To be frank, I think the universe hates me on some cosmic level. I’ve accomplished so many things in my life, but every milestone I pass and every great achievement I reach, something dreadful happens. Don’t worry, I’ll get to the NaNoWriMo stuff in a minute. Don’t be pushy. So on top of my apocalyptically bad year, I’ve also had a lot of success. For some reason, I sometimes focus so much on the crap that I completely miss out on all the things totally rockin’ in my life. For me? So much death and destruction (literally) has smacked me so absolutely stupid I forgot to (how cliché is this?) look at the bright side. So that’s what I’ll be covering today for NaNoWriMo, on top of pulling yourself out of your black hole.

It’s day seven, the dreadful week one marker. Have you reached your word goal of 11,669 words? Yeah. I hate that number too. Luckily I have reached it, but only barely. Since day one I have been behind. I am not proud of this fact. Last year I rocked NaNo by starting day one off with 10k words and finishing the month at 79k. It wasn’t until last night that I forced myself to write until my eyeballs fell out of their sockets. 8k words later . . . you get the point. Super glue works wonders. Okay, okay. Back to the point.

NaNoWriMo blues hit us all. It’s an epidemic amongst Wrimos across the world. First it starts with, “I got behind.” Then you move up to, “I had a lot going on.” By day seven, you’re excuses have turned catastrophically lame. “I won’t ever catch up, so why should I try?” “I have nothing to write.” “I’m stuck on ___ scene!” If you are one of these people making up excuses, I am sending you a virtual slap across your virtual face. And you’re welcome. Glad to have you back in NaNoWorld, where writers do crazy things like sprint-writing and attempting a 50k novel in one month.

I’m not much into the pep-talk bizz (as you can read), but I do know one thing about deciding to write during NaNo and then failing miserably (or a few things, depending on who you’re talking to): there is no excuse. Okay, sometimes there is, but the above excuses DO NOT COUNT. Don’t even try them on me. So, for you Wrimos singing the blues, I have come up with a list of websites and ideas to pull you out of your writing funk (and to help you continue to excel if you’re on schedule).

1. Do a writing sprint or join a word war.

2. Go crazy; write out of order! If you think you can handle it, write your entire novel backwards. That might help you move your novel . . . along.

3. Go to the writer’s adoption place. Yes, it actually exists. Adopt ideas, characters, plots, etc.

4. Sign up to get your daily WitFit from Fictionista Workshop. Tons of ideas on the website, including their “plot generator.”

5. If you’re falling behind because you are constantly talking trash about your writing, stop now. Make a list of ten things that you find good about your writing. Now watch the words flow.

6. Write something that won’t end up in your novel. Something off the wall could bring inspiration to your novel. Here are some examples: A) Have your characters argue over something completely ridiculous, like Red Bull vs. other energy drinks. B) Create lists for your book or characters or whatever. Doesn’t matter. You never know, you might need to know your MC’s top ten favorite TV shows. C) Decide what your characters would do in a life or death situation. Hunger Games, anyone?

7. Dare yourself to do something wild. Check out NaNoWriMo dares.

8. Find your region’s NaNo forum and hook up with local writers trying to reach the same goal.

9. Hop on Twitter and/or FB and message me (see links in left hand corner). I’ll cheer you on if I’m online. If not, search #NaNoWriMo on Twitter to find others like yourself struggling through the month of November.

10. GET OFF THE INTERNET. If you own a Mac, try the Self Control App.

Okay, here’s my NaNoWriMo excerpt of the week in Wrimo fashion with no edits and probably lots of typos. Enjoy!

Summer falls backward and slams into a flat surface with a resounding thud. The impact knocks the breath from her lungs and the senses from her brain. Everything becomes double. She stops traveling moments after she hits the ground, though it doesn’t stop her from seeing two of everything. Pebbles and dust rain down over her fish-out-of-water routine as she fights for breath. Her eyelids flutter, and her eyes water as the dust settles in them. She still can’t breath, and a panic attack the likes of which no one has ever seen is about to happen. Her arms won’t move, and the rest of her body is so bruised she doesn’t want to move. It is so dark. She opens her eyes. It is still dark enough to frighten her heart into skipping a few beats. After what feels like an eternity, she is able to gasp for air. The sound of her inhaling air is loud in her ears, startling her. A coughing fit ensues as she breathes in the dust, and that makes everything hurt even more. She groans and tries not to move until she can assess the damage. First she has to fix her vision. Crossing her eyes and blinking rapidly bring about no results, so she decides to keep her eyes closed for now.

The shock of something heavy landing next to Summer causes the ground to shake. Her eyes go wide as she turns her head to the side, but there is nothing there but a puff of dust barely noticeable in the darkness. She coughs again, wishing her arms would obey so she can hold her side. The sounds of fighting reverberate through the pit, fading the farther down it goes. Summer realizes for the first time that she’s alive and that she didn’t fall very far at all. If she had, she would be dead. From the sound of it, the pit is deeper than where she landed. She must have hit a ledge. Oh, great. Another ledge. She coughs an un-amused laugh, closing her eyes against the pain this causes.

“It’s not funny.”

The voice surprises and shocks Summer, making her jerk. Ouch. As soon as she opens her eyes, she starts laughing again. Uncontrollably. She’s hallucinating.

“It’s still not funny,” two Julians say, crossing their arms. They lean against the wall and slide to the ground beside her. Summer is still laughing and wincing in pain. She has completely lost it. For a moment, both Julians just stare at her with no expression, then they too start to join her laughter. Soon, all three of them are in hysterics, even though there truly is nothing funny about this at all.

No one comes to investigate where the laughter is coming from because the fight is still ongoing. When Summer starts to cough again, the non-humor of the moment fades. The Julians kneel over her, checking for damage and being all saviorly. Their presence calms her, and she hopes the hallucinations don’t go away.

“Where does it hurt?” both Julians ask.

“There are two of you,” Summer replies.

“So you hit your head?”

“I like two Julians,” Summer continues.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Um.” She pauses. Squints. “Four? Five? You have to hold still so I can count.”

Both Julians sigh and lean back.

“Wait. Don’t go,” Summer says, voice less dreamy and more frightened. “I can’t move my arms.”

The Julians seem like they are merging as they hover over her again. “Can you feel your arms?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” For some reason this causes Summer to cry.

The merging Julians look worried. “Can you feel this?” they ask as they press against her right arm.

“I can only feel one of you,” she replies, crying all the harder. She closes her eyes, and tears trickle into her hair and ears.

“How about this?” There is pressure on her left arm, and she gasps in pain.

“I don’t want to feel that arm,” she says seriously, frowning. Julian lightly chuckles, though she doesn’t know why. When she opens her eyes, there is only one Julian. This scares her more than the initial fall did. This Julian might disappear like the other one, and right now she needs this hallucination to keep her sane. The irony isn’t lost on her, but who cares at this point?