Countdown: 18 days until the start

This year your sophomore novelista has decided to get somewhat more organized. So, no more deciding what we're gonna write today just as the laptop is booting up. No, this year There Will Be Preparation. So far it's paid off.

To wit, the first idea to take root in YT's active imagination was a travel novel: five California techies go on a wild holiday trip. Okay, each of the five men was taking shape in profiles in the notebook, the six women they meet were starting to emerge from the dazzling sunlight, and each act had a name. Five men, six women, must be a plot twist in there. Then YT realized that he's never been to Mardi Gras, Carnival, or Spring Break, doesn't know the requisite foreign language, and would have to study really, really hard to give the culture clash any plausibility. Sounds like too much work for NaNoWriMo, frankly.

So, out came the list of 20 plot ideas. It should be easy to choose some one-liner to hang a novel on. Then that old devil imagination got going again and suggested a plot that combines threads from several. Starting two days ago, out poured the details: a science fiction adventure, sort of an anti-time-travel novel, where the protagonist gets plucked from a party-party lifestyle, takes risks and rewards stiff discipline with stiff drinks. Or perhaps that last bit goes the other way around.

YT now has three pages of notes on plot developments, pacing, culture and some good questions to ask about the pocket world he's created. There's still time to let the characters start speaking for themselves. Let's see where this one goes.

Some plot ideas to avoid

Here are a few plot ideas that won't get used for NaNoWriMo, at least not by YT.

Everything's a romance novel these days. The latest twist: time travel romances! These plots came to mind.

• A man can travel through time, but only if he is naked. When he arrives at a new when and where, he must find his pack full of supplies that travels separately.
• A man meets a woman who he makes happy. He finds out her mother was made miserable by a mysterious stranger. He travels back in time and finds the story repeats itself earlier and earlier in time. Finally he gives a miserable woman lasting happiness, but realizes he is the one who made all the other women, her descendants, miserable. He must decide whether to erase the misery of later generations, but at the cost of the one woman's happiness.
• Seven of Nine (of Star Trek) returns to the early 21st century to bond with Martha Stewart.

Okay. Not cheesy enough for you? Let's sink lower into the depths of utter... uh, creativity.

• A woman thinks that by emulating Seven of Nine's rigid personality, she can become friends with Martha Stewart.
• A fan fiction writer gets hired to work on the television show he idolizes.
• A man wakes up one day to discover and old flame has moved in next door. She insists on being part of his life, but he is never sure about which part.

These were inspired by the Query Letters I Love blog, with a tip o' the hat to Penda for linking to it from her Diner.

More Recap - Thoughts one day after the 2004 finish

Here is what YT wrote on December 1, the day after the end of NaNoWriMo.

Oy. Writing partners like Ms. Tiff plug away at a steady pace and finish early. YT lets the old, bad habits back out and goes for the sprint at the end. Here are some thoughts not quite 24 hours after passing the magic 50,000 word threshold.

Immediate conclusions:

1. Write every day. Seriously. The steady pace of the first two weeks, if kept up, would have surely led to a better novel. The sprint at the end led to much sloppiness.
   
2. A little planning beats no planning at all. Spending five or ten minutes sketching out notes for a scene made writing it so much easier, time after time. Even a few lines on a 3x5 card helps keep up forward momentum during the writing session.
   
3. Never write a sex scene on deadline. This requires a delicate touch, lest the writing get too mechanical or too elliptical. Writing about sex at breakneck speed just washes away all imagination in a torrent of words.

On 188 printed pages, the draft as a whole reads like... a rush draft. Or as one WriMo put it, a thick pile of sludge. YT is resisting the temptation to edit Right Now. The shape of the novel will still be there in a couple of weeks. On the Day After WriMo, catching up on sleep is sooo much a better choice.

Later, YT rambled on, saying along the way:

On the other hand, there's a draft of about two thirds of a novel sitting in an inch-thick pile over on the table. That's about two thirds of a novel more than YT had in hand a month ago.


And with those observations, we leave memories of 2004 behind.

2004 NaNoWriMo Recap

Let's back up to mid-summer 2004. YT found out about National Novel Writing Month while surfing the 'Net for something else entirely. In his advancing old age, the Bricoleur was less and less concerned about what other people thought, and eager to play outside his comfort zone. Thus was born a grand experiment: to see whether he could write a story at novel length.

Well... Perhaps it wasn't so grand, but it was only for a month, and it sounded like a hoot. It helped that friend Tiff also volunteered to become a WriMo, and, later, that the others who turned out to the Detroit-area writing nights were a fascinating bunch. Picking a handle wasn't hard. The novel must necessarily be a great bricolage, so the Bricoleur was born.

YT started off with an idea. Let's really get outside the comfort zone: let this fifty-something married man write a romance novel. It started with a couple of names, Cassandra Kostrzewa and Ryan Delany, on a note card. Then came the setup: her best friend would hook up with his roommate, Cass and Ryan would get thrown together, and would puzzle out their attraction as smart, single professionals in present-day Chicago.

Then YT panicked. It wasn't midlife crisis, exactly, so much as the fear YT had reached too far out of the comfort zone. A quick read of Chris Baty's book, No Plot, No Problem, proved both calming and encouraging. And then we were off to the races!

Things went pretty well for a while. The panoramic lack of preparation proved little hindrance to cranking out lots of words. The novel just naturally had to be called Too Lucky This Week. YT noticed his own shortcomings and blogged, after 1 week:

Rule #1: Dive Right In. Forward motion is what's important. You can pretty it up in December.

But the habits of programming are too far ingrained by middle age. The Inner Editor lives in the right brain, and acts up when the left brain grabs hold of the reins. Hence Rule #2 seems a worthwhile appeasement.

Rule #2: Fix it right after you type it. If it's scrolled off screen, it's off limits.

To make a long story short, after a meandering start, the characters started speaking in their own voices and doing what they were destined to do. YT was just the scribe. A few notes scribbled before each writing session blossomed into complete chapters. Then the Real World intruded, YT slacked off writing, and fell far behind the pace. Only a marathon session, literally at the last minute, got the Brico into the winner's circle.

Too Lucky This Week clocked in at 51,110 words, 188 double-spaced manuscript pages, and about two thirds of a complete novel. In it were some scenes this first-time novelist was proud of, a few that made him cringe, and surprisingly good writing throughout. The shoe shopping scene made the Brico famous in certain (small) circles. The Friday night roundtable at the neighborhood bar sounded right for good friends relaxing. So, the experiment was a success.

YT promised to leave the MS alone in December. December stretched into whole seasons without further writing. Well, let's face it. Too Lucky lacked a steady pace, a tight plot, a smooth shape. YT knew around February it would never go any further. But the rewards of writing convinced YT it was worth doing again. So, here we are, nearing the starting line again. Stay tuned.

Some Housekeeping...

Since this blog is intended to chronicle a NaNoWriMo novel in progress, YT has decided to purge the 2004 postings by the time November 1, 2005, rolls around. Last year's novel excerpts don't fit the mood of this year's novel. YT is sure his readers, all three of them, aren't interested in rereading his gripes about elections and employment. Some of the key 2004 entries will be updated for the new year, though.

Update: October 11. YT has left two 2004 chapters up. Otherwise the purge is complete.

(Re) Introduction

Kicking off Year Two of the blog... Here's the very first posting, updated for 2005.

This is the National Novel Writing Month weblog of Wes the Bricoleur. Or, for short, NaNoWriMo and YT (yours truly). The goal of NaNoWriMo is to write a 50,000-word novel in the month of November. That's it! 1,667 words a day, every day, quality not even a consideration. Free Range Novelist chronicles my experiences during November, 2005. It will center on day-by-day writing plus some excerpts from my novel-in-progress. Maybe 10% of postings will ramble off into other topics.

Why a blog on top of daily pages of novel to write? This is a way to let some "I-ness" out in the midst of so much "they-ness" writing in the characters' voices. If my Inner Editor gets too restless pacing in its month-long cage, it can exercise on a very short leash here.

Here are my rules for November: this blog is a place for honest observation and reflection. Like, or don't like what YT writes? Feel free to comment, all opinions are welcome. But I simply will not be bothered to get into flaming or catfights. I'll write about other WriMos here, and in return expect to be fair game.

The original charter of Free Range Novelist was only a handful of words different from this, so I'll just keep going in the original spirit, but one year wiser in the ways of the WriMo.

So. Here we go... enjoy November!

What happened next...

That was December (last post). This is August. So what has happened to the novel since? Well, let's go back through the steps.

1. Go to the TGIO party Sunday night.

Did that. Sigh, only three of us showed, but had a good chat nevertheless.

2. Loan the manuscript copy out to friends who've asked to read it. This will get YT into the recommended getting-some-distance period.

Did that, too. Loaned the manuscript out to C., who was amazed at the length but little else. Then YT exchanged hostages with Miss Tiff, after which both novels languished. (The arrival of Tiff and Geoff's baby boy may have contributed.)

Then the choices are:
3a. Write the obvious next chapter.
3b. Spend time working out the plot and story arc, resume after Xmas.
3c. Walk away for a few weeks.

Choice (c), then never came back.

4. Regardless of the choice in (3) above, practice saying "Why, yes, in my first novel I ..." in appropriate social situations.

Absolutely did that. YT didn't even have to strain to hard to find those appropriate situations.

...And then YT realized just how far beyond redemption Too Lucky This Week really was. But there were good side effects. Writing in general has gotten easier. YT has learned to trust the forc^^^^ flow a lot more. The words come out looking pretty good without all the agonizing beforehand, and if it's not right, well, it can always be fixed.

There's a saying that goes: an investor takes his choices much more seriously when it's his own money he's playing with. YT thinks the same goes for writing. It's your own words flowing onto that blank screen, and you run up against your own limitations a lot faster than a non-writer might think. Perhaps that is the big reward of WriMo month: learning one's own limitations. Of course, the fun of NaNoWriMo is very much in blithely ignoring them.

Novel Excerpt, Chapter 17

From Too Lucky This Week, chapter 17. On most Fridays, Cass joins a group of college friends for "Drive Time," where the women drink and talk about men for an hour before starting their weekends. (Author's note: I'm posting this long piece because I had fun with it, and it shows what happens when the words really start to flow.)

Most of the time, Cass arrived late for Drive Time. Today she could go home, change and still show up on the early side. So she went into her apartment, sorted the mail, and picked out a comfortable outfit. The shell stayed, but she ditched the pants and blazer in favor of loose jeans and her fall windbreaker. There was no question about shoes. The new boots went right on. She’d see if her friends noticed. After all, they noticed things much better than most men.

Cass walked into the Home Place ten minutes early. At twenty past five on a Friday, the Place was nearly empty. The crowds would come fast close to six, but for now, the bar was clean, well-lit and blessedly quiet. Cass looked over at the Drive Time regular table. Sophie was already sitting there.

Cass walked up. “Zosia, jak sie masz?”

Sophie answered, “Kasia, w porzadku!”

They laughed at their ritual greeting. Neither woman remembered much Polish from their school years, but they said it out of solidarity with the “old town,” the working class suburb of Warren, in Michigan. Sometimes, when they wandered up Milwaukee Avenue, old people would speak to them in Polish, and one or the other would have to remember how to say they really didn’t speak it.

When the waitress appeared, Cass ordered a white zinfandel. Sophie ordered the same, saying, “We’ve got to be able to drive home.” The women giggled. That, of course was the joke. None of the Drive Time women actually drove during the week. They relaxed at the Home Place while a million commuters fought the traffic home to Schaumburg or wherever.

Just as their drinks arrived, Lalita and Martha walked up to the table. They’d have the same. They settled into the round booth. Martha said, “Let’s talk about men! Lalita has something to say.”

Sophie said, “Not yet. We can’t talk about men without Jenna. She’ll have the best story, as usual.”

“I’m not so sure. We have two weeks’ worth of men to catch up on, and Lalita here is in the running.”

But they waited, chatting instead about putting away fall clothes, the problems finding parking for the cars they didn’t commute in, and other chitchat. Martha and Lalita had gone back to Kalamazoo the previous weekend, so Drive Time did not have a quorum last week.

<>Martha had run into Sophie’s old roommate, in town with her husband for a football game. Sophie said, “Was he as boring as she was obnoxious?” They had had a falling out in their senior year.

Martha said, “Actually, Jack seems to have brought out the better side of Liz. He cares a lot for her, and she’s given up calculating all the angles in every situation. You might even like her now, Sophie.”

Sophie snorted in disbelief, saying, “Next time I’m in Kalamazoo…” She had not been back since graduation.

Jenna Denny walked in then, flagged down a waitress and ordered a scotch, straight up. She sat down next to Sophie, saying, “Where’s Petra?”

Sophie answered, “Probably stuck on the El. You know we never all get here within ten minutes of starting time. Give her a break.”

Jenna held up her glass and said, “Let’s talk about men!” Now they had enough members to start. The four other women held up their glasses and toasted, “Let’s talk about men!” A couple of men at the bar looked on, fascinated. Jenna said, “Okay, around the table now. Martha, you first.”

Martha said, “I thought about my men over the weekend. I chose Terry. The other women piped up with “Right on!” and “Good for you.” Martha dragged people along with her enthusiasm, and inevitably found the men she was interested in couldn’t keep up. She said, “Bill just couldn’t keep up. It’s the story of my life. Then Terry showed up for a canoe outing, and we got paired up. He said he was okay at canoeing, so I just sort of took over, but after a couple of hours he got upset when I didn’t switch the back seat with him.” The women smiled. They’d heard this story before, but it was funny every time. “I told him I didn’t know if he could handle the current in the next section. So when we got to the fast water, he waited until I made a reach, then he did something I still don’t understand, and we flipped around in the current. I hadn’t figured out how to recover when there he was, now he was the rear seat, he had us under control, and I was facing backwards! I didn’t know whether to hate the guy or congratulate him for such a slick move. But I saw he knew what he was doing and let him drive. By the time we got to the takeout we were both laughing.”

Jenna said, “But we’ve heard this part.”

Martha said, “Oh, but you know he did it to me rollerblading, too. Tenth of October, probably the last good skating day of the year. I went out skating in Lincoln Park, and here he was coming the other direction. He saw me and turned around so we could skate together. He had what looked like sloppy form, so I turned backward and took his arms to get him to go in a straighter line. And do you know what that sneaky bastard did? He did some kind of dance step, like he was waltzing with me, and suddenly he was the one leading, going backward, and pulling me along! I haven’t figured out how he did that one, either!”

All the women laughed at Martha getting her comeuppance. Even Martha laughed, saying, “Every time I try too hard to go off in the direction I want to go, he does something sneaky to turn me around. And I never see it coming! He doesn’t try to keep up with me, he just bends me in his direction. So this is something I’m actually starting to enjoy. Over the weekend I thought about the difference between Terry and Bill. Poor Bill, he’s a nice guy, but he can only run after me. I let him down easy on Monday night, and you know what? I think he was relieved.”

More laughs echoed around the table. Petra appeared in the crowd of people flooding through the door. She sat down all the way around the table from Jenna, completing the group of six. Petra saw the zinfandel, and ordered herself a glass. Cass and Lalita were ready for their second glasses of wine.

When Petra was settled, Jenna said, “Let’s go back to the beginning of the circle. Petra, you’re next.”

Petra said, “Wait, I’ve got to get my story straight!” More laughter.

Martha said, “No, let Lalita go next.”

Lalita said, “I got fixed up by my parents.” The other women groaned. Lalita’s parents were educated, had become American citizens, but still held old-fashioned Indian ideas about many things. Lalita had adopted mainstream habits in Chicago, ones she mostly didn’t tell her parents about.

She said, “Wait! It gets really good. Martha came home with me for the weekend, and of course my mother and auntie were happy to see her. But they were acting a little strange, like they were waiting for something. Well, of course my auntie took Martha off into the kitchen…”

Petra cut in, “So, do you have some good new recipe to make?”

Martha said, “Wait ‘til you taste my chicken vindaloo. But let Lita tell her story.”

Lalita picked up the thread. “Martha was off cooking, and I don’t know how she gets it when I don’t. My dad comes over and starts talking about my responsibilities as a proper young woman.” Here she imitated the singsong accent that her father had never overcome. “I figured that he was getting impatient for me to marry, no matter how often I told him that even at thirty I’d still be a catch. I mean, I don’t tell him all I do here, but I’m still a respectable woman! But he just said, ‘Think on your responsibilities for the next few days.’ Little did I imagine…”

Martha said, “the Professor is smarter than we thought about his darling daughter.”

Lalita said, “On Saturday night we had the Krishnamurthys come over. Everyone made a big fuss over the chicken, and I think they were scandalized when my auntie said the white girl had made it. But Auntie just said she wanted a daughter, and Martha was doing just fine. Well, who could argue with my dotty old auntie, especially when Martha has some talent for spices.”

Martha said, “You’re avoiding the subject.”

Lalita said, “Well, okay. The Krishnamurthy family brought along their son Rajiv. My folks and his folks figured that since we both lived in Illinois, and we got along as kids, that we should think about marriage.”

Cass said “What?!” Jenna said, “Are they nuts?”

Lalita answered, “No, they’re traditional. They all had arranged marriages back then, and they think American women are scandalous, the way they sleep around.”

Martha said, “Your father takes TV shows way too seriously.”

Lalita said, “Anyway, we had a good dinner, and afterward the dads went off to drink brandy. The women went off into the kitchen, Martha too. So that left Rajiv and me alone to talk. Well, not so alone. Every three minutes someone would pop out of the kitchen, looking for some dish to clear from the table. And when we moved to the couch, both dads could watch us.”

Cass said, “That sounds like a terrible way to meet some man. Did you even like him?”

Lalita said, “That’s the funny part. We joked about our families being so old-fashioned. Then I noticed he was respectful to his elders and to me. He really loves his work. He’s a biochemist somewhere out near Wheaton, so he’d be quite a catch. It was just funny. We knew each other in the second grade, when we were seven. After so many years, he’s turned out quite nicely. I like his words, and his voice, and the way he holds his hands. At the end of the evening, we stood together and said we’d see each other back in Chicago. I think this pleased all the parents to no end. I saw him out, and found out he’s not straitlaced, either. He offered me a ride back to the city. Well, of course I said no.” Lalita flashed a big smile, pleased with herself.

The women groaned. Jenna said, “Cute guy, you’re obviously attracted to him. And he offered you a ride back where you could get better acquainted. Why didn’t you take it?”

Lalita said, “The parents would be scandalized! An unmarried woman traveling alone with an unmarried man? No, I couldn’t do that to them.”

The table went silent. Cass could see they were all thinking some of Lalita’s mother and dad had rubbed off on her. Sophie said, “Dummy.”

“What? I had to be proper.”

“Lita… Martha was with you, your honorary cousin in your parents’ eyes. Your chaperone. Or did they think Rajiv’d be improper with both of you at once?”

Lalita looked crestfallen. “Sophie, ohhhh. You’re right. I just wasn’t thinking straight.”

Martha said, “I would have been so quiet in the back seat, you wouldn’t know I was there.”

Lalita said, “Well, no matter, he’s coming to see me this weekend. We have a couple of restaurants picked out, a play and a movie, and he’s got a hotel room.” The women groaned again. Lalita said, “What? We’re being bloody proper about this, and I don’t care what you think. If something is to be, it will happen regardless. Then I’ll think of doing things I won’t tell my parents about. But he’s interested, too, or else he wouldn’t have agreed so easily.”

Petra said, “Lita, I swear I hear your father talking. Someday I hope to understand you.”

Lalita said, “At the wedding you’ll understand.” This brought more laughs.

Jenna said, “Okay, Petra, got your story straight yet?” After a little drink, they were loosening up.

Petra said, “Oh, I’ve just been doing a little of this, a little of that.”

Sophie said, “What’s his name?”

“Name? What do you think is going on?”

Lalita said, “What’s his name?” She was teasing, drawing out the last word.

“Name? Name. Well, it might be Mike, or it might be Jason, or it might be Leif.”

Jenna said, “Or it might be all three!”

Petra did not answer for a beat, then longer. The other five burst out laughing, punctuated with cries of “No!”

Petra said, “I swear, when it comes to men, you all talk too much and do to little. Except for Lalita, of course, who thinks that talking and doing are the same thing.”

Lalita said, “You’d be surprised…”

Petra shot back, “Yes, I would!”

Jenna said, “Okay, Leif is a new name.”

Petra said, “He’s on assignment here for a year, six foot fourteen and a natural blond, has a great sense of humor, and he’s a good dancer.” She stopped, smiling.

This was the game they played every week. For all they knew, Petra slept with a different man every night, but she cheerfully refused to tell more than a tidbit at a time.

Jenna said, “Sounds like Mike or Jason will be losing out.”

Petra said, “Or both. Leif is being very good to me.”

Cass said, “So Leif must be Superman, or else you’re slowing down, Petra. Well, I have a toast.” Cass lifted her glass. “To Petra and only one man, a real first!”

Four of the women chimed in, “Petra and only one man!” Petra just took a sip of her wine and smiled.

Jenna said, “Okay, Cass next.”

Sophie said, “Hey, Jenna, maybe we should give Cass a pass this week. Men have been pretty rough on her lately.”

Cass said, “No, Zosia, that’s okay. If I talk about it maybe I’ll get over it faster. Or him. A week ago Thursday, Bob dumped me. It came out of the blue – he said I wasn’t ambitious enough for him, whatever that means. Then I found out Monday that he was jumping to another company, and he never told me about it. So he fooled me. Bob’s a bastard!”

The others toasted that: “Bob’s a bastard!”

Cass said, “I feel a little better about it now. I’m angry I wasted so much time with him, when he couldn’t be honest with me. But it’s over.”

Sophie said, “Oh, Cass, how rotten!”

Cass said, “But the same weekend, I met a man. I took him home, and he got me breakfast.”

Jenna said, “Wait a minute. Lita gets all proper on us, and you get all easy. What are they putting in the water?”

“Well, it wasn’t what you think at all. I went along with my friend to this science fiction convention…”

Martha cut in, “Did they have tinfoil hats?”

“No, no! This guy did something really romantic for my best friend June, and somehow I wound up shoe shopping with his roommate.”

Jenna said, “And you think he’s straight?”

Cass said, “More like straight arrow, at least for me. He picked out these great boots for me, but he’s definitely all AC and no DC. He’s this actuary who probably works a couple of blocks from me.”

Petra said, “You mean a green eyeshade type?”

“Well, yeah, he loves statistics, but he’s also really musical. Let me tell the story, here. So my friend and his roommate just didn’t bother with the flirting part of the relationship, and I wound up giving him a ride from the back of beyond back into the city. And to return the favor of the ride, he bought me a good breakfast at 2 A.M.”

Jenna said, “And then you took him home?”

“Yes, to his apartment. And we slept about two miles apart.”

Jenna said, “So not much happened. Why are you telling us this?”

“Because Ryan is so much more interesting than Bob. Look, I told him nothing was happening because I was abstaining from men for a while, and he respected that.”

Sophie said, “So when are you seeing him again?”

“Look the romance is between my friend and his roommate. I don’t know if I’ll see him any time soon.”

The other women said in unison, “Why not?”

Cass had no answer. But why not. The whole big upset was about Bob, and all I want to talk about is Ryan.

Seeing she would get no more from Cass, Jenna turned to Sophie. “Okay, so what does our Catholic girl have to say?”

Cass knew Sophie hated that epithet, but only a brief flash crossed her face. Sophie said, “Well, it would have to be Matthew, Mark, John and Luke, wouldn’t it? No, wait. John wasn’t big on women.”

Jenna said, “Okay, sorry, Sophie. But you still owe us a man story.”

Sophie said, “Well, I wasn’t kidding about Matthew. I think Matt’s going to propose. He’s hinting around about my vacation days next year, and lately he’s really tender in bed. He’s building up to something big. I can see it in his face.”

Martha said, “Good for him! We’ll have two weddings next year. Just don’t do it the same weekend as Lalita!” The women had been laughing with each other, but now they all smiled at Sophie.

Sophie said, “But, hey, even when I’m married you have to tell me about other men!”

There seemed to be little else Sophie could say. Martha started drumming on the table, chanting “Big finish! Big finish!” Soon the others joined the chant.

Jenna laughed. “Okay, okay! You know I had to go to Phoenix for a couple of days. So on the flight back on Friday, I sat in the window seat, and this really nice guy was sitting in the aisle seat. We got to talking, and I saw he was doing a little scanning. Well, I scanned right back. I could tell he worked out. He wasn’t afraid of the once-over. He talked about his job a little. He’s a pharmaceutical salesman who was coming in for the convention this week. He was real relaxed telling me about himself, like it wasn’t the most important thing in his life, and he understood what a routing expediter was. He said, ‘Oh, you choose a destination for the rail car full of watermelons when it’s still passing through Utah.’ I said, ‘More like Nebraska or South Dakota.’ But he got it.”

Petra said, “You see what I meant? All talk!”

Jenna said, “I’m getting to the part you’ll like. So he sized me up, I sized him up, both of us matter of fact, and I decided, why not? So I was just direct with him. I said, ‘I want you in my bed for a couple of days.’ He said, ‘Two things. First, we introduce ourselves properly, and second, I’m on duty starting Sunday night.’ So I thought it over, and said, ‘My name is Jenna Denny.’”

Cass said, “Whoa, just as cool as you about the opposite sex, wasn’t he?”

Jenna said, “He said his name was Steve Evans, then we just started chatting again. Easiest hookup I made all year. He was the same way in the car coming from O’Hare. He wanted to talk about the Chicago weather, and how he had to go up in the mountains to feel cold like ours. He was amazed by how much water we used. I just said, ‘When we get to my place, I want you to look out the front window.’ Of course, he was polite and did that, just stared out at Lake Michigan. Then I got his attention - I ripped his clothes off.”

Martha said, “Have we got to the good part yet?”

Jenna said, “Oh, the good part started right about then. He didn’t see his clothes or the front window until about three on Sunday afternoon. What the hell, my refrigerator was stocked, my place was clean, so we didn’t have to get dressed. He was up to it, too. Most men need their pants after the first half a day. Steve just decided he was going to hold up his end of the bargain. He was perfectly nice about the whole thing, too, saying he enjoyed the whole two days and nights. I even gave him a ride down to his hotel. He was like a little kid going down the drive, staring like he couldn’t believe you couldn’t see the other side of the lake. And then he kissed me like he wouldn’t have another woman for a year. And he won’t, not like me, not until the next convention.”

Lalita said, “And once again, the winner, the most decadent, the champion is Jenna!”

Jenna said, “I take that as a compliment.” The women around the table dissolved in laughter.

After the long round of stories, the women had run out of things to say. Cass felt intoxicated from the merriment, with help from the wine. Looking around the table, she saw they all had something left in their glasses. So Cass decided to end Drive Time while they were still all in such a good mood. Cass raised her glass, saying, “I think we all know what should come next.” The table grew silent.

Jenna said, “Cass, you had both a low point and a high point, so tonight you should lead.” The others said, “Yes!” and “Right on!”

Cass said, “Then, a toast. Jobs are cheap, men are expensive, but good friends are treasures beyond price.”

The others said, “Treasures beyond price!” They all drained their glasses.

Novel Excerpt, Chapter 11

From Too Lucky This Week, chapter 11. On Saturday night, the new couple and their friends go to a party at the science fiction convention.

The open door framed a picture of many people crowded into a small space. A sign hung on the door: CONSOLIDATED TERRAFORMING – GROUNDSIDE PARTY. The four friends edged past a knot of people and promptly got stuck as another group tried to leave. Cass got pulled behind a sort of counter, now set up as a bar. Someone handed her a small cup of thick, golden liquid. Draining his own, her sudden benefactor exclaimed, “Class one biosphere!” Cass had no idea what he meant, but decided to try her own drink. It tasted of honey, but sharp, not sweet. The man, seeing her puzzled look, explained, “Homebrew mead!” Cass realized she could barely hear him. All around, people spoke at the top of their voices in two- and three-word sentences, trying to punch through the general din.

Ryan pulled her back out to the entryway. As they squeezed farther into the room, a thin woman in a low-cut dress offered Cass and Ryan cups filled a quarter inch with some thinner, browner drink. Cass waved the offer away. The woman said, “Can’t waste good single malt.” She turned and offered one cup to the man next to her. Flirting, she told some short joke, then the two knocked back their Scotches in one gulp.

Cass saw a closed door to the left. To the right, the room was divided into an area with a couch and chairs, and farther back, a large dining table was covered with trays of party snacks. The view out the windows was of cars on the Tollway and of lights in the occasional shopping strip or office complex stretching out to the horizon. The whole room was full of people chatting, gesticulating, hugging, standing and moving around the room. Nearly every chair and flat surface was occupied.

Ryan said, “Like a drink!” He hesitated, then leaned in close to Cass’ ear. “Would you like something to drink?”

Cass nodded and turned to speak into his ear. It was an effort to speak in a normal, conversational voice. “Yes, please, something that’s not a cola.”

Ryan disappeared toward the back of the room. Turning, Cass saw June and Eric ten feet away, absorbed in conversation with a couple wearing costumes straight out of The Fifth Element. Cass realized she could not get their attention, so she started to move in the direction Ryan had gone. Around her, middle-aged men debated war tactics for space battles. Three women were giving a very pregnant fourth very bad advice on how to ignore her baby’s cries for attention. Cass hoped they were kidding. Two obese women were speculating whether Samwise Gamgee would find Harry Potter or Ron Weasley more attractive.

Feeling very out of place, Cass moved to the wall, where she stood with a neutral expression and crossed arms. A middle-aged, bearded man came over and said, “I’m taking an opinion poll. When was the last time Google was fully synchronized?”

Recognizing the joke, Cass said brightly, “In Sergey’s dorm room.”

The man said, “And we’ve got a live one!” He smiled. “Actually, your shirt gave you away.”

“This is just a souvenir,” Cass said, unable to guess the man’s intent. This was a strange way to get hit on.

“Ah. One hopes your souvenir has a war story or two behind it. I’m Jim Tennace. Did you meet the Smalltalk Tool & Die folks when they were small and loose, or when they were in their Smalltalk Power and Light stage?’’

Our company president brought in a couple of them to rescue an out-of-control project when they were…”

The man turned away in the middle of her sentence, grabbing a younger man wearing long, straggling hair and a neatly trimmed beard. “Xavier, we’ve got a live one!”

The other man smiled shyly, saying, “Hello, I’m Xavier Forbes, uh…”

Cass quickly supplied, “Cass Kostrzewa.” The shy man stuck out his hand to give her an uncertain handshake. Jim shook Cass' hand more enthusiastically.

Cass said, “Oh! You are the ‘Living the XP Life’ guys, no?”

Jim said, “Got it in one! And we’re here working, so we’d like to hear how you are living an XP life.” He said it so lightly Cass couldn’t tell whether he took the subject seriously or not.

Cass said, “Well, actually, I’m not. The ST&D people cut the project team in half, the one dealing with the permanent crisis, and sort of brainwashed us into doing full-out Extreme Programming. For me, it was like growing a set of wings on my back. We just flew through that project! Our president loved the way we were setting things right with a customer who could break us.” Cass was telling her favorite work story now. “But he almost got a heart attack when he saw our plans were a board full of three-by-five cards, and our documentation was a bunch of sheets copied off the blackboard. Our first XP project was too successful, so we had exactly one XP project.”

Jim looked disappointed. “So you just kept the shirt?”

“No,” Cass laughed, “we kept some of the good stuff, too. I got on a real jag for automated unit testing, so everything I’ve worked on since has about ninety percent test coverage, and I’m working on the holdouts. We pair program a lot, mostly when one of us wants to program to some subtle point of someone else’s interface. We have builds and regression testing at 3 P.M. daily, and on Friday, whatever doesn’t work, some programmer gets to stay late until it’s fixed.”

“But there’s more than testing to keep.”

“Well, we’ve done pretty good a training our customers. They say what’s important, and we tell ‘em how long it will take. Once a little trust is built up, it works pretty well. We get to go home at normal people’s hours most days.”

Jim said, “so you’re really doing XP but not calling it that.”

Cass retorted, “It’s more like keeping the spirit but not the letter of the XP religion.”

Xavier spoke up after five minutes of listening. “Like what happens after you get home from Mecca.”