Last year, Brandon and I and quite a few others attempted to do this. We did it around February, but this time I think I will go with the Nation and write in November. I think you have to write like, three thousand words a day.
Last time, I didn't make the number, nor did I write a novel, per se. I wrote a lot, though, and I really cherish the pressure that the NaNoWriMo places upon my sensibilities. Who knows, at the end of this attempt I may have something to work with. I'm just such a reader. But this time I may also take someone else's idea and run with it. Not exactly original, but it's a start. It's not a truly original idea, anyway, so it's not that dishonest.
At the moment a magenta sun is setting into what looks like a grey dust sky. It's a little "The Morning After" looking. Fires are no good, but they are a fact of life. I always wonder, if I had three minutes to gather my things, what would I grab? Laptop, box of original writing, photos maybe. (this is after the cats, of course) But three minutes is not a lot of time. Losing your home in America is very serious. So much of our life is still so wrapped up in our homes, and even more so because we live in Southern California.
We start reading Moby Dick this week, children! I already read it half way, so I'm starting over with a pencil in hand. Plus, I'm drafting my paper for American Lit. Something about Dimmesdale and Chillingsworth being at least romantically if not sexually invollved with eachother, and this being why neither really wants Hester. I'm not sure what the arguement is yet, but I'm close.
2 comments:
How strange that you would mention what you'd take if you only had a few minutes. I was in San Diego County for much of the week, and so many people were interviewed for the evening news about what they took from their homes or what they wanted to recover. I started thinking about what I'd want to take too. All of the photo albums, of course, and perhaps a couple of mementos from my childhood. But I don't know what I'd do to recover from the loss of my books, frankly, and there's no way to take them all in a short period of time.
I do hope you're enjoying Moby-Dick. If you're going to write your own novel, don't get stuck thinking you have to attempt what Melville did. There are other worthy experiments.
(And if Blythe or perhaps even Phil suggests that Moby-Dick is the first postmodern novel, realize that I'm actually the one who said that first in the department. They're just copycats.)
I think I would argue that the Scarlet Letter is post modern. It a tough arguement, given that I am not sure what post modern is, I'm just guessing it's Hemingway and Eliot. I can see how you could argue that Moby Dick is postmodern.
I argue that Letter is postmodern because Hester as an outcast from society (yet still a functioning member of the commerce in the society) has to creating a new meaning of life for herself. Granted, the fact that a lot of her life is wrapped up in her child isn't exactly groundbreaking, but the fact that the child is a bastard and she still takes pride in her is. We don't really know if Hester ever truly believed in the structure that the society around her invested in -- she was shipped off, after all. But there is something about her character that seems to be in mourning for purpose. Even as the estranged wife of a reputable intellectual she had some purpose, and even though Chillingsworth never satisfied her sexually (as she was childless before Dimmesdale) she seemed to have a somewhat steady existence before Pearl came along. I'm really caught up this novel. I like Moby Dick, until the Cetology chapter and until the setting changes to the boat. Most of the time I have no idea where on the boat the action is taking place and it's really distracting. Great, otherwise.
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