Empire State.
Climbing four flights of stairs with grocery laden arms
wasn't glamorous. Nor were the Guitar Heroes next door.
We found our new home while there in our old
and soon my life was packed and carried back down.
And tonight when I'm full of chat but not awake.
I'll ask him if he remembers the bed that was so high,
and he'll assure me its the one we're in.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
