Daily insights from #nanowrimo creative project, split between fiction and non-fiction writing

By Emma Palova

EW Emma’s Writings

Lowell, MI – I added three pages and finished the short story “Raspberry Rage” (c) 2018 Emma Palova bringing the total word count to 37, 028 in the 50K word marathon. That puts the new collection of short stories beyond the half-way point with six stories done.

The takeaways from nanowrimo

The widget on the dashboard keeps track of your average daily writing rate and days to finish on time by Nov. 30.  From the start, I averaged 1, 900 words. The projected finish will be on Nov. 26, according to the dashboard.

However, today I had to also write non-fiction “Christmas through Lowell” for the Lowell Ledger, which made up for the remaining three pages of the daily quota. Those non-fiction three pages will not tally into the creative project.

For more info go to: http://www.nanowrimo.org

Excerpts from “Chief”

It was the biggest night of the year under the moon of falling leaves. The town of Riddleyville has been getting ready for the annual Ladies Night Out since lastyear.

Everyone has forgotten the fiasco when the city manager dressed up in an ugly sweater with black cats and pumpkins and black pants that had a hole in them.

He came running out of the city hall to greet the mayor, and the pants fell off of him.

However, being a man of no shame, Ricky just pulled them up and shook the mayor’s hand smiling.

“You’re dressed up Ricky, what’s going on?” asked the mayor.

“It’s girls’ night out, and it’s almost Halloween,” Ricky put on his regular grimace of an enslaved man. “I wanted to dress for the occasion.”

Ricky was stubby with black hair and an occasional mustache that he from time to time either shaved off or grew it into a goatee.

“You’re not a girl or a lady Ricky,” said the mayor walking into the well-lit building. “We need to talk about a few things.”

No one has ever found out what the two talked about in the big office that night.

The town had two memories; one forgiving and the other unforgiven.

Ricky for the most part fell under the first category.

He did remember not to dress up this time, since it was a chick flick night. Ricky watched from his window the action on Main Street. He had a lot of paperwork to finish, and the mayor too usually came in to chat.

Women of all ages were running in the street enjoying the warmth of the late autumn. Some were dressed up in their prom dresses from a long time ago; yellow, red, purple and blue. Ricky wondered how the heck they fit back in them. He himself couldn’t fit into anything remotely resembling his high school years. His pants were small, and his belly was overflowing like the proverbial muffin. Ricky fought it for years, then he gave in.

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