Camp NaNo, Day 2 (But Technically I Just Woke Up)

Brains...brains... Here we are, first thing in the morning on the second day of Camp NaNo. What I'd like to do (and might still), is grab a cup of coffee and drive out to the park and write. It is camp. And I did wake up to a bunkmate scraping his paws across the fan because he was sleeping with his nose practically pressed against the faceplate, so that feels very much like something you'd do in a cabin where the a/c is basically the breeze.

Camp is also (after food, nature hikes, and camp cliques) about crafting. That means I need to update my bulletin board (pics to come), which functions as my idea board/inspiration and really should have been done earlier and plan out a bracelet (which means a trip to Home Depot for brass washers...there may be a post on this later) and maybe a small zine for an outline. My primary goal for this month is to fill up the notebook pictured above and it might be nice to have an easy summary of what the story eventually becomes.

This is actually the underlying theme of this camp: what is Slay Me a Love Song becoming after living in my head and in disparate draft pieces for years?

With that, it's back out into the wilderness of blank pages. If you're at camp as well this month, hope you're having fun!

-- chrissa

Comments

Flagrant

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #217. Come be part of the conflagration. :) Oh, they called the mob to celebrate But only the fire heard They called the mass to congregate But only the dry grass bowed A conflagration Called to prayer Hungry for light Hungry for air Oh, they called the mob celebrate Wearing flames in their hair They called the mass to congregate Faceless in the burning air. Greetings and salutations. I'm not sure what to say--we're not celebrating the 4th this year (not that I'm prepared to cede one holiday to the authoritarian idiots in charge of our state, but our grass is still dry from the heat and we have a dog terrified of fireworks...so we're celebrating by bunkering down and watching Howling 2 at the gleefully deranged suggestion of my sibling) and otherwise I've turned our dead corn plants into the basis for this year's Camp NaNo project...it's turning into a weird year, the kind of year where I'm reading more horror than norma...

Lunar Lanai

This is one of the prompt images Carrie brought in for WordCrafters last Wednesday. The prompts this week were multifaceted and I chose a different direction during the meeting but really liked this image. Couldn't think of a good direction until today. Which might have to do with this week bringing in all the summer humidity and most of the heat. And mosquitoes. Definitely in the mood to get the non-volunteer sunflowers in the ground to see how they do compared to the ones the birds have scattered among the pots and bricks and grass. -- Chrissa I know the man in the moon, he rents the apartment on the third floor. Far corner, to the left. See him in the laundry room some nights. There's a woman who keeps a rabbit--no pets allowed, but we don't notice. She's on the first floor but you can see the fur gleaming in the window Nights when the moon's doing his laundry. There's a woman who wears those crochet dresses, you know the ones? Like we're all watching a ...

Phalanxes

Phalanxes of plastic ducks: wizards, barbarians-- the occasional detective-- swirl in the giant conundrum. Plastic dolls (fashion dolls?), no judgement on brand or aisle or hair, especially now, hear the canard-verse via pathways laid down in heat, in formless transformations. They know the wars. They know the strategies. They know the tidal energies. Or so Mandy says, holding a damp doll by the hair, dripping on the carpet, sleepy as an oracle fresh from a hot spring [or a bath] prophesying plastic. It's been a week since The Sunday Muse. And I'm working on the Indie Summer Read/Writeathon (currently reading Rocket Science and enjoying the drama) and working on other projects...but I find that I'm missing my Sunday poetry. :) -- Chrissa

A Weed on The Curb

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