T'was the night before Nano...

Background: Last year, for anyone who wasn't there, we'd arranged for a late night Halloween kick-off to Nanowrimo via IRC, where a ton of us were online and challenging each other to word-count battles in slowly raising increments. I discovered that while I am competitive by nature, there are still some things that I genuinely suck at. And thus, my memories are of fond conversations and fun chats, and not "HAHA! I *SO* kicked their asses! Yaha! In your face!" :)

That being said...a poem. (ahem)

(coughs lightly into sleeve)

T’was the night before Nano, and on IRC
There were all sorts of writers logged in, even me!
Some stared at their screens with a feeling of dread
The number ’Fifty-Thousand’ now lodged in their head.

Some found time fly fast, while for others it slowed,
Till Janna officially ‘Ready, Set, Go!’d.
After minutes of typing, my fingers got tangled,
And I risked a look up to see which words I mangled.

My character said “Hay dose U has sum foowd?”
I was typing like ‘LOLcats’…this just wasn’t good.
I stretched out my fingers and emptied my cup,
It was time to get serious- what’s that? Time is up?!

Ten minutes? That wasn’t ten minutes just now!
I check with my clock, feel some sweat on my brow.
Somehow it was true, and the time was twelve-ten
And everyone listed how much they’d written.

“Four hundred and seventy-six, how ‘bout you?”
I clicked on my word-count and sighed. “Forty-two”
“What happened?” I cried to my big empty room.
“You choked!” said a voice from the dark and the gloom.

And who should I see with a big can of mace?
T’was Hunter S. Thompson, a smug look on his face!
His bright grinning teeth clenched a cigarette holder,
And seeing me flinch, made his words even bolder!

“Now listen up, whiner, I’ll say this just once…
If you want higher word counts, stop being a dunce!
Don’t focus on seconds slowly ticking down,
Or stress about whether you look like a clown!

It’s supposed to be fun, you are here to enjoy!
So get at it! Don’t make me slap you, my boy…
And all of that coffee has made you quite jerky,
Just throw it all out! Here! Have some Wild Turkey!”

I stared at the bourbon with eyebrows a-raised,
He chuckled and said “Son, you would be amazed.
I swear by this beverage; it’s all that I need.
Now hurry, drink up and start writing! I’ll read!”

So quickly I chugged down some dark brown elixir.
(And wished for some cola to use as a mixer.)
Soon after, my fingers were flying like mad
As I tried to force every idea I had.

Then things went all fuzzy; I woke up in bed.
What happened? And what’s with this pain in my head?
“Oh no! Nanowrimo, I’ve got to keep writing!”
then suddenly, as if I’d been struck by lightning…

I sat, and I wrote, and then I wrote some more.
Completely relaxed, like it wasn’t a chore!
I didn’t need coffee, I didn’t need booze,
Just needed to wind down and have a good snooze.

Now calm and refreshed, my word count did climb
I even spied plot bunnies from time to time.
Anxiety had kept words trapped inside my head,
That Hunter is one smart bast-…hey wait! He’s dead!

I glanced at the bottle of booze on the table,
“It wasn’t a dream!” I said, feeling less stable.
A sepulchral voice laughed “Now you’re out of your rut!
So go win Nanowrimo, or I’ll come kick your butt.”

----------
Three blind mice. Three blind mice.
See how they run...
...where in the *Hell* are they going?