Three strikes. You’re out.
Speaking of baseball, I think something exciting and baseball related happened in the US, though I’m not really sure. At least John Green seems to think something happened…
Anyway, what’s happening?
Ahh, that’s write. November.
As you know, I am three days and 8125 words into NaNoWriMo.
Here are the spoiler free highlights:
[Disclaimer: This is a terrible horrible no good very bad first draft.]
Monday, February 17th, 2014
I looked at the ball. Held my arm at a ninety degree angle behind my head. Threw the ball into the air. Took aim. Swished the racket down through the ball’s path.
Jordan was teaching Will and me how to serve. It was going poorly, however Jordan was not one to give up on two keen pupils.
‘Hold the racket more like this. And keep your eye on the ball, Esther. I know that people say to look where you’re passing to, but that’s only for when you can, you know, hit the ball.’
‘So like this?’ I hit the ball this time, and it sailed into the net with the grace and aplomb of a natural disaster.
‘You’re getting better. Try throwing it slower so you have more time to do the whole racket motion,’ said Jordan. Will was waiting patiently up the other end of the court.
It looked like he would be there a while.
Wednesday, February 12th, 2014
It was apparent the second we entered the music room for the first time two weeks ago, that Frankie could play. And I don’t just mean one instrument. I mean everything and anything you put in front of her. She could play a barbed wire fence and make it sound like an orchestra.
We were covering songs in small groups. Our group consisted of Frankie and I, Kathryn, a quiet keyboard player who kind of sort of not really knew what she was doing, and Jett, who was destined to be a not very good drummer in a not very good rock band. We were playing HQ454 Monroe, a rock song about cars by Cold Chisel, because we made the mistake of letting Jett pick the song. I mean it wasn’t a bad song. Maybe I have no taste.
I was assigned singing because I could do nothing else.
‘It’s a Chisel song, just scream into the mic, you’ll be fine dude.’ Jett wasn’t particularly reassuring, but it was fine. I could sort of sing I guess.
So much confidence Esther, well done.
We rehearsed and Frank did this epic heavy guitar solo and I yelled about nine inch car terminology into the mic, and Jett played the drums like a madman. Kathryn played the keys quietly, and laughed at me Jett and Frank jumping around all over the place. We weren’t that good but it was super fun.
Tuesday, February 11th, 2014
Saturday, February 8th, 2014
Jake is Charlie’s dog. He can’t tell a fridge from a blade of grass. It’s so annoying that it’s funny.
‘Jakey, c’mon man, there’s nothing appetising in the bin.’ The Labrador tugged at the leash. Charlie, Will and I were walking down by the river. Finch River.
Finch River is kind of disgusting and kind of beautiful, like childbirth and loud facial hair. It’s full of shopping trolleys and tyres and all kinds of stuff. There are thick bands of bush on either side, and a path that runs from the CBD down the river and to the beach and the soccer club. Except no one uses the path, and just walks along the bank (except for in the deep dark depths of winter when the water rushes along the sides and the banks disappear).
Sometimes the odd kangaroo or kookaburra will brave the river banks, or even a koala or platypus. Although they haven’t seen a platypus down here in like twenty years or something.
We walked down winding along the river, under England Bridge which is the bridge that’s connected to the main road, and down to the beach. It was still summer, so we kicked off our socks and shoes and splashed around in the water for a bit, with Jake barking excitedly at nothing. He does that a lot. Postman? Arf, arf! Cat? Arf, arf! Bird? Arf, arf? Wandering ant? ARF ARF ARF.
It’s so annoying it’s funny.
Will picked up a tennis ball from the ground and we threw it back and forth for a bit. I had the coordination to not get a ball to the nose as I had last time. We threw it at each other and dived in the waves after it until Jake decided he wanted a go and chewed the ball into several pieces.
Oh what marvellous unedited brain vomit Rose, well done, much applause.
That shouldn’t make sense because it’s in not-at-all chronological order, and because I chose bit’s that weren’t particularly relevant to the plot out of context.
The basic format of this novel thing is that there’s like a segment every day, and this can rage from three words long to three thousand words long. Depends on the day. Anyway each one of these segments is preceded by a song lyric (or at least that’s the idea. I haven’t put any in yet because I’m busy writing 50,000 words).
Anyway, so far I’ve discovered that I love dialogue, but I’m terrible at dialogue tags, so it looks like it’s Mr Invisible talking to Mr Invisible.
I’ll fix it in the edit.
Anyway, I have writing to do.
See you next week? Will you post? Tune in next time to find out.
French music is really great to listen to when you’re writing because you don’t get distracted by the lyrics and it’s like you’re doing French homework.