NaNoWriMo: Week 3

As I exit the third week and enter the home stretch on track, I wonder how it went by so quickly. Last Sunday feels like yesterday. And I’ll tell you one thing: The benefits weren’t exaggerated.

I might want to clarify this beforehand: half the week, I was behind, because I skipped a few days. But when I wrote, I wrote. I had inspiration, not time. But my prose was better and less plot-holed than week 2. Not to mention the internet was extremely distracting, and now I’m debted to make several Christmas cards for people out of the state/in Ontario. I also skipped out on a hell of a lot of homework.

But there was something special about this week: I was immersed in the story. The characters, the plot, and for once, I let my imagination write instead of sticking to my mental outline. Sure, my editor might have been a little disappointed, but it can all be fixed later.

I also realized how in need of redemption my novel was, perhaps more so than last year. The whole thing is poorly structured and a bit random. The beginning is uninteresting and slow. But that doesn’t matter.

Because I am falling in love with my novel again.

See, at the end of September, I was pumped for my NaNo. If I weren’t asexual I might have imagined stroking the sexy, sexy book and breathing in its intoxicating smell. But by the middle of October, I was ready to give away some of my characters and make half of them vampires already. And by November, I was barely enthused enough to begin.

But now, I’m ready. I love the novel. The characters have suddenly become interesting and my premise is taking off, and I’m so very happy to be close to be writing the climax.

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NaNoWriMo: Week 2

Suffice to say I have been week two’d.

This is why you are getting this entry on Wednesday instead of on Sunday, when you were supposed to.

This time last year I was absolutely fine. On track. In fact, week three was harder. More on this in a week. Anyway, I wasn’t expecting it to be hard at all. It was going to be smooth sailing, like it was last year, especially since I had gotten rid of the anchor of a literary storytelling device.

Well. I was wrong.

I probably wouldn’t have survived the week without the two write-ins I attended over the weekend, where I had a 3K word buffer which I used up in the first three days. Week two was the week that Theatre decided to become demanding.

My Crew leader, Jam (not his real name), had us meet from 5:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m., and I was lucky that I could walk to school in time to get back.

As it happened, this took time away from my novel. I don’t know why it’s so hard to write from 2:45 t0 5:00, but it is, not to mention I got very little internet time; only enough to update my Twitter feed once and check out the forums. So basically I had no shiny internets time, and I ended up with two non-novelling nights. I had to catch up by almost 3,000 words on Monday.

School was not kind either. I had lots of things to remember to do, which for me is quite a stretch since I have the memory of a five-year-old. With all that stress, I began to feel sick, and my dad’s nonchalance towards nutrition did definately did not help things.

I ended up skipping four theatre rehersals in a row, moving lots of furniture and going out to eat, which ate up my wordcount. Not to mention I didn’t go to either of the write-ins this weekend.

Hopefully the rewards of week three are not exaggerated, because I feel a bit of Writer’s Block coming on.

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NaNoWriMo: Week 1 Report

Basically, this is the worst ever week 1. Not only did I fail at my storytelling device, I was forced into being a panster by God.

The Sunday before NaNo was where all the trouble started. As I was about to go over to my Grandmother’s house for our annual Halloween Party, I decided I might as well get everything ready for NaNo. Memory card, check. Super Awesome notebook in which I will write? Check. Laptop? check. Character bios? Check. Outline? …outline?

So I flipped the house upside down and inside out for my incredibly elusive outline. It seems someone had moved it since our last encounter. I was quickly going into panic mode, when the call for the last train to grandma’s sounded. I went, knowing full well that yes, I might have to become a panster by force this year.

I did. I couldn’t find my story outline. It was November 1st, so I started anyway. I knew what I wanted done, so I went along with it, only to be bogged down by my next horrifying bogger: My narrative device.

This year I was planning on having a Snicket Narration. That plan failed absolutely as it turns out I am lousy at it. With the first two days it felt like an eternity just to keep up the pace, and I only made it a few words ahead every day’s minimum count.

Eventually I got rid of the absolute stylistic suck that was my novel, and instead wrote a more grounded, less heavy-handed narration. I handed over the rest to my good friend SJ so she could edit the whole thing as I sended and wrote it.

Around Thursday I’d started to feel sick. Not the cold kind of sick, just physically unwell. I dragged myself to the computer at seven o’ clock for Thursday and Friday to complete the very minimum word count.

At this point the story gets better. Yesterday, Saturday, I went to a write in for my local county, and got two thousand words ahead of schedule thanks to four hours of uninterrupted writing time. I came home, went to Slackers, and got Stranger Than Fiction and a Bleach box set for dirt cheap. Today I’ll be heading to another County to go to another write-in, where I may add more to me aheadedness.

Oh, and being a Pantster isn’t so very bad after all.

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A S.O. Will Make Everything Better (or So They Say) -Asexuality Post-

It is my impression that many, many sexuals (and some asexuals) buy into the idea that to be happy, one must have a sexual or romantic partner. Relationships are highly pursued in this day in age, but in many cases a person could do without a significant other.

As an asexual aromantic, relationships are a big mystery to me. Why we need them or how they even work is a conundrum I can never quite seem to figure out or understand. People who constantly express the need for such a relationship are fascinating, yet annoying at the same time. Because while I strive to understand sexuality and the romantic relationship, I can’t help but feel like they don’t really need a relationship.

Strictly speaking, it is entirely possible for a person to go without a significant other their entire lives and survive. The body doesn’t need sex or romance, it needs food and water. But then again, it is also entirely possible for a person to go their whole life without clothes and survive, yet that is regarded as one of the bare essentials in life, even though the body doesn’t technically need them. (Note: living without clothes can lead to freezing to death. Leave this task up to the Mythbusters.)

So a person doesn’t need a relationship, but it sometimes seems imperitive to one’s mental health. But society has taught us that you need a S.O. all the time. The world revolves around sexuality. Not deep, meaningful relationships, but cheap love, a totally noncomittal act. And by having an S.O, your life will immediately get better. To sexuals, sex and sexual acts or arousal are almost always a positive experience. But there can be a dark side.

Let’s face it, boyfriends and girlfriends aren’t sex toys. They aren’t someone’s slaves. They have their own desires and needs, and when one’s already stressed, having a person you feel responsible for is not going to lighten the load. S.O.s are more demanding than a normal friendship. They want to be taken out on or take one on dates, spend lots of time together, text, and have many other expectations one might find unreasonable in certain situations.

For asexuals, having a relationship with a sexual is even harder. The complete difference of sexual orientation makes their needs clash (ex. sexual: GIVE ME SEX. asexual: DO NOT WANT. DO NOT WANT.) and to maintain a stable, understanding relationship is a miracle in itself.

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Doctor Who to Film in America? -SciFi Post-

According to the above Doctor Who website, Doctor Who is going to be filmed in America for a bit in an episode I’m extremely excited for.

Not that I’m dissing DW’s British…ness…I just like it when the show acknowledges my country exists. Something about the Doctor saying the name of it makes me squirm with delight. I didn’t mind Daleks in Manhattan, but honestly the lack of truly American actors an current relevance kind of annoyed me. Somehow, I think, writing a story about Manhattan without actually having people from Manhattan on the cast is cheating, since they filmed it in Cardiff, as usual.

Not to mention River Song’s back, meaning that this may be the last we’ll see of her, hopefully (yes I don’t like River Song. Sue me). And even though she’s in this one I have the creeping feeling it will be wonderfully epic. Hopefully.

While we’re on the subject of DW and the United States, I’m hoping that somehow somewhen that Doctor Who will run a bigger ad campaign in America other than on BBC America. Of course, the advertising on that channel does work, but limitedly. I suppose I just wish when I talked about Doctor Who people wouldn’t ask me what it was, because I then end up saying awkwardly, “It’s a show about a alien who travels time and space in a police box” because although it’s true, it fails to capture what the show really is about.

I saw the original article on my twitter feed. If you want to follow me, you can find me here:

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The Conundrum of Social Sexism -Gender Post-

Okay, so I say it’s about gender, but it’s really about sexism. And before either side gets huffy and walks away, let me explain myself.

This isn’t about laws or whatnot. This is, as the title implies, completely social. Most would say ‘reverse sexism’ but in fact, it’s just plain sexism. Sexism is making any judgements based on gender alone.

Men are discriminated against. Society looks down on men that act feminine or submissive. There are not ‘real men’, and it’s where a lot of homosexual stigma comes from in the first place. Because the stereotypical idea of a homosexual is someone who is on flamboyant fire, they are not ‘real men’, and therefore men who are straight but sensetive are automatically assumed to be gay.

Men who have long hair are hippies or lazy asses, men who wear skirts are sissies, men who wear make-up are freaks. In a lot of ways, men are more oppressed than women.

Not to say women aren’t oppressed by this Social Sexism either. Although displaying male dominance is usually cheered upon, as it is looked on well  by feminists, it’s only okay if you look like a woman too.

woman who don’t style their hair, wear make-up, or dress feminine are not really bothered by modern people, but with older and middle aged woman it’s generally frowned upon. They lived in an age of sexual and gender oppression, and believe it or not, our parent’s opinions often have a great deal of influence over our own. (shocking!) Women who dress, act, or cut their hair like men are also assumed to be lesbians, just like men are assumed to be gay. They call them dykes.

I personally hate that word with a passion. I hate ‘dyke’ and ‘faggot’. Those are offensive and rude. Just because a person chooses not to express themselves as the media persists we do doesn’t make them freaks. A favorite quote of mine basically says “people take different roads to achieve success. Just because they’re not on your road doesn’t mean they’ve gotten lost.”

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Since I Have Nothing Better to Talk About -SciFi Post-

Since it seems I’ve had a blackout of asexuality and gender-related issues, I’m going to talk about something I’m sure Charles will like: Doctor Who.

Now, I’m as broken up as any of you over the departure of the Tenth Doctor. I cried, I really did. And I thought Matt Smith was going to be positively awful. After all, David was the Best. And that deserves a capital letter. Anyway, upon brooding myself week after week, trying to free myself from Ten withdrawl (and I was unsuccessful, because I’m an enabler…to myself) and trying not to hate Matt Smith until I was blue in the face, because let’s face it, he looked strange, I finally caught the new episode on BBC America. This is basically a record of what happened:

First 10 minutes: God, I hate him so much. Ten should pop out of that crack and punch him in the face. Amelia’s kind of a cute little girl, though.

10 minutes later: Omg it’s Amelia in a fetishy police woman’s uniform. And He’s helpless! YES! Ffffff- what is that giant worm thing!? Did I accidently change the channel to an Alien marathon?

20 minutes later: You big lummox, of course she’s Amelia…er, sorry, Amy. (A.N: Notice at this point I’ve stopped wishing for his death)

near the end of the episode: A bow tie and tweed? Seriously?

about five minutes after that: How dare you step through David’s face!

Episode end: Oh. Oh god. I…actually sort of…liked it…NOOOOOO!

Anyway, as you can see, I was pretty not fond of him at first. I liked the companions, and the stories were good. But he still is ‘Doctor in name only’ because he’s still got a bit of convincing to do before I think of him as the Doctor and not Matt Smith. However, I can hardly wait until Christmas comes ’round…

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