I've gone crazy and signed up with http://www.nanowrimo.org. That's 'write a 50,000 word novel in a month (November)' ... actually 'National Novel Writing Month' - but it's international. Yes, it's possible! 6000 people succeeded last year.
Deadlines really do work to bring achievement. Thinking about the perfect opening, the perfect dialogue, the perfect ..., really do hold me back. You are bound to do re-writes and kick it around hard afterwards, but wouldn't it just be nice to have something actually 'there' to work on later??? That was my logic anyway.
But novels are really not my thing, so I'll give it a go to write 'a book' in a month - even though it is more likely to be non-fiction or 'fiction-faction' ... whatever it is you call a non-fiction story with fictional dialogue. I want to write the story of 'Mad James Lucas' for children.
I was amazed with what I could actually write and produce when I worked in another simililar scheme 'to create and put an ebook on a site in a month'.
I definitely work best to deadlines and with constant kicks / encouragement from others trying to do the same thing.
You can register up to November 29th! Even if you don't write or finish the novel, it's worth signing up just to be able to use the forum - there are so many friendly positive people who freely offer great advice and support. I hope I can reciprocate too.
Better get to work quickly and develop a plot ...
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
I was delighted to have my lunacy recently recognised by winning a minor prize in the Winning Writers 'Wergle Flomp' competition for parody poems, for which, I believe, there were close to 1500 entries from word-wide. Perhaps that puts me amongst the world's craziest writers!
In January 2000, David Taub tried to write, under the pen name of Wergle Flomp, a poem that would be rejected by poetry.com. He failed!
The contest gives real prizes to poems written in jest and submitted to poetry.com.
((March 2014 - This competition has now changed to being for humorous poems in general, not parody, and with no necessity to submit to poetry.com
The origin of Wergle Flomp can be viewed at
Here's my winning poem:
Leedabole and the Froggy-hopple
A suddy croakamole: the sinewlade leggymires pushy still
Into the swoonupping girlyfling, her eyebolds transfissured
By the greeny webbles, her spiritule almire at his will,
She holdips his slimeblade bodyling againthro hers.
How can those terrifoldy stiff fingerloppers grippold
And holdify her potentimal princeling now slippy-slidingo from her grippylasp?
And how can bodyling, trying oh so hard not to over-trippold,
But feel the heartypumps
…near to burstivating where they lie?
A smacker-kisseroogy, maybold a smacker-kisseroogy will break
The magicome spell, retrove the prizal and princeling now appearifolding
Being so up-caughtafied with this,
So desperangle for successoscopy and not findy a fake
Did she abandonfile cautionment to the windy-puffs and fearfolding
Her last chancit was here, up-puckermole
Before the loosencaving fingerloppers had to let him dropple?
"Leedabole and the Froggy-hopple" is a parody of "Leda and the Swan" by William Butler Yeats. The style is similar to that of the late 'Professor' Stanley Unwin - with apologies.
Leda and the Frog
A sudden croak, the sinewed legs pushing still
Into the swooning girl, her eyes transfixed
By the green webs, her spirit almost at his will,
She holds his slimy body against hers.
How can those terrified stiff fingers grip
And hold her potential prince now slipping from her grasp?
And how can body, trying not to trip,
But feel their hearts near bursting where they lie?
A kiss, maybe a kiss will break
The magic spell, return the prize and prince appearing
Being so caught up with this,
So desperate for success and not a fake
Did she abandon caution to the wind and fearing
Her last chance was here, pucker up
Before the loosening fingers had to let him drop?
Leda and the Swan W.B.Yeats
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill, He holds her helpless breast upon his breast. How can those terrified vague fingers push The feathered glory from her loosening thighs? And how can body, laid in that white rush, But feel the strange heart beating where it lies? A shudder in the loins engenders there The broken wall, the burning roof and tower And Agamemnon dead. Being so caught up, So mastered by the brute blood of the air, Did she put on his knowledge with his power Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
....Back to writing something sensible!