NaNoWriMo. Or the month I die.

Who is here is doing the insanity of Nanowrimo (national novel writing month)? I complain so much about it every year, and every year I wonder why on earth I am putting myself through this. But then I get to the end of the month, and realize how much satisfaction comes from completing a novel, or at least getting 50,000 words on it.

Yes. I am doing it again. Hopefully with less complaining this time.

Though I am not sure how I will stuff work, writing 50,000 words, and general life into 30 days. I would like to meet the person who started all this and ask a few pertinent questions. Such as why couldn’t we write a novel in January or something? Ya know, where there is an extra day to get the words in? And no holidays to compete with?

Anyway. This year I went all out and made a playlist for my novel. Wow. I am motivated.

I am also, kind of sort of, breaking the rules… I won’t be starting a new novel. (oops) Nope, I am starting in the middle of a draft and writing it all the way to the end.

Why? BECAUSE LAST YEAR I ONLY WROTE THE FIRST HALF. Yup. Last Nano I wrote 50,000 words and ended up just under halfway. Can I lay down and cry now? This book is going to be a monster. It already is a monster. This year my goal in life is to complete the thing that has leeched upon my heart and soul for years now.

No I don’t hate my novel, why do you ask?

Because this is a new year, and a new possibility of finishing my novel, I decided to give it a real title, instead of the work in progress title I had for so long. (Valai is boring, okay?)

I am pleased to announce the name for my novel is…

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(what, did you think I would tell you right away?)

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Sunlight on the Peaks

For a long time I thought fantasy novels had to have titles that included the setting of the novel. 100 Cupboards, The Two Towers, or something like that. Then I decided that I didn’t care (story of my life).

If you are interested, you can find the pinterest board here.

Happy Writing! (or at least don’t pull all your hair out)

Shaina Merrick

The Story of My Life

Warning. Introspective post ahead.

My entire life revolves around story. The stories I tell others, and the stories I tell myself. From the time I was little, I was telling myself stories. The settings changed, and the side characters. However I was always the main character, the one setting things in motion and leading the plot forward.

It was, and is, second nature to create a story about my friends and I. Or about strangers. I watched people in the parking lot and made up lives for them, and places for them to go.

When I got older, those stories tended to take a romantic bent. It was not uncommon for me to make up a love story between two friends, two strangers, or more often between a friend and myself. Sometimes those stories were just for fun, an exercise in imagination, sometimes they were more serious. I made up a story because I wanted the story to happen.

All of the stories that I thought up for my life, then and now, they have all been upended. The story I am living out is not the one I dreamed up so long ago.

Still single. Who would have thought? Not me. Perhaps there was a friend who foresaw my lack of romance, but I didn’t. My family didn’t. And now, I don’t know what to think of it. The story writer, surprised by her own story. A year ago I would have laughed at the thought of me being surprised by anything. I found stories and patterns in the ring of a bell, in a robins twitter. Yet I can’t find them in my own life.

What kind of story is being told in my life? I still haven’t decided whether I am living a comedy or a tragedy. Perhaps it is a piece of literary fiction, beautifully written but sitting on a dusty shelf.

I haven’t decided what it is yet. But do I get to decide the story? Or is it merely my circumstances that decide it for me? I can make all the fuss I want, but a relationship is not entirely up to me. Other people will help decide that. (unless I go all psycho and kidnap someone, but that would just be weird.)

Do any of us really know what our story will be beforehand? We can make all the plans we want, but in the end, our story follows along different paths. A death of a family member, a wedding, or an unexpected opportunity all play into our stories. It is not as clear cut as at least I thought it would be when I was young and staring into the night sky.

And it isn’t even over yet. I have the rest of my life in front of me. At least 50 more years of living and laughing and adventuring. I have plans and hopes, but who knows what will happen in that time.

My story is still unwritten, for the most part. I am curious to find out what the rest will be.

Shaina Merrick