That Oratory I'm talking about

Well, funny thing.

So I was doing Camp NaNoWriMo.

NaNoWriMo: noun.
1. Intense masochism.
2. National Novel Writing Month, November; one must set a word count and reach it by the end of the month. For adults, the target word count is always 50,000.
Camp NaNoWriMo: noun.
NaNoWriMo during other months, generally April and either July or August. Everyone can set their own word count goal.

Anyway, so I did Camp NaNoWriMo, with a goal of 40,000 words - I reached it, at 40,089 words on 2 pm on July 31st. My prize? Bragging rights! Which I'm obviously using.

And then I realized that I did actually sign up for the Yale speech tournament and it is on September 22nd and I do have to get my original oratory done. And guess when it was originally due? August 1st.

Anyhow, I tried to get typing but frankly, I had just come out of a three-day word marathon. I had practically lived on the living room couch with my laptop. I had written 20,000 words in three days. I didn't particularly want to do it.

I ended up sending my coach an email asking for more time. She let me have a week. But I was still in a post-NaNo haze for much of that time, so it didn't get done then either.

By now I was pretty sure this wasn't going to happen, so I told my coach I wasn't going to go. Then my other coach jumped in and said he did want me to go to this tournament as originally planned and was willing to give me five more days.

Therefore, I am writing again now.

On Writing, or lack thereof

There is a certain silent sadness to the lack of writing.

Now, don't get me wrong. There was a lot of writing in my life this year. Essays, blog posts, journal entries - a lot of nonfiction.

But there is a comfort to fiction that cannot be achieved with such safe material.

Fiction is dangerous. It feels terrifying because creating is terrifying. It is a jump into the unknown, where there may be a safety net or a concrete sidewalk in the thick darkness. If it doesn't work, it hurts. But that analogy is a poor one, since writing fiction will certainly not kill you.

Fiction requires a certain freedom to the mind, a lack of preoccupation. My brain, when fuzzy with obligation, does not want to write fiction. In that case, my brain just wants to sleep. Or look at adorable cat gifs. Or just stare at the ceiling for a while.

Suddenly, I'm out of school and I can write again. This year, I began to doubt whether or not I was actually a writer. But I suppose, in a way, that being a writer is not a question of writing every single day on schedule. Being a writer is a matter of coming back to it. Of needing to come back to it. Of having the ideas curl into smoky rings of vapor until they condense into liquid and can no longer be contained. That is writing. It is a difficult love, but a fruitful one.

This July I venture into Camp NaNoWriMo, land of 1613 words each day and insanity. I'm excited and terrified. And hopefully, in August, I'll have a novel to edit.

The silent sadness is over, if only temporarily.

Near Breaking

Well, yeah. I think "about to break" is the best way to put it.

I've been really stressed, with the speech tournament and Nerdfighter gathering this weekend. And I think I failed today's half of the math test. And NaNo ends tomorrow and I'm probably not gonna win.

I'm exhausted. I haven't been sleeping well, which isn't really saying much because I never really did sleep all that well with a time limit. It takes me ages to fall asleep and I'm exhausted in the morning and that piles on everything else.

But I'll be fine, because my mom is coming back tomorrow and things will be easier and there will be a nerdfighter gathering and so on. I'll be fine, I'm just not extremely fine right now.

I apologize for the mopey post. And now I'm off to do homework and stress some more.

This Time Last Year

Just today I've been thinking back to last year.

It's been nearly a year since I created this blog, and that year may have been one of the most tumultuous periods of my life, including some of the hardest things I've done.

This time last year I was depressed and thoroughly terrified of the prospect of going to Israel, which frankly I had a right to be because it was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but it turned out for the better. This time last year I was still in eighth grade. This time last year I hadn't yet watched Doctor Who. This time last year I still had writer's block constantly to some extent. This time last year, hell, I was still writing last year's NaNo novel - it's a story I have yet to finish.

In some ways, this time last year, I was an entirely different person.

Developments

I've been neglecting this blog lately. So much to do, so little time!

I'm in Frosh play, which is showing this week. It's exciting! But tons of work! But so much fun! I've been staying at school for 10-13 hours every day this week, including 8 hours on Saturday.

Term ended last week. You have no idea how happy I was that the projects and tests were over...and now I have more projects and tests. Huzzah, fun times. (Wince.)

I got a pass for Pax East! It's in March! I'm so excited! I'm going with my girlfriend, who actually knows stuff about video games, but this is apparently Nerd Central, so I'm off to see what I can see!

Also, it's NaNoWriMo.

You: But Shira, shouldn't you be writing?
Me: Yes, yes I should.
You: How far along are you?
Me: Um... *turns red*

Yeah. Not big on the progress. Lots to do tomorrow, since there is no school...