#FreewriteMadness / #NaNoWriMo – My Response to the 'Primates' Prompt

Day five! I'm maintaining my momentum with #FreewriteMadness / #NaNoWriMo by playing the game of the tortoise, not the hare. This is what works best for me.

I felt a bit crap a few days ago when I heard that someone in my local group had written 18,000 words on his very first day. Someone else said that she, too, had been an extremely fast writer the previous year, but she would never recommend her method for racking up such a huge word count so quickly: drinking far too much coffee and getting almost no sleep, basically. She added that it had also helped that she wasn't employed at the time. The guy who wrote 18,000 words during his first day (and is still leading everyone else in the group by a mile) does have a job, though, so I have no idea how he found the time to do all that! 🙃 Oh well. We all work at different paces, I suppose.

I value my health, my mental wellbeing and my family, personal and professional life too much to let NaNoWriMo obscure it all. I have hit the 1,667 word target every day so far, but I am also getting my full eight hours' sleep and looking after myself. My immune system thrives on sleep and rest. If I push myself too far over a prolonged period of time, I tend to get quite ill. I want to have a healthy, happy, productive November. And for me, that means not allowing NaNoWriMo to become such an obsession for me that it completely takes over all other aspects of my life. 😊 Slow and steady wins the race, for sure!

This latest instalment is a response to 'primates', the latest prompt from @freewritehouse. I wrote an earlier conversation between Derek and his sister Moira earlier this year – that post is here, for anyone who may be interested.

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Daily Express

'How has Dermot been lately?' Derek asks Moira. She is visiting – going through some of his accounts again – while he alternates between reading a newspaper and replying to an enormous backlog of emails. Her children are playing with his, and somehow, miraculously, they all seem to be getting along. Occasional peals of laughter can be heard coming from the living room.

'He's good. Working away.' Moira laughs. 'Oh, he wanted me to tell you: he's put a huge bet on you to score the winning try against Italy, so if you don't do it, you owe him his money back!'

Derek chuckles. 'Well, that depends. How much money are we talking about here?'

'Oh, I don't know,' his sister says wryly. 'Why would I expect my beloved husband to give me that kind of information? If he loses the bet, you'll be hearing all about it, I'm sure. When you're on the field, Derek, forget about patriotism and doing your country proud and all that nonsense: just score the winning try so I won't have to deal with Dermot's damn mood, alright?'

'Challenge accepted.'

'Good.'

'Oh, looks like Dublin Zoo are getting some new lion cubs,' Derek says – he has just read this in his newspaper. 'That's nice.'

'Mm,' Moira replies sceptically, chewing the side of her mouth.

'God, I don't remember the last time I was in the zoo,' Derek muses. 'We used to go all the time as kids, remember?'

'I do.'

'Didn't you like those visits?'

'I kind of did, but ... I don't know,' she says with a shrug. 'The primates always scared me a bit. Especially the gorillas! And they looked so sad, all cooped up in those tiny cages...'

'The enclosures are bigger nowadays, I'm sure.'

'I hope so. I used to feel so sorry for those animals.'

'Dublin Zoo does a lot of great conservation work, I've heard.'

'I know. And there's a huge debate to be had on the whole issue, I'm sure. But I don't know enough about it, so let's not get into it.'

They settle into companionable silence: enjoying the tranquillity of the house and the distant sounds of the children at play. Derek turns to the sports section of his paper, finding himself at Declan O'Regan's column before long. He knows he shouldn't read this column – it nearly always annoys him – but finds himself doing so anyway.

'Huh. Listen to this, Moira.' Derek begins to read out one paragraph that has particularly irked him. 'Just listen to this ... "Fitzmaurice may yet be Ireland’s secret weapon, but there is no doubt that as he nears retirement age, his technique is not as refined as it once was. With rumours of strife in the training camp, he needs to learn how to keep his cool. All eyes will be on him." So,’ he observes archly, folding the newspaper away, 'Declan O’Regan thinks I’m losing my touch.’

'He never thought you had the touch to begin with, Derek,' his sister reminds him, calmly taking a sip of her coffee.

Derek shakes his head ruefully – Moira's acerbic wit has acquired a legendary status within their family. 'I appreciate the support, thanks.'

Moira looks up sharply. 'I am being supportive,' she protests. 'Everyone knows that O'Regan has always had a huge vendetta against Dwyer, so when Dwyer decided to promote you to captain, he was always going to have a problem with it. He disagrees with every single decision Dwyer makes, out of ... principle, I suppose? Or spite? I don't know what it is. So what I'm saying is, to hell with O'Regan. To hell with all the begrudgers who think you can't do it. I know you can. Mammy knows you can. And Dermot has remortgaged our house to bet in your favour, by the sounds of it, so he certainly believes you can. Every last one of us ... we're all on your side.'

Derek gazes at her, momentarily unable to speak. When he does, he is surprised to find that a lump has arisen in his throat. 'I ... thank you, Moira. Really...'

'No problem,' she replies, then – after another sip of her coffee – briskly asks him, 'so, how are you getting on with that Fallon woman?'

'Oh, grand. We've had a few sessions so far. She told me about a support group meeting for single parents. I almost didn’t go, to be honest ... but I'm glad I did. It has helped me.'

'Good. And tell me,' Moira whispers, with a furtive glance towards the living room area, 'is Luke doing any better in school?'

'He is starting to improve, but he and Sophie are still at each other's throats a lot of the time. I keep having to tell Sophie to stop being so mean to him ... but she's of that age where she doesn't listen to a word I say!'

'Hmm. Well, she'll be a teenager soon, so I can understand why she'd be a little more ... feisty these days. Louise is exactly the same way.'

'Emma was telling me – she's one of the women in the support group – she has a teenager herself, and dealing with them is a barrel of laughs. So you and I both have that to look forward to!'

'Oh, I'm looking forward to that alright.' She snorts with laughter. 'You're getting along well with people in the group, then?'

'I am. Emma and I have gone for coffee afterwards a couple of times. We actually didn't meet through the group, originally. I had ... well, I didn't tell you about this at the time, but she's the manager of that new supermarket in the village, and –'

'Price Watchers?'

'That's the one. I had this embarrassing incident in her supermarket one day where I fell over in the middle of the aisle. It was the strangest thing. I just thought of Anne-Marie, and suddenly, it was like ... I blacked out or something, I don't know what happened –'

Moira looks highly alarmed. 'Jesus! Derek! Why didn't you tell me about that? That sounds horrendous!'

'I don't know – I was just embarrassed, like I said.'

'For fuck's sake, Derek ... you and your damn embarrassment. Please tell me you went to a doctor afterwards.'

'I did, I did,' he assures her. 'He said I should be fine – nothing is medically wrong with me – it was just a stress related thing. So ... that's how Emma first met me. Not the best beginning in the world, but we've gotten along since.'

Moira squints a little suspiciously at him, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile. 'Mm-hmm. Have you, now?'

'Yes...' Derek uncomfortably looks back down at his paper and begins to read the first random article that catches his eye. He can sense the shift in Moira's tone – knows exactly what she's getting at – and he would prefer not to make eye contact with her right now.

'So, this Emma...' Moira begins thoughtfully, now peering at him over the rim of her glasses.

'What?'

'You talk to her often?'

'Well, how often is "often"? We sometimes talk after the sessions are over, yes.'

'Hmm.' Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her smirk a little as she moves her gaze back down to her work.

'What’s that "hmm" about?'

'I’m glad you found someone you could talk to.'

He stares at her for a second, then rolls his eyes. 'Oh, for God’s sake, Moira.'

'What?'

'It’s not like that.'

'Like what?'

'You know what.'

'I’ve said nothing.'

'You don’t have to. You’ve never had to. I know you far too well for that.'

She raises an eyebrow and smiles. 'Fair point. Listen Derek, all I'd say to you is, don't rush into anything, okay?'

'Oh, come on. There's no question of anything rushing – or crawling along, even – because it's not what you think it is.'

'Just heed my advice, that's all I'm saying.'

'You and your advice...'

'Hey, I'm the eldest,' she retorts. 'I'm allowed to be bossy!'

'You've been using that line since we were kids.'

'I've been "using that line" all of my life because it's true, Derek,' Moira replies matter-of-factly, 'and it always will be. It'll be true until one or both of us dies, so you might as well deal with it!'

All Derek can do is shake his head and laugh, acknowledging his defeat. There is just no arguing with his sister.

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It's a few minutes to midnight, so I'm calling time on my word count for the day. I had a very busy Monday, with a number of work-related commitments going on, so I know I haven't made the 1,667 target, but that is okay. I can always catch up tomorrow.

Aaaaand it turns out that all of the text I wrote above above amounts to 1,483 words! Chuffed with myself for coming so close to the target amount on a day that was full of activity and madness. I will now update my #FreewriteMadness form, add that number to my overall tally on the NaNoWriMo website, then get a lovely night's sleep.

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