Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 1

Ms. Wildstar sits primly on the edge of my container of paperclips and rubberbands and clears her throat. “So, She Who Taps the Keys, I hear you’re doing this NaNoWriMo thing again.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“The flyer you threw down at us last week. You know, the one with thirty questions and the scrawled note to elect someone to ask them. Now I see why you type all the time. It took three of us to decipher your handwriting.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. My handwriting sucks. I freely admit it.” I rub my hands together. “So what’s the question for day one?”

“We all know you’ve done this before, but go ahead and tell us just how long you’ve been insane.” She coughs. “I mean, how long you’ve been participating.”

“This will be my sixth year. I’ve made to 50k every time. It will also be my fifth year coaching students through the Young Writer’s Program and my third year as a Municipal Liaison for my local region. I stay very busy during November.”

“We know. We hear you. Clickty-clacking all freaking morning. And talking to yourself. Do you even realize you do that? And would it kill you to get take a shower and get dressed before plunking down in front of that thing for hours?” She jabs a finger at my laptop.

“It might.” I glare at her. “I think we’ve have enough of this little interview for today.”

November won't be quiet

November has usually meant a silent blog for me due to NaNoWriMo taking over my life, but not this year. No sir. My host of discarded characters have decreed that they'll not sit quietly and be ignored.

Frankly, they've been rather secretive lately. I don't trust them to sit quietly and I certainly don't dare ignore them.

In hopes of flushing out what's going on behind the paper piles, I've devised a project that will keep them busy and, in theory, allow me the chance to flush out a few clues as to what their up to. Wish me luck.

Stay tuned for Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews. Coming Nov 1.

Victims of the Knife: Grief and Zombies

Ms. Wildstar looks around cautiously. "Did you hear that huge whoop last night?"

Nekar nods. "I think it's safe to say she finished the rewrite."

"That means we're not going back in, are we." She sits down on a stack of paper and rests her chin on her hands. "We're stuck here while Xander is off having fun."

Nekar pats her shoulder. "Don't worry. I hear she might be working in the sequel during NaNo. There's still hope for us. Besides, you wouldn't like Xander now. He's older and only has a few speaking lines. He's not even the same man...err...boy."

"She rewrote him? My Xander?" Tears roll down Ms. Wildstar's cheeks. "I'll never see him again. We had so much fun together--searching for discarded technology, feasting on fantasy "food", acting out that cut scene where Ms. MC got to dress up and then she and Mr. MC when to that fancy party and then they-"

"I think we both know what happens next and I really don't need to hear the details. You're half my age for goodness sake. You know how long its been since I got to be in a scene like that? Four drafts ago. At least. You do not want to get me aroused."

Ms. Wildstar sniffs. "You really think there's hope we might get into the sequel?"

"Uhh, no. Not a chance." Nekar laughs.

"But you said there was hope."

"I was lying. I do that. But we might end up with some new friends."

"Wait, did you say NaNo was coming?"

"Yes, but if she does go with the sequel, I doubt we'll end up with NaNo zombies this year."

"But if she doesn't..." Ignoring the threat of paper cuts, Ms. Wildstar grasps the edge of her seat in white-knuckled terror.

"We'll need weapons." They run off toward the tower of precariously balanced paper wads as if the zombies are already at their heels.

The weasels have arrived

As NaNoWriMo season approaches Rippy McWeasel, our region's mascot, and I have been busy screening weasel recruits. These wily little creatures must have what it takes to become rabid cyborg attack weasels, hellbent on keeping writers in line during the November writing frenzy. It's not an easy task to keep a distracted writer on task. So many gadgets, and that darn internet and "just one more thing before I open up my WIP file". Shiny chickens, jobs, obligations, families, all those things that get in the way of writing time. Well, these weasels will have none of that. They must be heartless, able to withstand sobbing and ranting, pleading, rationalizations, deals one made with ones self, and downright bribery.

It's not every weasel that is prepared to become one of Rippy's elite rabid cyborg attack weasels. No sir. It takes years of training. That's why most weasels must take on cyborg parts to keep going after their natural lifespans would have taken them out of action. Yesterday, this first batch, stood on their stubby little feet for hours while Rippy instructed them in the ways of keeping writers in their seats.

To begin their field training, these weasels will be sent out into writer's homes this November. They will experience a NaNo and all that can distract a writer from writing 50k in thirty days. And in December, they will have either proven themselves worthy or slunk off into the shadows to live in shame.

So if you're contemplating NaNo this year, sit down and write your 50k. You wouldn't want to condemn one of these little creatures to failure, would you?

Victims of the Knife: The Storm

Ms. Wildstar looks up from her dinner of fantasy novel cast off generic "food" and grimaces. "Is that thunder?"

Xander cocks his head a listens for a minute. "Hail?"

Nekar shakes his head. "She's writing again. About time. Just be glad she's on the laptop and not that old keyboard that sounded like a herd of elephants on speed."

"What are elephants?" asks Xander. "Are they similar to those gun-toting camels we heard about in the interview with Marion Sipe?

"No. Nevermind. I forgot you were from another planet."

Xander sets is plate on the ground. "So are you."

"Yeah well, I've been around a lot longer than you." Nekar picks up one of the freshly fallen paper wads. "Anyone see any new discarded food scenes? I'm sick of this bad food joke crap we've been stuck with for months."

"I haven't read much of it yet. The wads keep falling. I almost got crushed by a 3k pile of words yesterday." Xander looks up warily. "Anyone find any armor? Maybe a helmet? I don't care if its fantasy or sci-fi, as long as it protects my head."

"Nope, sorry," Ms Wildstar says as she finishes off her meal. "It's mostly been arguments and heavy paragraphs of character thought. I think I found a ration bar if anyone wants one."

Nekar shakes his head. "I'm not that hungry." His eyes grow wide. "Xander! You're fading!"

"YES!" Xander performs a double fist pump, full on mentos grin and leaps into the air. "Our gracious and wonderfully talented writer has found a role for me in the rewrite! I'm back in!"

Nekar hurls a paper wad at Xander as he vanishes. "Suck up."