TILT Nov. 1, 2012

Happy November everyone!

For those of you who know me and have followed me the last couple years, you know November can only mean one thing.

Very little sleep, a whole lot of cuss words, some frozen pizza, some energy drinks and my computer.

Yep, it’s novel writin’ time!

I am joining with thousands of people across the world to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November.

I have participated in National Novel Writing Month two times before and finished on time both years (woo!).

It isn’t easy.

I have a procrastination way that makes things…difficult.

However, I also have the reporter drive of finishing things on time that allows me, like last year, to write 30,000 words in a week.

On my first day this time, I wrote…zero words.

Yep, zero.

But fear not, blog readers, I’ll make it work again.

Don’t forget, I caught a serious, massive cold my first year and was wiped out for a full week at the beginning of the month.

I can do this, with your support.

Write on, guys. Write on.

(Yeah, I could resist the pun. Like grainy pictures of myself, it’s gonna keep happening. DEAL WITH IT.)


Writin’ like the wind

Well, I did it. I wrote 50,000 words this month and finished my second novel.

Pretty jazzed about it, actually.

It’s way different than my first one. It doesn’t have ANY musical references or precocious little girls or love interests that look like my honeybun JGL.

Instead, it has crime and guns and mostly male characters.

Weird but true.

Of course, there are some super cheesy romance storylines.

I wouldn’t want people thinking I didn’t really write it.

Also, I relearned a very important lesson.

Like last year, I did not do my suggested word count each day. Leaving me a huge amount of words to write the last week.

This is what it looks like when you procrastinate a bit:


Taking the write path

Well, it’s November. Which means it’s back to the novel writing for me.

This month, I will attempt to write 50,000 words in 30 days, along with thousands of other people.

It should be swell.

Here’s the opening of the rough draft of my newest novel, tentatively titled Just another day:


Sometimes, one of those days comes along. A day that you’re sure could not possibly be any worse. When facing one of those days, it’s important to stop, breathe and remember this: somewhere, someone out there is having a worse day than you.

Today, I am that person.

Don’t believe me? Consider this. Right now, I am sitting in the back of a van, a gun clutched to my side that I have neither the knowledge to know how to use nor the desire to do so. Three men wearing ski masks are staring at me as I try to keep from shaking.

In front, an unmasked man steers the van through traffic, hoping to avoid the sirens that seem to be coming from all directions.

And I don’t even know if I would classify this as the low point of my day. So, it’s true. Today, I am that one unfortunate soul who can help make everyone else feel a little better about the things going wrong in their lives.

But I should start at the beginning.

My name is Sarah Jensen and when I woke up this morning, I was looking forward to the day.

I should have stayed in bed.

Celebrity best friends

One of my little pals, Dean, 10, was in the office this morning and this happened.

Dean: Didn’t you write a book?

Me: Yep!

D: Is it going to get published.

M: I hope so.

D: You mean you could be a best seller?

M: That would be nice.

D: Yeah! Then I could be best friends with a celebrity!



Here’s to hopin, dude.

The sounds rang out

Today, I was interviewing someone about a community service day going on in Othello.

In the middle of the interview he said, “The sounds of hammers and nails could be heard throughout town Sunday morning, as…”

I asked him what he was talking about.

He said, “I’m just guessing what you are going to write in your story.”

So, yeah. I think some people may have figured out my style. And how much I love sensory words and adjectives…

Where’s the action?

Ok, one more. I have been saving these up and just got around to typing them. So there.

This one is from Ape House by Sara Gruen.

This is about a man who is reading his wife’s novel for the first time. I got a very similar review about mine.

When she finally gave it to him, John flipped through the pages with a growing sense of unease. He hoped earnestly and with his soul that he was wrong — after all, his own guilty pleasures included Dan Brown and Michael Crighton — and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that the novel was missing that crucial something. Her prose was beautiful and polished and swept him along, but by the time he reached the end she had not blown up a single thing. There was no car wreck, no murder, no secret brotherhood or international plague. It was psychological and literary and while John understood that there were people who enjoyed such books, he wasn’t one of them, which was exceedingly unfortunate given that his wife had just written one and wanted his opinion. When his silence finally grew conspicuous, he lied copiously and through his teeth.