November 2007 Archives

Yosemite's Happy Lexicon (with apologies to Franklin Pierce Adams)

These can be a hiker's happiest words:
"Dewey to Crocker to Stanford."
Trio of rim points, as high as the birds,
Dewey to Crocker to Stanford.
Each one offering a most inspiring view,
Of the valley and El Cap and Half Dome, too --
If you should visit, there's a hike you must do:
"Dewey to Crocker to Stanford."

My goal for Black Friday was to be as far away as possible from the insanity of shopping malls and outlet stores. Hiking in Yosemite was the perfect way to achieve it.

After filling up on Curry Dining Pavilion's breakfast buffet (eggs, hash browns, sausage patties, pancakes, cereal, and coffee for $8), we drove to the McGurk Meadow trail head on Glacier Point Road for a hike to Dewey Point. We were also going to visit Crocker and Stanford Points, but they weren't the headliners on this trek.

From the road, the distance to Dewey Point is 3.9 miles. From there, it's 0.6 miles to Crocker Point and an additional 0.7 miles to Stanford Point. Doing some fast math, the out-and-back distance is 10.4 miles.

The toughest part of the hike was finding the trail head. On our first pass, I accidentally overshot it and ended up at the Taft Point / Sentinel Dome parking lot. We backtracked and found it, just west of the Bridalveil Creek Bridge, by pure chance. The only sign of the trail head's existence was a post without a sign.

We found a place to park off the road and started out. It was 10:15 a.m. and 36 degrees.

The first mile was a gradual descent through the forest. I had hoped the sunlight would reach the ground to help me warm up, but the trail was well-shaded. After a few minutes, we came across a log cabin built in the 1890s by a man named John McGurk (source: Trails.com).

Beyond the cabin, the trail left the forest and crossed McGurk Meadow. The last time I saw the meadow, it was covered in snow. That was in January of 2006, when we snowshoed to Dewey Point. Now, the meadow was gold instead of white.

From the meadow, the trail meandered back into the forest and began a climb that would continue all the way to the point. After another mile, the trail merged with the Pohono Trail, which runs from Glacier Point, through Taft and Dewey Points, to the Wawona Tunnel.

After a good deal of climbing (mostly mild, with a few steep spots thrown in), I noticed the wind picking up and I took it as a sign that we were getting close. When we reached the point, I was struck by how different it looked without snow.

I walked to the edge and braced myself against a boulder to photograph the valley. The wind was blowing so hard, I could barely keep my eyes open and tears were streaking down my cheeks. Breathing was also difficult. Inhaling wasn't a problem, but exhaling was a different story. I found that yelling and hollering helped. The view was exhilarating.

Crocker Point was a short, downhill hike from Dewey Point. Two-thirds of the way there, M's foot began to hurt, so she turned back. The plan was for me to catch up with her after I visited Stanford.

The view at Crocker was still impressive, but not as spectacular as the view from Dewey.

From there, it was a steep, 400-foot descent to Stanford Point, named after Leland Stanford, the former California governor and cofounder of the Central Pacific Railroad, according to Richard Hartesveldt's Yosemite Valley Place Names. For the curious, Crocker Point was likely named after Charles Crocker, an associate of Stanford, and Dewey Point was named after Admiral George Dewey, the hero of the Spanish American War.

It was early afternoon when I started the return trip. As I reached Dewey Point, M radioed to say she had reached the split in the trail. Shortly after that, I lost reception. I was still two miles behind her, so I picked up the pace.

When I reached the trail head, it was 3:15 p.m. and the temperature was in the low forties. I expected to see M waiting for me, but she wasn't there. I tried the radio, but it still wasn't working. I checked the car and ventured down the road, but she was nowhere to be found.

Worry washed over me. Had the pain in her foot been too much? Had she strayed from the trail and gotten lost? Had she accidentally taken the other trail?

I dismissed the first two possibilities right away. If her foot had been hurting, she would have stopped and I would have stumbled upon her. As for straying off the trail, that just wasn't something M did. That meant she must have taken the other trail. It also meant she could either be backtracking towards me or heading towards Taft Point.

Unable to contact her to find out which way she was going, I decided to leave a note on the dashboard and retrace my steps on the trail to see if I could regain radio reception. After a quarter-mile, I did. M was okay.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"On the trail -- heading towards the trail head. I'm almost there," she replied through heavy static.

"You are?" I looked around, bewildered. "I think you're on a different trail."

I doubt she heard that last part because the radio cut out again.

I continued down the trail. A few minutes later, I met a family of four coming from Taft Point. They were only the third group I had seen all day. I asked if they had seen anybody matching M's description and the mom told me they had seen her heading towards Taft an hour earlier.

I thanked them and broke into a run. I sprinted by McGurk's cabin, through the meadow, and into the forest. As the trail began its ascent, I slowed, figuring all I was doing was wasting energy.

I was almost at the split when M and another hiker came around the bend. The hiker's name was Henry. M had run into him as he was coming from Taft Point and he had pointed her in the right direction.

An overwhelming sense of relief washed over me. The three of us hiked back to the trail head. Before parting ways, we thanked Henry for all of his help.

By now, the sun was setting and the temperature was dropping. As we drove back to the valley, we passed at least three or four dozen cars speeding towards Glacier Point. I didn't know why they were in such a hurry until we reached the Wawona Tunnel and saw the view.

Despite the excitement at the end, the hike to Dewey, Crocker, and Stanford Points was wonderful and I would highly recommend it to anybody visiting Yosemite.

You can find more photos from the hike at Flickr.

And now, to end this lengthy post, I leave you with this thirty-second video clip I took at Dewey Point. Please excuse the yelling in the beginning. That's just me trying to breathe.

Since neither of our families were having a traditional Thanksgiving celebration, M and I made a last-minute decision to do a destination Thanksgiving in Yosemite. It had been nearly two months since our last visit and I was eager to see what the park offered during the holidays.

Because of the short notice, I wasn’t able to reserve any of the park's heated units, but I managed to book an unheated tent cabin in Curry Village. With nightly lows dipping below 30 degrees Fahrenheit, it wasn't ideal, but it gave us a chance to see how our sleeping bags (both rated for 15 degrees) withstood the cold.

We reached the park around one o'clock on Thursday. After checking in and unloading the car, I tried to make dinner reservations at Yosemite Lodge's Mountain Room over the phone. They told me I needed to reserve a table in person at the restaurant, so we took a shuttle to the lodge.

Unfortunately, the restaurant was closed. A sign on the door said to call a different number for reservations. This call was more successful. They told me they were booked, but they might be able to squeeze a party of two in at 8:15. I took it.

As we were heading outside, I saw a sign advertising free movie screenings at the Lodge's Cliff Room. They were showing Transformers and Ratatouille over the Thanksgiving weekend.

"Transformers is a profound holiday choice," I told M. "Deep down, it's a movie trying to remind us to be thankful for what we have, because at any given moment, warring alien robots with the ability to transform into anything they want could come and take it all away from us." She just looked at me and shook her head.

After grabbing lunch from Degnan's Deli (my favorite eatery in the park), we returned to see Ratatouille.

I'm going to pause here and say I'm sure somebody is thinking, "Why would you spend ninety minutes in a dark room, watching a movie, when you're in a beautiful place like Yosemite? Shouldn't you be outside, exploring and seeing the sights?"

My initial response is a guilt-ridden, "Yes, you're right." My ultimate response, though, is, "I'm grateful to be living as close as I do to Yosemite that I don't feel like I'm missing out on something or wasting time if I'm not out spending every second of daylight seeing the sights."

I'm sorry for being so defensive. Opinionated hypothetical people aggravate me.

After watching the movie (and falling in love with it again), my stomach was growling. (Who knew digital food could look so delectable?) Our tentative reservations were more than two hours away and I didn't think I could make it.

Without mincing words, I told M, "I don't think I can make it."

Luckily, the Mountain Room Lounge was serving a Thanksgiving meal that didn't require reservations and it was right next door to the Cliff Room. For twenty dollars, the meal included turkey with cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, vegetables, and pumpkin pie.

It wasn't as elaborate as the multi-course feasts at Ahwahnee, Wawona, and Mountain Room ($86, $32, and $28 a person, respectively), but it was in the spirit of the holiday and closer to our price range.

The Lounge was packed, but we found a table quickly. The service was fair and the food was only standard (the turkey was on the dry side), but it was still a pleasant Thanksgiving experience. (I was particularly impressed with the Swedish fireplace in the center of the room.)

Afterwards, we caught a shuttle back to Curry. I showered in the newly remodeled shower house where the water was actually hot (such a luxury). Clean and warm, I raced back to the tent cabin and hopped into my sleeping bag, which did a fine job of keeping me cozy during the cold, cold night.

When I awoke the next morning, I felt fully rested and ready to hike to Dewey Point.

The day was drawing to a close and I was a few hundred words away from 50,000. It was late; I was tired; I was so close. Technically, I had two choices:

1. Wait until morning to cross the finish line.
2. Keep the fingers flying and get 'er done!

Realistically, I only had one choice. I had to keep going. How could I stop when I was almost, nearly, 99.97% finished? So, the fingers kept flying and I completed another awful novel. (Okay, it isn't completed in the traditional "The End" sense of the word, but it's complete for the time being.)

This was the second year in a row that I didn't use my trusty Palm V. I used that device to write my first three NaNo-novels, but I didn't touch it once this month. I relied solely on Writeroom and Google Docs. I fear a NaNoWriMo tradition has ended.

The goal for next year will be to write something every day that is excerpt-worthy. I looked through this year's effort and couldn't find a hundred words worth sharing. That isn't true. I could find a hundred words worth sharing, but they were all in different sentences.

To illustrate my point, here's an example...

"Do you see anything, Morlock?" said Jake, gripping the railing and peering into the darkness. He could see nothing, but something was out there.

"No, not a thing, and that's what worries me." The Captain surveyed the cavern again and his eyes fell upon the single spotlight they had angled towards the ceiling. Slowly, he let his gaze follow the beam until it came upon a pair of glowing red eyes staring down at him from high above -- glowing red bovine eyes.

Amidst the screeching moos that echoed off the walls, Morlock heard a sudden whistling sound and he and Jake stared in horror as something plopped in the middle of the Foxy Lady's poop deck. Steam and stench rose from it.

"Oh, crap," said Jake.

In that mess, the word worth sharing is "bovine".

As I do every year, I have compiled some statistics. For comparison purposes, last year's stats are shown in parentheses:

• Words written: 50,306 (50,272)
• Hours of writing: 32.75 (40.75)
• Highest one-day count: 13,014 (3,918)
• Lowest one-day count: 0 (0)
• Percent of novel written on my PDA: 0 (0)
• Least productive day of the week: Thursday (Friday)
• Number of writing days: 20 (22)
• Number of zero-word days: 7 (1)
• Cups of coffee consumed (above "normal"): 20 (7)
• Pounds of Skittles eaten: 0.30 (0.25)

Congratulations to everybody who has already finished. To everybody else nearing the finish line, if you're in need of a thousand words or so, try adding a herd of vampire cows. That should help you get 'er done!

Five days remain to complete this year's novel-writing challenge. While other novelists kept on rolling, my word count stalled out around 27,000 Thanksgiving Eve and didn't start back up until Saturday evening, when we returned from Yosemite. I was able to crank out 2,000 words before conking out that night.

Yesterday was The Day. If I didn't make a big push and produce an insane number of words before the sun went down, I figured I was finished.

Before I sat down to write, I kept thinking, "You've had more than two weeks to catch up and you are still thousands of words behind. If you can't find the discipline to focus and write, then maybe you don't have it."

Then I sat down, limbered up my fingers, and said, "Let's do this thing!" In my head, I sounded tough like The Rock. In reality, I sounded more like Linguini from Ratatouille.

With the help of a healthy dose of sunlight, encouragement from M, a pot of coffee, a bag of Skittles, and a new writing hat (it looks silly, but works), I somehow managed to knock out 13,000 words.

While it's nice to see I have it in me to successfully pull off a last ditch effort, it's disappointing that I let the situation reach the point where a last ditch effort was necessary.

With less than 8,000 words to go, I'm going to try to ride yesterday's momentum and cross the finish line by tomorrow night.

One of the neatest features of my new phone is its ability to send photos directly to Flickr. There is something exciting about the immediacy of it.

It is raw and in the moment. Any sentiments expressed are unfiltered and perhaps more honest than the ones ones put down on paper several hours or days later, after enough time has passed for the mind to reflect on, shape, label, and properly file the moment into the catalog of one's memories.

I must admit that I am somebody who is easily caught up in the moment. When presented with a beautiful view, it is the most beautiful view ever. My eyes don't allow my mind to correctly rank what they're seeing. To do so would be a disservice to the moment.

Then again, how valuable is immediacy? How critical is it to record and share one's thoughts of the moment at that precise moment? Without interpretation, reflection, and perspective, what does the present -- this very second -- mean?

I took the photo above while standing atop Crocker Point in Yosemite National Park yesterday. I was alone when I snapped the shot, but during the few seconds it took to send the photo to Flickr, it felt as though there was a tiny group of people there with me, seeing what I saw. It made me feel connected and strangely disconnected at the same time -- a sensation I wouldn't have experienced if not for one of the neatest features of my new phone.

The holiday turkeys all across the country dread is finally here.

We are heading to Yosemite for a few days. I wonder if the village store will be open at 4 in the morning tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Monday is a solicitor who knocks on your door late at night, rings the bell repeatedly, tries to peek through the front window, and says something like, "I know you're in there. I can hear your television and see you hiding behind the couch. You can't hide from my thermal infrared imager." Inevitably, the only way to make him go away is to open the door and endure his spiel -- all 24 hours of it. (If it helps, imagine Dwight Schrute as Monday.)

---

I don't usually watch football, but I saw last night's game between the Patriots and Bills. New England annihilated Buffalo 56-10. In seven possessions, Tom Brady produced seven touchdowns; Randy Moss scored four of them in the first half. It was a beautiful game. If some die-hard Patriots fans don't memorialize the team's performance with a poem, song, or YouTube video, I'll be surprised and very disappointed.

---

My site has the dubious distinction of being the first result people find when searching for the opposite of funny. The web is trying to tell me something, but I can't hear it over my own laughter.

---

Last night, I finished reading One Man's Wilderness: An Alaskan Odyssey, the book based on the journals that Richard Proenneke kept during the first sixteen months he spent building a cabin and living alone in Alaska. It was one of those books that I consciously tried to read slower, a difficult task since I couldn't stop turning pages to find out what he did next. If the copy I read didn't belong to the public library, I would happily add it to my own collection. I guess I'll just have to buy a copy (a hardbound edition, if possible).

There are a number of quotable passages from the book, but I'll leave you with one from the epilogue that expresses how I often feel...

"News never changes much. It's just the same things happening to different people. I would rather experience things happening to me than read about them happening to others. I am my own newspaper and my own radio. I honestly don't believe that man was meant to know everything going on in the world, all at the same time. A man turns on the TV and all those commentators bombard him with the local, the national and the international news. The newspapers do the same thing, and the poor guy with all of the immediate problems of his own life is burdened with those of the whole world."

The latest edition of The Wildebeat asks if Yosemite's Half Dome has become too popular to be considered wilderness. Steve Sergeant interviews hikers and experts to get their opinion on the subject and gets some interesting responses.

To me, there is nothing wild about the hike to Half Dome. It's strenuous and challenging, certainly, but there's never a feeling like it's just you and the mountain. If you run into trouble, just wait a few seconds and a group of hikers will be there to help you.

The trail is the park's version of a highway. The sheer number of people traveling between Happy Isles and Nevada Fall can make the hike unenjoyable and unattractive. At Vernal Fall, it feels less like a national park and more like a theme park.

Avoiding the Mist Trail and taking the John Muir Trail eliminates some of the crowd, but then there is the traffic jam at the cables. With people brushing by you and stepping on your heels, while you try not to bump into the hiker in front of you, it's like being in the security checkpoint line at the world's steepest airport.

This isn't to say that the view from the top isn't spectacular or that there aren't times when the trail is less busy, but if it's achievement, adventure, and views you're after, Half Dome isn't your only option. There are plenty of mountains in Yosemite that can provide that, too, like El Capitan, Clouds Rest, or North Dome. They may not give you the same bragging rights as the park's most popular peak, but they offer a better wilderness experience and something Half Dome can't offer -- a beautiful view of itself.

One of my greatest fears is speaking in front of an audience, which is a subset of a greater fear: appearing stupid in public. A reader is probably thinking, "Wait, you do all types of things that make you appear stupid on your blog and it's public." And while you're right, dear reader, what you don't see is the fretting and hesitating and waffling that happens at my end before and after I post anything.

Before I post something, it's, "I bet they're going to think this is stupid. I shouldn't post this. This is boring. What am I doing?"

After I post something, it's, "That was stupid. They think it's stupid and boring. I should take it down before anyone sees it. What did I do?"

I mention all of this because of something that happened this morning. I know it's taboo to talk about work, so I'll try not to be too specific, but I will say that it was a most uncomfortable experience to be in front of a room of people watching and waiting while I tried to get a webinar up and running. It took every ounce of calm I had to get through the hour-long ordeal as technical support attempted to help me over the phone. It was like being the star of a badly written and poorly produced one-man show.

It was a nightmare. One of my greatest fears had been realized. People can tell me it wasn't my fault and there was nothing I could do, but it doesn't help. I felt stupid the entire time and I still feel stupid.

Right now, I wish I could escape to a park, any park, and hike until I forgot about this morning. Unfortunately, that isn't an option. In the meantime, do you think the Haitian from Heroes makes house calls?

A list of people and places that should work or be open from 5 to 9 in the morning and evening, instead of the typical 9 to 5, to make life easier for the rest of us...

• Auto mechanics
• Appliance repair people
• Doctors, dentists, and optimetrists
• Banks
• Libraries
• Post offices
• Department of Motor Vehicles

Is there anything missing from the list?

I discovered this cool camping vignette over at The Brothers Brick.

It's a little known fact that LEGO people need to spend quality time outdoors, too. You can see more photos of the creation over at MOCpages.

p.s. This is my third post of the day, which now officially qualifies as procrastination. Back to writing my NaNo novel.

Song on my mind... "Paralyzer" by Finger Eleven

Well I’m not paralyzed
But I seem to be struck by you
I wanna make you move
Because you’re standing still
If your body matches
What your eyes can do
You’ll probably move right through
Me on my way to you

The song has been around for a while, but my ears only took a liking to it in the last month or so. And just for fun, here is the music video the band posted on YouTube...

Amongst other things, I thought about...

> Starbucks - The Starbucks across from Camera 12 in downtown San Jose is closed for remodeling this week. One would think the closure of a single location wouldn't matter in a city cluttered with the coffee chain, but it matters if that location is at the center of one of the most heavily traveled areas in downtown. Besides being across from the movie theater, it's near two major hotels (the Fairmont and Montgomery), it's between two busy light rail stations, and it's along a pedestrian corridor used by university students. Of course, one of the reasons why the area is so heavily traveled is largely because of the Starbucks (it's the coffee equivalent of the chicken and the egg conundrum). It was disquieting to walk by it this morning without encountering the usual signs of life and bustle of activity. The emptiness was eerie. I'm not one who likes noise and crowds, but in some strange way, I miss it and can't wait for it to return.

> Sake - When I passed by Tengu Sushi, I flashed on Koji Sake Lounge over on First Street (it was like having my own Chuck moment). The place has been open for months (since May of this year) and I have yet to try it.

> Cream Puffs - A couple of new shops are opening near the university. One is a clothing store that looks like it's targeting the college crowd and the other is Beard Papa's, a chain store I've never heard of before today that is famous for its cream puffs. Apparently, it's big in Japan and has stores in a few major U.S. cities as well. I guess I'll be finding out why their cream puffs are so famous very soon.

> Leaf Blowers - Not only are leaf blowers noisy, they give off a nasty odor and blow dust and dirt into the air that stings the eyes and aggravates the allergies. When I walked by the gardener using his leaf blower this morning, I wanted to shout at him, "Get a broom!"

> The Office - I couldn't stop thinking about the hilarious remark Michael Scott (Steve Carell's character) made at the end of last week's episode of The Office. Sitting at his desk, after failing to survive a day alone in the woods, he says to the camera, "Man became civilized for a reason. He decided that he liked to have warmth, and clothing and television. And hamburgers. And to walk upright. And to have a soft futon at the end of the day. He didn't want to have to struggle to survive. I don't need the woods. I have a nice, wood desk. I don't need fresh air. Because I have the freshest air around. A/C. And I don't need wide open spaces. Check it out. [turns monitor with landscape wallpaper] I can also make it the sky." (Quote courtesy of The Office Quotes)

Inspired by Ze Frank's original song and Caroline's cover (embedded below)...

songs you already know: scared from Posalootly on Vimeo.

I thought I would try to produce my own cover of "Scared of Something". It isn't half as good as the other two versions, but it was a fun excuse to play around with Garage Band. It's a minimalist rendition and the result isn't as bad as I feared. I share it to show the powerful effect a positive message can have on somebody who typically never sings in public. After hearing it, you'll know why I'm no American Idol.

Here's an mp3 of it, just in case you aren't able to see the embedded file, and below are Ze's lyrics.

And this is the song that I sing when I'm scared of something,
I don't know why, but it helps me get over it.
The words of the song just move me along,
And somehow I get over it.

At least I don't suck at life,
I keep on trying despite.
At least I don't suck at life,
I keep on trying despite.

I hate playing catch up. While there is satisfaction in coming from behind, it doesn't match the satisfaction of retaining the lead. The end result is the same in both cases, but the paths are very different. The former is the path of anxiety; the latter is the path of relief.

Today is the eleventh day of NaNoWriMo. Of those eleven days, four have been writing days. I fear I'm setting myself up for a Hail Mary effort that may never materialize. Do I really have an 8,000-word day in me like I did four years ago? Or do I have four 3,000-word days in me? I've never done that before. I may still never do it.

The last thing I want is a situation similar to what the Indianapolis Colts faced tonight against the San Diego Chargers. After being down by 23 points, the Colts came back to within 2 points of the Chargers. With less than two minutes left to play in the fourth quarter, Indianapolis got itself into field goal range. All they needed was a 29-yard field goal from Adam Vinatieri. When he kicked the football high and wide to the right, they lost the game. It was a horrible way to lose.

If I want any chance of continuing this comeback and avoiding the same fate as the Colts, I need a good writing day tomorrow. The sooner I can get back on pace or even ahead of the pace, the better I will feel and the better my chances will be of success.

Yesterday, TV Guide's Ausiello Report produced a handy cheat sheet of how many fresh episodes remain for each show if the writers' strike continues indefinitely. For most of my favorite shows (Bones, Chuck, Heroes, Pushing Daisies), they have anywhere between 4 and 6 episodes left, which should get them into December. Fans of Men in Trees should be rejoicing because their show has the most episodes remaining of any of this season's offerings with 14. Fans of The Office, myself included, who were spoiled with double doses of the comedy series, should appreciate what we had because only one new episode remains. After this week, it is repeats until the writers resume work.

Chores are easier if forethought is given to them and they are looked upon as little pleasures to perform instead of inconveniences that steal time and try the patience. -- p. 30

To look around at what you have accomplished in a day gives a man a good feeling. Too many men work on parts of things. Doing a job to completeness satisfies a man. -- p. 53

These were two quotes I came across while reading One Man's Wilderness: An Alaskan Odyssey, a book based on the journals of Richard Proenneke, a remarkable man who built a log cabin on the shores of Alaska's Twin Lakes nearly forty years ago. He would live there, by himself, for the next thirty years, returning to the lower forty-eight late in his life, when he could no longer handle the winters. The book covers the first sixteen months of his adventure and I am halfway through it. The two quotes are representative of his writing: simple and sensible. I'm quite taken with his words and photographs (there is a night shot of his cabin in the snow that would make a beautiful poster). I wish I could express myself as well as he did.

It feels like December. The mornings are chilly and foggy. Christmas decorations adorn lampposts and storefronts. Grocery stores have peppermint goodies stocked on shelves and a certain coffee chain is already using red cups and snowflake sleeves. When I walked by one of its many locations this morning, it was difficult to resist the temptation to go inside and order a cranberry bliss bar. I might not be so strong this afternoon.

If merchants and corporations are so eager for it to be December, I think The Powers That Be (TPTB) should eliminate November for a year, just to see how it goes.

• Coders at computer and software companies would have to work overtime to distribute patches for the change.
• Wristwatches with calendar features would need to be adjusted.
• The general public would have to get used to the idea that 11/9/07 was really December 9, 2007.
• Holiday listings would have to be revised (Veteran's Day - December 11, Thanksgiving - December 22, Christmas - December 55 (which could throw Santa for a loop), and New Year's Eve - December 61).
• People would also have to relearn Thirty Days Hath September.
• One's electric bill in December might look extra nasty, especially if one is a Christmas light fiend (as are so many of my neighbors).
• People who were November babies would suddenly be December babies, which might not sit so well with those who were born in the original month of December.

Of course, removing November could have a few positive repercussions, too...

• One would have one less house payment or month of rent to pay a year.
• Wall calendar publishers would only need to choose eleven photos, eliminating the need to pick that twelfth photo, which always seems to be a dud (and usually ends up in your birth month).
• Advent calendars would have 54 pieces of candy, instead of the typical 24.
• For television, November sweeps would become December sweeps and it would be twice as long. Imagine eight whole weeks where show producers and writers make a real effort to produce quality entertainment (or, at the very least, mildly amusing publicity stunts).
• And most importantly, NaNoWriMo participants would have 61 days to crank out their masterpieces. (820 words per day sounds doable!)

Despite that last upside, I'm glad nobody from TPTB has taken steps to eliminate November (that I'm aware of). The month might be gone in spirit, but not in name. Perhaps there will be a day when Thanksgiving and autumn will reassert themselves and take back the month that Christmas stole.

I have currently written 1,149 words. I am satisfied with three of them, which is a pretty good percentage as far as my writing is concerned. I'm still far behind, but the past two days haven't been the most conducive for prolificacy (it's a word, but am I using it correctly?). Since I was rather stumped as to where to begin, I decided to follow two minor characters to start the story. With any luck, they will lead me to the main characters and the plot before I reach the end. Below the fold is an excerpt of what I've written so far.

Poem on my mind... "I'm Scared of It All" by Robert W. Service. The poem introduces Sam Keith and Richard Proenneke's One Man's Wilderness: An Alaskan Odyssey. Below are my two favorite verses...

I want to go back to my lean, ashen plains;
My rivers that flash into foam;
My ultimate valleys where solitude reigns;
My trail from Fort Churchill to Nome.
My forests packed full of mysterious gloom,
My ice-fields agrind and aglare:
The city is deadfalled with danger and doom —
I know that I’m safer up there.

I’m scared of it all: Oh, afar I can hear
The voice of my solitudes call!
We’re nothing but brute with a little veneer,
And nature is best after all.
There’s tumult and terror abroad in the street;
There’s menace and doom in the air;
I’ve got to get back to my thousand-mile beat;
The trail where the cougar and silver-tip meet;
The snows and the camp-fire, with wolves at my feet;
Good-bye, for it’s safer up there.

You can read the entire poem on Wikisource.

Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement; then it becomes a mistress, and then it becomes a master, and then a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him out to the public.

I heard this Winston Churchill quote while watching The Complete Churchill this morning. If the documentary is to be believed, he said this shortly after winning the 1953 Nobel Prize in Literature.

Today is Day 6 of NaNoWriMo. Your average novelist's word count is hovering around 8,333 (still in the toy/amusement phase). Your above-average novelist's word count is somewhere around 50,003 (the monster has already been slain). To preserve the writing world's equilibrium, I have kept my word count to a minimum. To be exact, it's zero. Little can be done to make it any more minimal.

It has taken every ounce of restraint and patience I possess to postpone the adventure these past five days, but after hearing Winston's words, I'm close to breaking. Even my daily dose of procrastinezene (a rare over-the-counter motivation relaxant) is proving ineffective against such inspirational sentiments.

Since it would be imprudent to try to catch up in one valiant effort (10,000 words in a day is possible, but dangerously so), I plan to get back on track in a more measured manner. The goal is to be at 20,000 words by Day 12, seven days from now. That works out to 2,857 words or two hours of focused creativity each day. If I'm successful, I'll be back to average in a week. By then, my novel should be in full mistress phase and well on its way to becoming my master. That's something to look forward to, right?

If you've already started your novel, then good job and don't stop! If you haven't started, it isn't too late to jump on the bandwagon and participate. It's something we can all suffer through together!

I apologize for the unexpected nine-day hiatus. Actually, the time away from the computer wasn't unexpected. I knew I wouldn't have access to one while visiting Walt Disney World in Florida. I just thought I would be able to blog from my iPhone while I was there. Obviously, that didn't happen.

I did give it a try when I first arrived, but Movable Type's interface was nearly impossible to use on an iPhone. The iPhone also doesn't have copy and paste commands, which didn't help. Maybe now that Apple has opened the iPhone to third-party developers, somebody will produce a nifty word processor for it.

Another factor that might have contributed to a lack of writing was a lack of motivation. It was bizarre. There I was, immersed in a world of imagination, and I couldn't seem to spark my own creativity. It was like my mind was locked in attentive mode. All I could do was look, listen, and experience. It wasn't until I was on the plane home that I could finally switch it to expressive mode. All I did on the westward flight was write.

While I was gone, a couple of things happened that I didn't get a chance to write about: Boston won the World Series and NaNoWriMo began (it began, I haven't). I hope to catch up on both of them over the next few days, in between sharing photos and writing about the trip.

By the way, contrary to any rumors I might try to spread, this hiatus was not due to a writer's strike. I was not holding out for a greater percentage of the revenue generated from this site. Goodness knows I should, but it would make more sense to do so if this site didn't generate a negative cashflow.