rock stairs, path, and walls installed by CCCs in the 1930s.
Poetry, The Daily

NaNoWriMo Walls of Old

rock stairs, path, and walls nstalled by CCCs in the 1930s.
on Flickr

Daily Note

Every day, a photograph, a poem.

Today is November 1st– the first day of my NaNoWriMo [National Novel Writing Month] in which I write at least 1667 words a day to reach 50,000 total words by November 30th — fifty thousand words of a novel inside you!

Each year for eleven years I have reached that goal. Several are possibly pretty good fantasy novels for the early middle years. This year, I will finish a novel that has spanned three years, including this one. I write for the novel, its poetry/songs, and to illustrate characters, events, and settings. That will be the focus of this blog for thirty days.

Take a look at artifacts of my novels so far. Click for AskWhatElse posts, with links to their Flickr albums below:

Today, I start where I left off– with Joseph given a task by the once evil and now perhaps a hero, Olivia. It’s a frightening task to take on, considering the evil that Olivia Booth’s family reeks on the community in the form of banning stories, restricting traditions, and seeking control of community’s progress and leadership.

Who knew I’d be writing about today’s America? I certainly had not planned this — I start with a scene and characters, and then let the characters lead me through the story. It’s their world.

Joseph is a new character, and I don’t know much about him, except that he is part of the community work crew and that he saw the yellow flashes of possible fairy dust in the recent archeological dig. And he is surprised that Olivia seemed to see them too, especially since her family does not “believe” in the existence of the wee and the wide world beyond our own.

His task is to follow the spiral of black rocks long hidden near the old rock wall, but recently found by Olivia, a Booth and his supervisor. Does he trust her, or worry about his real boss, her father– the arrogant nonbeliever, Oberon Booth?

And so, before I even begin my writing, a poem about the Walls of Old, some of which we have in our park, which is an inspiration for much of my writing.

Walls of Old

Some crumble—
the walls of old
yet others hold
strong, untumbled
as if expert craftsmen
or perhaps magician?
either casts a spell
to hold the wall well—
the ones that hold
the walls of old
though others, fell.

Sheri Edwards
11.01.22 307.365.22

And, an old Life Finds A Way poem from 2021: Ponderosa Pine.

1342 days of posts in a row on Ask What Else

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