The NaNoWriMo Experience by Eileen O'Finlan

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For the past few years I've been reading about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in the writing magazines to which I subscribe. It sounded interesting, but I had yet to give it a try. The goal is to write 50,000 words in thirty days starting on November 1st.

I've been working on Erin's Children, the sequel to Kelegeen for some time. As with any historical novel, there is a ton of research to do before the writing can begin, continuing right up through the final draft. That eats up a lot of time, but it's necessary for an historically accurate story. Once I had enough research under my belt to begin writing, I realized that between a full-time job, caring for my mom who turned 93 in October, and various other obligations, I was having trouble finding time to write. So as November was approaching, I remembered that November is National Novel Writing Month and jumped on the NaNoWriMo bandwagon in hopes it would help me kick my writing into high gear.

As of the writing of this post (it's 11:43 p.m. on November 30th) I have logged in at 50,039 words. I did it with just over two hours to spare. The first draft of the novel is still incomplete, but I certainly got a gigantic chunk of it written. Besides hitting the 50,000 word goal, I was determined to write every day of November. It took a lot of discipline and a bit of sacrifice (mostly in the area of sleep), but I did it. Thirty consecutive days of writing. Granted some days saw a lot more words hit the screen than others. I only wrote one paragraph on Thanksgiving morning before taking off for my cousin's house in Connecticut, but I did it just to keep my writing streak alive. 

One huge benefit of NaNoWriMo is that it fostered a disciplined writing regimen that should help me complete my novel within an acceptable time frame.

So, how do I feel having completed my first NaNoWriMo and met the 50,000 words in 30 days goal? Thrilled, self-confident, energized, more in love with writing than ever, and very, very sleep deprived!

Luck is opportunity seized.

I’ve been told I’m lucky I can speak in public.

It’s not luck. Anyone can learn to speak in public. Here’s how.

When I was young — under the age of 10 — I wanted to do two things more than anything else. I wanted to tap-dance and play the violin.

My dreams were crushed. My parents opted for singing lessons (solo and choir) and elocution lessons. I realize now they were the cheapest lessons around and money was short. Or was that really it? Did my parents know something I didn’t?

My first humiliation came when I sang with my choir at a concert. I think it was in the Westminster Church Hall in New Glasgow, Nova Scotia. I stood in the front row. I remember a brown dress with full crinoline (it was the 1950s) and my favorite yellow and brown cardigan. (it had come as a hand-me-down from my cousin, Kathy.)

All was well until we stopped singing and the crowd clapped loudly. And so did I! Laughter rippled around the room. They thought it was cute. I thought I’d prefer to sink through the floor. That ended my choir career, at least as far as I remember.

A year later, I performed solo at one of the ubiquitous Kiwanis Music Festivals. (My music teacher was going to earn her fees, no matter what.) Folks, I was painfully shy but that wasn’t the problem.

Reality — I couldn’t carry a tune in a tin bucket. However, I warbled through a song about Susie and seashells. The judges comment? ‘A sweet little voice.” Come on, I had heard enough of the judging to know that was a place holder. One of those comments designed so as to not hurt the child. Mortified, I hustled from the stage.

Later, as a teen, I sang in the church choir. Of course, I did, I was the minister’s daughter. I felt sorry for the choirmasters stuck with my off-key renditions. When one director said if we didn’t know the notes we could mouth the words, I was relieved. (I knew he was talking to me.) However, standing in the choir, I suppose I got used to facing a room full of faces.

Along the way there were parent nights for the elocution presentations. I fared markedly better in those. It seems I had a good memory. (And I was not required to carry a tune.) My mother (who couldn’t carry a tune either) played into this one. My grandfather had taught her and her six siblings to recite poetry by the bucket full, and she’d done the same with me. Elocution recitals I was ready for.

By the time I was twelve my dad, a clergyman, had me reading scripture in both Sunday School and occasionally in the pulpit. Either that or the teachers thought I was the logical candidate as the minister’s daughter. I had plenty of opportunity to practice in front of people.

High school came with stage appearances in plays. My choice-and though keyed-up, by this time I wasn’t fearful enough to stay away. In English class, reading the role of Eliza Doolittle in Shaw’s Pygmalion became my favorite activity. I look back now and realize I loved it. I loved playacting.

My appearances continued through nursing school, teacher’s college, and teaching. If they needed an MC. I was it. If they need scripture read. They handed me the text. On Family Sunday at the church, I gave the layperson’s sermon. More practice.

From there, I moved on to adult education, workshops, and speeches as outside-of-work activities. I gave lunch-box talks at businesses. I took and taught workshops for educators and worked for the Dale Carnegie organization. I spoke to a dozen people and to 3,000+ people. Learning and practice.

Am I lucky to be able to speak in public? I’d say it was opportunity seized and practice, practice, practice coupled with learning necessary skills. That’s why I can face down a crowd and have a roaring good time. Somewhere along the line, I turned into a first-class ham. It’s really no different than how swimmers turn into Olympic competitors. Or writers turn into multi-published authors.

One major advancement came when I learned the audience wasn’t judging me. They were just darn glad it was me at the front of the room and not them. I also learned to laugh at myself, my tongue-tied moments, my misspoken words, and the forgetfulness that struck me from time to time. And they laughed with me, not at me.

On the other hand, maybe it was luck — luck that my parents chose those activities for me, luck my mother taught me to recite poetry. Either way, it’s not what presents itself, it’s what we do with the opportunities. Given a different path, I might be able to tap dance and play the violin. I find I prefer to speak in public.

Some opportunities teach us what we are not to do (like sing), that’s okay too. I built on the other opportunities and you can too.

Does it take courage and practice? Yes. But, be not afraid. You’ve got this.

Whatever it is. Whenever you start. – Speaking, writing, swimming…and more.

Tis the Season by Rosemary Morris

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Tis The Season to be Jolly
Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly

In the Georgian period, which includes the ever-popular Regency carol singers visited country houses decked with holly and laurel.
In my novel, Wednesday’s Child, I imagined carol singers at the hero’s mansion on Christmas Eve.
“Beyond the flight of steps which led up to the house, a group of men carried lanterns which cast a golden glow on the snow. One of the boys who accompanied them sang the first verse of The Holly and The Ivy.
The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.
His clear treble voice rang out across the snow concealing an imperfect lawn which stretched toward a belt of trees, their limbs stark against the night sky lit by a full moon and brilliant stars.”
On Christmas Day after attending a church service, plum pudding, which contained thirteen ingredients that represented Christ and his apostles, and mince pies were served after the main course at lunch. The tradition of giving ‘Christmas boxes’ with small gifts or money to tradesmen and servants was observed
Many of the 21st century’s customs were imported from Europe and the United States of America. Presents were given and received on New Year’s Day, and some people still resisted change by observing the Old Christmas Day on January 6th before the calendar changed in 1752.
We no longer observe the twelve nights of Christmas but I take down the decorations in my house on the twelfth day after Christmas.
From Christmas morning until the end of the season our most fortunate ancestors were jolly. Balls, charades, dances, music, riddles, theatricals and pastimes such hunt the slipper and blind man’s buff were enjoyed. So were the hilarious games such as snapdragon when the participants snatched raisins from a bowl in which brandy had been ignited. Apple bobbing, when each player with a had behind his or her back tried to grab an apple floating in water with their teeth.
In Wednesday’s Child, Amelia, the heroine asks her guardian what Bullet Pudding is.
“It is an essential part of Christmas at Longwood,” he replied.
His sister waved her hand at him. “Not for me. And I am sure Amelia would not enjoy it.” She faced Amelia. “Allow me to explain. Saunton will sink a bullet into a bowl filled with flour.”
Amelia raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
“For each player to cut a slice,” Charlotte explained. “Careful not to breathe in any flour, the person who dislodges the bullet must seek for it with nose and chin and try to slip it into his or her mouth.”
Yet, as it is today, the Christmas Season was also a time to be charitable. On Christmas Eve, 1798, Jane Austen included the following in a letter to her sister Cassandra.
“I have given a pair of worsted stockings to Mary Hutchins, Dame Kew. Mary Steevens and Dame Staples; a shift to Hannah Staples, and a shawl to Betty Dawkins amounting in all to about *half a guinea.”
Woodforde, a parson, invited seven poor old men to dine at his parsonage where roasted sirloin of beef, plum pudding and mince pies were served. Afterwards, he gave each of them **one shilling.
*Half a guinea is approximately £25 in today’s currency.
**One shilling is approximately £2.50 in today’s currency.
Classical Historical Fiction by Rosemary Morris

Early 18th Century novels: Tangled Love, Far Beyond Rubies, The Captain and The Countess

Regency Novels

False Pretences.

Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Books One to Six, Sunday’s Child, Monday’s Child, Tuesday’s Child, Wednesday’s Child, Thursday’s Child and Friday’s Child. (The novels in the series are not dependent on each other, although events in previous novels are referred to and characters reappear.)

Mediaeval Novel Yvonne Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

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