Tuesday, November 05, 2002

DRC cont. (please remember readers that NaNoWriMo is about word counts...Must have 5,000 words by midnight November 31. OK. I have about 500. So that makes...4,500 to go? How many pages is that? Like 200? 150. Whew!

Thus if someone stumbles across the blog and is critical of (a) grammer (b)speling (c) the way I type out nineteen hundred and ninety nine (a great idea I got from reading I, Anger's blog just go and jump in the very cold and sparkling yet polluted lake! Must make the word count...must make the word count...

Oh yeah: Another idea. Have my characters repeat thoughts in their head...and dialogue. Like So I said to him 'what's that you said?' He replied, "What's that I said? What did I say? Why did you ask that. I said: If you have a cold, take some vitamin C that's what I said!" "What's that you said!" he repeated sarcastically.

Of course, I know no one reads my blog...most likely. How would anyone know it was here. That is what is so great about blogspot. It is all hidden away except for that brief millisecond in the sun. Except Luis Urrea said he might read my blog. Trying not to let the pressure of that get to me. He may have come and gone already. Perhaps he was only being kind.

Luis Urrea wrote me an email...I'm still trying to mentally adjust to that fact.

Shit! I only have time for one line because I HAVE TO VOTE BEFORE THE POLLS CLOSE. SHIT!

The line: The magic and glitter of Shangri La, the 5 year span that Spanish Traces will still be tasteful was perhaps supposed to make up for the decimation of the orange groves when the city expanded. Trees were still left here and there--as decor, not a source of food.

My mother had once said "Every city needs a greenbelt around it. In case of famine." I was only five and this made a big impression. It took me many years to just relax around the dinner table after that, secure in the food of tomorrow. As I watch the greenbelt disappear around my city, slowly but surely, a clod of fear began to form in my heart.



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