I wish I knew others in real life who were participating, so that we could share with each other as we went along. However, no such luck. So, I thought I might share the opening to my story here on the blog. I love getting to read other's work and sharing my own from time to time, so if you're interested to know more about what I'm writing for my Nano, here it is. I'm no 'writer,' but writing is something I love to do so constructive feedback is always appreciated. Here we go:

We were all 19, 20, 21, and 22 and by the end, we were all desperately stuck, but immensely hopeful. We regarded our lives with a sense of chaos and adventure. We surrounded ourselves with our booze and suddenly our adventures stemmed from a source of untapped greatness. However, our adventures were no more adventurous than making a late night black-out run to Taco Bell and managing not to get arrested or kill anybody in the process. 

We were stuck and numb and we grappled for things more intense and legitimate in our lives, though in actuality we wouldn't have been able to put down the bottle long enough to appreciate those sorts of things. The emotions were too intense and raw - the opportunities too menacingly scary and uncertain. Our futures were muddied and precarious, though we never really perceived them as such.

Our lives, though we regarded them as chaotic, actually had a dull routine about them. We woke up, pounding heads ripe with a hangover, clothes smelling of stale cigarettes and the taste of last night's alcohol sinfully on our breath. Our veins felt as if they were still running on the booze and foreign adrenaline, but there was nothing a hot shower and some self denial to mask the self loathing couldn't fix. We would ruminate over the details of the previous evenings events, occasionally recognizing large gaps of time that had gone missing between our first drink and the time we had managed to stumble home and put ourselves to bed on a good night. Sometimes there would only be small spots of time or events that had occurred that were hazy, as if encompassed by a fog with fuzzy outlines. It was the static and noise that consumed our minds on those mundane mornings. 

We'd pull ourselves together slowly, taking in the blankness of our faces. We were doing okay, weren't we? We had been getting along just fine, hadn't we? But even in those moments of forced self assurance there was always a moment, brief and fleeting, where our own ugliness seemed to leech out and consume our features and mind at the same time. We'd recoil and refocus, but the beast from within would have already subsided and re-submerged deep within his dwelling located somewhere unspeakable within us, elusive as ever. It was those brief flashes that kept us on edge, kept us questioning ourselves as we examined ourselves in the mirror each morning. We'd dress slowly and some of us would down the coffee necessary to get through the day. By the end, I had to add shots of Kahlua to my coffee to make it powerful enough to get through the day. I wanted my whole body to buzz and reverberate during the day the same way it did at night. I wanted that same sensation of losing myself and bettering myself all at once. Some of us would give up, sink into a familiar desperation and call in sick - taking entire days to either be productive with mindless chores or lay in bed, three covers deep, wallowing.  

We went to mindless jobs, sat in stupefying classes, or sometimes stressfully alternated between the two of them and just waited for the time to pass. We willed away the day with a characteristic indifference. The days didn't matter. Our work, both personal, professional, and academic, mattered at the most basic level. It was simple, get things done and reasonably well and all will be fine. Getting things done to save face and make money were primal instincts and by the end even that quality of primal humanity in our work began slipping.

The night time is what held the most promise for us, in the beginning and in the end. The night is when we flourished, becoming more unlike ourselves and more like ourselves all at once. We would remove the day, the 9 to 5 versions of ourselves, and put on our 'real' faces. There was no better time of day than when it was time to get gussied up and go out. There was no better time of day than slamming the door behind us after work or school and getting to cozy up to a bottle of wine, a beer, or a few celebratory shots of vodka. There was no better time than when we began to lose ourselves, one mighty sip at a time. By eleven we were out on the town and by two or three we were gone, having obliterated everything about ourselves once desirable or true - our personalities, our memories, and our cognitive function. It was a grand cycle of repetition that we found almost instant harmony with. Most nights, at least at first, weren't rip-roaring escapades devoid of memories or fun. In the beginning, the experimentation felt as ripe and reasonable as our youth. The drink felt obligatory to our humanity - to our fun. We'd laugh, bar-hop, and dance, finally feeling attractive and in sync with our bodies. We'd flirt with strangers and with each other and we'd swear up and down that we'd never felt more alive or in sync with how things were supposed to be. The drink melted away reality with such a malicious ease. It melted away the stress of being 19, 20, 21, and 22. The hangovers, initially, weren't that bad. They were evidence of a night well had, another notch on our belts of how well off and adult we were. In a strange way, the hangovers helped get us through the day. By the end, the hangover was routine and expected. The hangover was us. We were all addicted. 

We were addicted to champagne brunches on Sundays, and margarita specials at lunch, quick martini's during happy hour, and beers during the tailgate, and vodka tonics while trying to warm up to strangers at the bars. We were addicted to and equally fascinated at how we planned our social lives around drinking, at least at first. In the beginning it didn't even seem purposeful. It felt unpredicted and nonchalant, as if our lives just happened to fall into bars and brunches in the most natural sense of the way. Yes, it was all very innocent in the beginning.

By the end, there was no niceties about the way our social lives were constructed. There was no question as to whether there would be alcohol. It went without saying. By the end none of us could fathom showing up to a lunch without having had at least a few drinks to warm up, making the social contact lubricated, drunken, and easy. We couldn't imagine waking up without swelling hangovers, familiar and written off time and time again. By the end, we ceased to bother with politeness. As we descended we submerged ourselves without thinking into a world filled with insidious people and habits. We cultivated an inward and outward chaos perceived only by ourselves and by the very end, we'd stumble around bleary eyed day to day and wonder, 'Can anyone tell?' 'Does anyone notice?' 'Why doesn't anyone see it?" 

So, what did you think? Did you love it, hate it, find it utterly boring or could you relate? Do you have suggestions or inspiration? Are you participating in Nano or do you just write for fun and would like to share? Please do! Oh, and I plan on having a few more of these periodic updates throughout the rest of the month. Hooray.

Hope you're having a great day.

Hey, all. I'm here today to blog a little bit about National Novel Writing Month (or Nanowrimo). I've been a Nano-er since 2008, but have only participated full out in 2008 and 2009. Each and every year, November comes and I have that vague, anxious desire to spend the entire month hammering out a new novel. The itch to write/to compete has never fully left me. However, the latter part of high school and the beginning half of college have kept me at bay. I've always been a bit of a 'writer.' I use the word 'writer' loosely here, so as not to offend actual writers. I just mean that I've always enjoyed writing. I've always had story plots and ideas bouncing around in my head. I've always spent my free time writing, in school, at home, at sleepovers - wherever. Luckily when I was younger I found friends in people who liked to read and write just as much as I. Without them, I doubt I'd still be just as obsessed with writing as I ever was.

For a brief time, English was my major before I decided to switch over to Art/Visual Design. Writing, reading, and English have always had a very special place in my heart. I journal constantly and find myself starting snippets of stories here and there. I even took the time during the summer to sift through my old poetry and gather all the best stuff and publish it for myself.

So, right now I'm in this weird transitional stage in my life where I'm really trying to take inventory of things, activities and hobbies I actually enjoy. Writing definitely is up there and I think the perfect way to get back in to it, is to commit to Nanowrimo for the first time in nearly four years.

Am I scared as can be? Uhm, that would be a 'hell yes.' The task of writing a 50,000 word novel is daunting especially when I have to consider academic, sorority, and other personal responsibilities in addition to writing previously mentioned novel. However, I think that doing this is going to really personally enriching. It's something I want to do, just for myself and that, my friend, is mighty important and powerful.

I have no doubt that writing that much again daily will be a challenge because for the longest time I've been writing kind of willy-nilly whenever I felt the passion or motivation. I'm going to have to approach this month of my life a little differently. Regardless of inspiration or desire, the biggest part of this is commitment - commitment to getting those words down on the page. It's exhilarating to think about.

I'm serious this year. I have a vague story idea in mind and am committed to trying to outline a little bit beforehand so that I have a steady direction for when it's time to start. I'm even considering hitting up a Nano meet-up with people from my region who are participating. I've never known anyone else who has participated so I think that could be really inspiring!

As Nano comes, I'm sure I'll be keeping you all up-to-date with my progress and resources in other posts.

So, are you participating in Nanowrimo or any other personal challenges this upcoming month?

I must admit, I was about five seconds from naming this post "On Being 20 and Confused as Hell," but somehow I managed to refrain and find an equally suitable title. As I may have mentioned before, I write a lot...like a lot a lot. I keep a journal and write by hand. I like to write stories (original stories and fan fiction alike...I know...judge me), poetry and article type pieces. Literally nothing feels off limits.

Often, I like to go back and read through journal entries from the past few months. It is literally the most therapeutic way for me to get a lot off my mind and it really helps capture different time frames in my life. I read it almost like it's a story in itself. I don't journal every day, but I journal whenever I feel like it's necessary. I've captured the most boring of days and the most hectic of times in that journal. I've had it going consistently for nearly two years now.

So, here is a post I re-read recently, written this past spring, and really responded to all over again. I thought I'd share, because everyone has felt like this...right? Or is it just me?

"These small things bind together, latch on to my soul, and debilitate me. I don’t know why I cannot overcome them and I don’t know why I am always so magnificently confounded by the duality I feel in my own nature. I don’t know how to be okay with being several versions of myself on the inside. Some days I desire virtue, academia, and honor and other days I’m no better than anyone else.

“No one knows what they want.” 
“You’re young, you’ll figure out.” 
“Experiment! Experiment! Experiment!” 
“You’re only young once.”  
“It’s okay not to have it all figured out yet.” 
“Who the hell even knows who they are?” 

And so on and so forth…every reason I should not feel dismay at my own conflicting wants and desires and processes and actions. Are they right or are all of the statements just simple justifications for the failures of our generation (and every preceding and subsequent generation) as a whole?

Last summer I went to Governor's School and before we left we were advised to write a future letter to ourself. Our instructor kept them and said he'd mail them off to us sometime in July before we go off to college the next year. A few days ago, I got the letter I wrote to myself.


"Okay, where to begin? Today is 7/9/10 and you're going to be spending a good portion of tonight packing up your dorm. If it's summer now in 2011, you've seen both Harry Potter 7 movies (and cried), you know what college you'll be attending (and are packing for another dorm), Jack will be almost two, and you will be a graduate. Coming upon this Senior Year is scary. Things are changing so fast.

This AGS experience has been one of the best things to happen to you. It's been enlightening. Everyone is so accepting. You learned so much. You met so many people. You never feel left out. People like being around you, they say 'hi' in the lunch line, you play a lot ERS (even though you kinda suck), and everything feels exceptionally right. Going back to regular high school will be like going back into the cave (Allegory of the Cave). You actually feel like a leader. You feel content with life and ahead of the curve. The prospect of future is scary. Change is certain, but you're actually excited and prepared. You miss home, but really don't want to leave.  I hope you lived it up Senior Year.

Callie and I have been talking recently about how fast things change. By the time this letter gets to you I could be pregnant and engaged. I'm sure I won't be...well, I better NOT be (or I'll have to kick your ass), but I'm sure some of your classmates probably will be. Right now you're unsure if you want to major in English or Graphic Design. I know you'll choose what's right though.

Gawd, you don't want to leave. Others won't understand how different you really are. Tonight is the final mixer and tomorrow you are going to work up the nerve to choose paint colors for your room. Oh, and if you haven't done this in awhile, please go look at your writing. Please tell me you finished 'Mary Opal.' Whenever I get home tomorrow you will start writing an AGS novella. Yes, you will. Keep blogging, it keeps you sane. Don't give up. You're really becoming a lot more mature nowadays. With indie/alternative music as the soundtrack to your life: go get 'em. Don't let Stew or school or people get the best of you.

Gah, there is so much to say. This summer has been so memorable. You're special and your talents are appreciated. Next weekend I'm planning to go to Fayetteville to take a tour of U of A and you're going to see Vasu, Chesley, and Casey. They are so like you. Please tell me you've kept in touch. If not, Facebook them right this minute. Oh, and don't forget to ask Melton and your other AGS teachers to be references. Be smart. Don't fuck up college. You're above that. You're smart and strong. Pursue what you want, but be smart. Like Dad says, "It's all about the grind." Get past the grind. 

Time is precious so please live it up. Be assertive, be open to new things and people. If you haven't done it in awhile...meditate. Hopefully you still have Jim Rush's meditation on your iPod. You have an amazing taste in music (don't forget it and don't let the hipsters corrupt you). Always be inspired. Use your intuition. Be intuitive. When you get stressed take a step back. Use your common sense. Be patient (because I know you're not). If you have a boyfriend be kind not clingy. Don't ditch your friends and remember to always be loyal. Loyalty, your word, and trust are essential. 

Take lots of pictures. Write. Read for fun. Take opportunities and be grateful for everything. Are you still forgetful/unobservant? I'm sure you are. You've probably forgotten all about this letter...Hmmm. Don't forget to remember these few things: Callie, gay clubs, maxing out at 124 down the road, hit and runs, the Big Dam Bridge, invest in charcoal, the world cup, Tami Fukui, Josh Hotz, Zach B, The WAC, writing poetry in the Pecan Court, the forgotten room under staples, SLTC, Galloway parties, ERS, investing in a watch, and ELA."

♥
17 Year Old, Future High School Senior Ashlee

I found this lovely journal over at Anthropologie a little while back. It allows you to record your life over a five year span of time. Having this would save me from buying so many of those little leather bound notebooks. I'm absolutely in love and desperately convinced I need this!