(Photo: October - Inn of the West Wind Cafe, Westport, Wa)This week I’m gearing up for National Novel Writing Month which starts at midnight 1 November. It will be my third year participating - third novel! Back in the old, old days (We’re talkin’ ‘70s.) when it was a stretch for me to write a twenty-line poem, the notion that I would be writing even the shortest novel would have been inconceivable. My University of Washington poetry professor, David Wagoner, would continually urge, “Three more lines, Ms Tierney!” whenever I presented him yet another, precious, tiny, constipated poem. I know he despaired of me ever breaking past that impervious twentieth line.
I have now written three novels complete to first draft stage and have two more in the works. (I’ve learned it’s easier to write two at a time than to slog along on one - if I get stuck, I bounce to the other for a while until I get unstuck. No writer’s block problems here!) Without NaNoWriMo I’d still be plodding along one agonizing word after another, accomplishing very little and hating every frustrating false start.
If you have ever thought you’d like to write a novel but haven’t managed to get off the dime, considering taking up the challenge this year! (Link under "Delights"over there to the right.) How it works: You have exactly one month to write a fifty-thousand word novel, writing like the wind without looking back - no rewrites, no concern over type-os, no procrastinating! You pull up a pot of coffee (or ten) and write like a maniac under the gun. The only thing that counts in the challenge is the word count. (You paste your production into the web site and their word counting wizard thingy does its job - no human reads your work - it’s all handled in Cyberland.) By focusing on word count - not sense or quality - you gag your inner critic long enough to actually produce something.
You’ll find that once you are in flow a magical thing happens: zillions of ideas come flying out of thin air into your noggin! It’s exhilarating, liberating, heady. There is no feeling like it except maybe jumping out of an airplane (Or so I imagine, being too chicken to actually jump out of an airplane.). For shear thrills I highly recommend writing a novel in a month.
Oh, did I mention it is a competition? And bragging just a little bit, Seattle is the defending champion, having logged the most words two years in a row, beating the authorial pants off the entire Rest-of-World, including London, Los Angeles, and New York! (Could Seattle's coffee addiction have something to do with it? Hmm...) So, bring it on Rest-of-World, we’re goin’ for the gold!
Now for the second to the last episode of RV-GO Down to the Sea (Last year's NaNoWriMo novel.):
Whoever had done the honors with the duct tape had taped not only my wrists but over my fingers like a uni-mitten. Too bad they had not been smart enough to do it behind my back. I dug around with my teeth trying to find an end I could grab. It was stuck down firm and tasted poisonous but I figured that under the circumstances I was willing to risk being poisoned - or pulling out a filling. I worried the tape like a terrier, knowing I might not have very long for the project.
Less than I thought - the hatch slammed open, light blinding me as one of the men threw a switch and the boat banked starboard.
“Make sure the bitch is not going anywhere while I get us out of the harbor,” yelled Eddie Singer.
I lay still and pretended to be unconscious. There was no telling how long I could pull that off until Kyle, who was stomping down the ladder into the hold, figured out that I was awake. The longer he went on thinking I was out the better. He might leave me alone. Or he might not. I didn't know what lengths this guy might go to to amuse himself. Maybe kick me around - or something worse. I wondered what Eddie wanted him to do - kill me? I didn't think Kyle was the type. Probably Eddie wanted him to make sure I was taped up better than I was.
I could hear him breathing as he came my way. Could hear him tear off some tape. I chuckled inwardly thinking that Kyle was tearing not cutting the tape - as I recalled a CSI Miami episode when the perp had cut the duck tape instead of tearing, making it almost impossible to link the piece of tape with a particular roll. I must be getting hysterical, I thought. Who cares at this point who matches what? I needed to get free!
“Hey, Kyle, leave that and get back up here!” yelled Eddie from the hatch.
“Make up your mind, dammit Eddie, I can’t do everything! What the hell is the matter anyway?”
“There is a boat coming up behind us. Fast.”
“You think it is the cops?”
“Nah, fishing boat. I can’t make out who it is but he is closing fast.”
“You think he is trying to catch up with us?”
“How do I know, you moron. Get up here! I can’t get us over the bar in this damn fog and watch this clown at the same time.”
Could this work to my advantage, I wondered. Kyle had left the hatch open and I now saw I was about ten feet from a very greasy smelly engine that was working over time to speed the trawler out of the Westport Marina. I shimmied across the floor toward it. I didn't have a clue what I was looking at but I knew that if I could disable it in some way - without killing myself - it might slow us down and buy me some time.
On the other hand they might panic and throw me over the side. Either way I did not have much to lose. I picked a pipe that looked like it was connecting to what on a car could be a carburetor, and I kicked out with all my strength. Nothing happened. I tried again. It bent but it did not break. I still couldn’t get my fingers free so unscrewing things was out of the question. There was a wire attached to part of the carburetor thing. I took aim with my foot, praying I would not be electrocuted, closed my eyes and gave the wire a swift kick.
The engine sputtered and lurched. I fell back on my tail bone as the boat swung to one side and lurched as if going over a speed bump. There was an enormous explosion in my head as I landed. What had I done? The boat was at a funny angle. Had the other boat rammed us? Had we run aground? No way for me to know what was going on top side. My captors were shrieking at each other as I tried to make sense of what just happened.
Which was when I noticed that I was sitting in water. An ever increasing puddle. I hoped I hadn’t wet myself with fright. Then immediately hoped I had because the only other alternative I could think of was the trawler was taking on water.
I screamed. The two on the deck were too busy to care what I was doing. I decided to try to climb the ladder using my elbows to hang on. Oh please don’t let us sink, I prayed, as I put one foot on the lower rung, hooked my taped hands over an upper to steady myself. Then the boat lurched to the side again and threw me off into the deepening water. They were going to abandon the boat. I could hear them talking about the life raft - clearly they weren't including me in their survival plans. I was being left in the hold to go down with the boat. I wondered if I should let the water lift me up as it rose until I could - but how could I swim with my hands tied together? And even if I could wouldn’t the under tow take me down with the boat when it sunk? I was going to drown!
I had no time. I had to get the tape off of my hands. Was there anything sharp around? Nothing that I could see. I again tried to find the end with my teeth. Maybe I could tear it with my teeth, I thought. The water was up to my ankles now. I could not hear the two men any more. They must have bailed out in a raft.
Then above the rushing water I heard another motor. The other boat? The one that had been coming after us! But a lot of good it would do me if no one knew I was on the boat. They would pick up Eddie and Kyle, who would never let on that they had an unwilling passenger.
My teeth found a tiny curl of an end on the tape! Please, please hold, I thought, as I tugged gently. I have got to be patient, I told myself, not get excited. I couldn't afford to lose the end of the tape now that it was starting to pull free. I concentrated on working the end back around my hands, adjusting my grip until I thought my teeth would fall out. Soon I'd unwound about six inches of so and I was beginning to think I might work myself free. If I had just one hand free I could pull myself up the ladder. The boat was leaning over even farther and the water was at my knees. I wouldn't have enough time.
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