Category: Bre Writes Daily

Week Four Updates and Monthly Insights

Here we are in the last week (and last few days!) of November. This month has been quite the creative and productive month with writing and posting on the blog (and other places). I’ve made it through approximately 25% of my novel (I started the plot a little early- more on that later) and I technically won NaNoWriMo with 50,000 words on the 26th.

In these last few days of November, filled with attempting to continue writing my novel, finishing up some blog posts and coming up with plans for December and beyond, I’ve been fortunate to have time and drive to create.

Here’s how I did in the last week:

Day 22: 2055 in 55 minutes

Day 23: 1688 in 42 minutes

Day 24: 1676 in 45 minutes

Day 25:1720 in 40 minutes

Day 26: 1940 in 50 minutes

Day 27: 1774 in 45 minutes

Day 28:1747 in 45 minutes

Monthly Total: 55,281

Here’s what the last week (and the whole month) has taught me:

Focusing on one big project (and one smaller one) boosts word count

In previous months, I’ve attempted to focus on multiple projects at the same time and attempt to get them finished in a timely manner. When I started documenting my time this month, attempting to find the magic, I focused on one project and a few little smaller projects (such as this blog, substack and medium posts). I’ve realized focusing on one big project (like a novel) and one non-creative project, like blogging really is the key to getting things done. In the past Novembers, I’ve mainly focused on one project and done really well on that project. As November comes to a close, I hope I can continue through this novel until the first draft is complete (and of course keep posting updates and other noteworthy items on the blog!)

The first 1000 words of the day is always the hardest

I’ve come to this realization several times over my tenure as a NaNoWriMo participant. From the years that I struggled to make word counts, to the years I doubled my word count and overshot the 50K by double, one thing has stayed the same: The first 1000 words of the day are the most difficult. I’m not sure exactly why, maybe because it’s a big number to attempt to reach, or perhaps it’s all in my head, but to write for a while and only see three digits is frustrating. Everything after the 1K mark for the day comes easy.

Small sprints make big leaps

This month, I’ve tried something new and tracked my writing time religiously. I’ve only written when I have a timer going (usually 5, 10 or 15 minutes) and I don’t let anything distract me during that stretch of time (unless I’m at work and something comes up). I’ve been tracking how long it takes me to get the required word count for the day and I’ve noticed even the smallest amount of time (between 2 and 5 minutes) can make a big difference in word count. 5 minutes for me is around 250 words, which is a decent dent in the day’s count. Even when I feel like I don’t have a full 45 minutes to an hour to sit down and write, several 5 minute sprints can help reach the goal.

Writing takes a community

This realization has come to me once again post-pandemic after it was “safe” to go out in public again. I feel like growing up writing I was always doing it by myself, in the dark of my room after I was supposed to go to bed, or between classes, or on breaks at work. While there is some controversy with NaNoWriMo currently, they do have one aspect right: Writing takes a community. I’m very fortunate to have found my community in my area. I’ve been able to attend write-ins every week and find inspiration with my fellow writers, even if it’s not always in person.

See you in December for more writing updates!

 

What I’ve Learned and Week Three Updates

This November has been a whirlwind of emotions and words. This is not the best November I’ve ever done (I have done crazy word counts in previous years somewhere between 90K and 100K), but it is the most consistent.

I made myself a promise this year to hit the minimum of 1,667 words every day and update every day to make sure I get all the badges on the website. With all of the allegations and drama over on the website now, it seems a little less important now, but I still want that success for myself.

In the meantime, for the rest of November, I’m going to keep writing and forming my own habits. That’s what this month is about first and foremost, finding the magic of a new novel and documenting how long it takes me to get words down and write a book with minimal distractions.

Here’s how I did in week 3:

Day 15: 2311 in 1 hour and 10 minutes

Day 16: 1885 in 45 minutes

Day 17: 1767 in 45 minutes

Day 18: 1704 in 37 minutes

Day 19: 1730 in 45 minutes

Day 20: 1869 in 45 minutes

Day 21 1724 in 40 minutes

Monthly Total: 42,681

Here’s a few takeaways I’ve picked up over the last week.

An outline is crucial

Before the month started, I wrote an outline for the novel. My writing journey has grown and evolved from when I first started at 13 and each project is different, but for the last few years (especially since I’ve been working on an ever evolving series or two), I haven’t been using outlines, I’ve been letting the work surprise me.

For this year, working on a brand new project (for the first time in almost two years), I decided I needed an outline, so from start to finish I wrote down an outline of what I wanted to happen and loosely when.

So far this month, I’ve gone off outline a few times with the first time being super uncomfortable and the next few times feeling more comfortable. My outline is not in the best order, but it helps to know that I can play around with where things are.

For example, my main character wasn’t supposed to interact with her best friend until the 10th plot point in my outline, but there was the perfect place to introduce her earlier so I did. Another example, as I’ve been writing, I’ve realized my main character was too passive, so I added in a scene where she wasn’t so passive.

That’s probably why it took me 18 days to get through the first page (landscape) of my outline.

Also, post-its have been the perfect tool to get through the day and list a few plot points I want to hit, but not be too overwhelmed by the whole outline.

It is entirely possible to write when you think you don’t have time.

There was almost a day this week that I didn’t write at all. I had a busy day with social things and a hectic morning, so I figured I simply wouldn’t write. The timing was weird, I couldn’t sneak away and put a few words down, I was drained and exhausted. I could and did make every excuse, but ultimately, before I went to bed that night, reason kicked in and kicked my butt.

I almost lost a near 300 day streak of writing because I “didn’t feel like it”. I would have lost par of 1,667 daily and my motivation if I had a zero day. It would have been harder to get back into the story that the interest was already flagging on because I’m getting into the muddy middle.

I wrote that night, I snuck in 45 minutes right before midnight and while it was hard to get started, I made it happen. I couldn’t be happier with the results.

There have been several days where starting to write has been difficult, but by the time I reach my daily goal I don’t want to stop.

Getting started has been the hardest part.

Self made deadlines are the best ones to break

One of my other goals this month, outside of writing a novel, has been to blog regularly and post over on Medium and Substack. I have a weekly schedule of when and where I want to post, but similar to the story above, the day was not conducive to any kind of creative work and it just so happened to be when a post was due.

Thankfully, the post was mostly complete, it just needed a few last minute edits. I beat myself up over having a “late post”, but overall the more I thought about it, the more I accepted that sometimes posts will be late or off by a day. The important thing is that I did post and I did keep up my streak. The important thing is I’m getting content out there.

November is for words, December (and beyond) is for editing

This year, my typing skills aren’t quite up to snuff. Currently, I have acrylic nails that are beautiful, but quite dangerous when typing. Autocorrect and acrylic nails are a great combination when it comes to writing a novel, so there are several instances where at the beginning of the month I was erasing and cursing and annoyed, but now I just roll with it.

Now, for ease of time and storytelling, I simply put the offending word (or the word I wanted) in parentheses and keep moving forward. I can edit later, now I’m telling myself the story and getting through my outline.

See you next week!

 

Day Thirty-One: Astonishing

When he opened his eyes and found himself still alive, it was astonishing. His brothers had dared him to jump, told him he would see all the wonders of the world in the three seconds it took for him to hit the water. He had foolishly believed them.

He held his breath and expected to hit the water hard, denying their claims of what he would see. There was no way all the wonders of the world could be seen in three seconds.

When he came up and took a breath, he saw them.

Day Thirty: Energy

She held a different kind of energy like he had never seen or felt before. When the oracles had told him he would know the woman as soon as he saw her, he hadn’t believed them.

But the woman was so magnetic, he knew he would have to go back to the oracles and fully apologize for his foolishness.

“Excuse me!” He said, following her over to the bar, where she waited for a drink. “The oracles told me you would be my destiny.”

She laughed. “The oracles told me you would be my first kill.”

Day Twenty-Nine: Graduate

Graduating is a big deal. We are in the season now where high school seniors are graduating, College seniors graduating from all kinds of majors. Those are huge accomplishments.

Let’s take the time to look at the smaller of graduations. Pre-K graduating to kindergarten. Hospital inpatients graduating to rehab and beyond. Most of these are small steps to most, but HUGE accomplishments to others.

If you know anyone graduating, reach out to them and congratulate them. It might not seem like a lot, but it is a big deal.

Day Twenty-Eight: Chop

The nickname was unfortunate, but only for reasons she knew. To everyone else, it was tough, butch, manly, inspired fear into the hearts of any man that crossed her in the bars and clubs.

Chop. Like Chop Shop, or so everyone assumed.

She didn’t have the heart to tell them it was because her brother had called her Porkchop when they were kids. The nickname had stuck, before his unfortunate motorcycle accident.

He didn’t recognize her anymore, but the nickname still stuck to her like glue.

Day Twenty-Seven: Rock

A spur of the moment, once in a lifetime chance where he had asked her out to a rock concert.

There was no way she would show up. She was head ballerina. He had tried to woo her after her performance, and there was no way she was going to show up to a dirty dingy bar on the other side of town.

“You are rock and roll to me.” He stared as she stood there, not looking anything like a ballerina. “I heard it in a song once.”

Day Twenty-Six: Poor

He sits on the sidewalk of the busiest streets, full of life and busy people. He holds a cardboard sign, weathered by the elements and age. His cardboard sign has a simple message:

Free Your Mind

Most people look at him with disgust, think he’s a poor man who’s lost everything as they pass him, hoping not to touch him. You see him, and he sees you.

He’s free, and now so are you.

Day Twenty-Five: Soap

No matter how many times he washed, he couldn’t get clean. His hands stayed stained with ink, blood, and dirt deep in the wrinkles of his hands, where not even the strongest of soaps could reach.

Each stain held a memory. The salmon colored paint he used on the upstairs bathroom, the blood caked under his nails from plugging his buddy’s gunshot wound in ‘68, the dirt trapped under his wedding ring from when his wife had wanted to start a garden (despite her black thumb).

All memories he couldn’t wash away with mere soap.

Day Twenty-Four: Visit

The visit hadn’t been expected. She was alone when she let the knife slip through her skin as a last resort.

Just one well placed slice and they were there, her family members who had passed, watching her with the blade as if she were on display.

“Honey,” her gram said, touching her arm with a solidness that felt so real. “There is so much more after this you need to go and enjoy.”

She dropped the knife and picked up the phone instead, tears streaming down her face.

“Mom, Dad, I need help.”

Day Twenty-Three: Means

“The end must justify the means,” the voices whispered as she traveled through the dark caves.

The voices of her ancestors, calling her home as she traveled through the winding caves toward the altar.

She had been chosen as the sacrifice to the gods that year, and she promised not to disappoint as all the others had.

“The end must justify the means,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

She stepped up onto the altar just as the sky above cleared.

Lightning struck and she was reborn.

Day Twenty-Two: Year

The photographs over the last year said more than she could ever put into mere words. When she had left, her brother was a little twerp, hellbent on tormenting her days. When she had returned, he was a young man, still a little imp, but better at understanding how things had changed.

Her parents and her friends all welcomed her with open arms after being gone for such a long time, but she knew she had to get rid of all of them to go back and be where she truly belonged.

Day Twenty-One: Biscuit

He rushed down to the cafeteria, his sneakers whining against the linoleum floors. Biscuits and gravy for lunch, and he couldn’t miss it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten them when warm and fresh, usually something tended to distract him in the busy hospital.

“Doctor!” The harsh charge nurse called out as he sped past her in his excitement. “They’re serving meatloaf instead.”

His dreams were dashed, but he kept the smile on his face. “Do they still have the carrot cake?”

Day Twenty: Quarter

“Quarter if I shine your shoes, sir?” The boy was skinny, dirty, and covered in coal dust. Not quite old enough to work in the mines, but getting close. His jacket was too big around his shoulders, too worn to be his own.

The business man looked down at his perfectly shined shoes. There was something in the way the boy looked that made him pull a quarter from his pocket and pass it to the boy. “Keep it, young man,” He said.

He was about to sign the papers that would make the town apartment buildings.

Day Nineteen: Doubt

Doubt surged through her as he made another excuse for being late. She had set up dinner, had timed it perfectly to when she knew he would be home after work. She had waited for him, but he had been two hours late coming home.

They argued that night. He wouldn’t give her any explanation. Her doubt grew further.

A week later, he came home early with a bouquet of roses and a puppy.

“Sorry, I couldn’t tell you why I was late,” He said, giving her a kiss. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Day Eighteen: Tissue

She stood at the foot of the bed, holding onto the railing for dear life as she looked over the wrecked body before her. She hadn’t expected the accident to be that bad, she hadn’t expected to find herself there, at the foot of his bed, hoping, praying, wishing for good news.

“Tissue?” The doctor next to her asked.

She nodded silently, and took it from his outstretched hand.

“I hate to do this so soon,” The doctor continued as she watched the machines breathe for her husband. “But we do have to start thinking about options.”

Day Seventeen: Hour

“If I’m not back in an hour, go on without me.”

Forty-five minutes and she was starting to get antsy. The hour mark quickly approaching, she felt her mouth water, and not in any way that was appetizing. Her stomach turned, her heart raced. Fifteen minutes remained, but it felt like a lifetime and not enough time.

Fifty-eight minutes and something told her he wouldn’t be returning, so she began to pack it all up and take what she could.

One hour. She left, as he had instructed her to do.

Day Sixteen: Undertake

The task was monumental. Too much for one man to undertake. The fear pulsed through him, latched onto his own racing heart beat.

“I’m going to kiss that nurse!” He thought to himself and in the flash of a moment, he grabbed her, a complete stranger, dipped her, and kissed her like his life depended on it.

Day Thirteen: Heir

The house lay empty and barren after the billionaire died. He hadn’t had any children, had married too many women, but had never produced an heir.

So many riches saved up, all lost to time, and looters and museums because there was no heir to claim them.

He had treated his staff well, and gave them what he could, but the vast majority of his riches were taken and distributed to all of the museums of the world.

Day Ten: Upset

The heat surged through her skin, her eyes squeezed tight as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She had worked too hard, studied for too long, achieved too much for all the credit to go to her husband.

“No,” she said, once she had gathered herself and returned to the meeting. “My name is staying the way it is. My husband didn’t go to medical school. I did.”