Howdy,

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 8
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Practicing in the evenings — every evening — and over the weekend any time that wasn’t church and lunch with Grandma had Jake feeling pretty confident on Monday about bringing out his game on the playground at school.

He did feel confident, but in his mind more because he found himself in a good groove from spending so much time on the court exercising his skills, happy to be doing something he loved. It wasn’t practice to him. Not like others think of it. Something that you have to do.

Jake enjoyed it. All of it, everything surrounding the game of basketball, wanting to play every minute. He’d wear someone out, who wasn’t used to keeping up with him. He certainly didn’t consider his efforts on the court practice.

No, the time spent dribbling, shooting, and passing especially if he had his dad or someone else to throw to but also off objects like thick trees or fixed light poles or sides of brick buildings while walking a street to or from a hoop wasn’t practice. Not to Jake.

In fact, Jake was one who didn’t even have an idea of “practice.” Others’ tainted idea, from coached practice equally work. Being one who’d never played on an organized team, Jake Jones longed for practice; ready to eat up the work, no doubt seeing it all as a time to be on a court, or much better yet, IN A GYM.

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Howdy,

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 7
(Unedited, or only slightly)

(Editor’s note: changing storyline to make Jake’s dad more present, deciding against previous direction for Jones family context. Draft content of previous posts in need of revision for final story. *This is okay; part of the process. Hopefully for an audience an interesting piece of watching a work in progress story develop. Good for me to see how it plays out, and, with faith, come together in the end … )

Continued …

“No, I don’t mind rebounding for you, Son,” Mr. Jones said, throwing a crisp bounce pass to Jake. “Can’t say that I’m much used to it from my days.”

Jake shot the ball from the left elbow. Frowned after his release, feeling it was off target. He slid quickly to his right, readying himself at the opposite elbow. Bending his knees for a rapid catch and release.

His dad let the ball come to him off the rim and snapped a chest pass, knowing where Jake would be, shifting back and forth to the ends of the free throw line. “But without those behemoths clogging up the lane and towering over 5’6″ point guards rebounding’s a lot easier.”

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Howdy,

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 6
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

His partner in waiting nodded toward Jake. Jake accepted the athlete’s hello; it stood out as the only acknowledgement he’d received since showing up to play pick up ball with strangers on the blacktop courts.

Jake looked at the guy, a man, really; certainly not a kid like himself. He had strong-looking, wiry muscles showing eagerly from his cutoff shirt with rips extending down the sides. His shirt wasn’t the only thing ripped about the guy: he was buffed. A man.

Especially put beside Jake. Jake was a boy. Dribbling in place at the sideline, Jake started to doubt his pairing with the muscle man, feeling young and underdeveloped, no specimen to even be consider alongside the adult who’d nodded at him.

Jake stopped his dribble and held the ball, studying the play and current players. It was fast, up and down the court, up and down, and most the players appeared more like the athletic-looking man ready to play than they did like him.

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Howdy,

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 5
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Jake and Grandma ate the same thing every Sunday, too. Foster’s Freeze. Jake a cheese burger — no tomato, but everything else, including extra pickles — hot, crispy fries dipping in stiff puddle of ketchup, and a strawberry shake, with chunks from full strawberries clogging the end of his straw. Tomatoes; no, thank you: ketchup; yes, please! Best lunch of the year not on a day called Easter, Thanksgiving, or Christmas.

No longer a surprise, but it shocked Jake the first time or two that Grandma ordered a hand-battered, deep-fried hot dog on a stick. The old fashioned way, she said. That was it for Grandma. No fries. No shake or soda pop. Just a cup of water and mustard in a paper tray to roll the length of her corn dog yellow.

When Jake asked her why she always ordered only a corn dog, his grandma said she didn’t need any extra calories, answering the only part; then she smiled and said she liked it, good memories, made her feel like a little girl ordering and eating a hot dog on a stick, reminding her of going to the country fair and carnival with her family. Her dad would buy her and her mom the fair food, while her mom — Jake’s Great Grandma Dottie — dished up mustard in generous dollops. They’d make a mess of their smiling faces, and they’d laugh. Especially when dad would lick the mustard off mom’s face with a playful kiss they all enjoyed. It happened every year. A tradition. Family tradition.

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Howdy,

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 4
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Scrawny Jake Jones didn’t mind scrappy Draymond Green’s game either. Somehow his six foot, seven inches looked shorter than Klay Thompson’s 6’7” when standing in a huddle, but Green stood tall in the paint, fending away big men with brilliant skill and Michigan State Spartan tenacity and determination. Rebound! Take it to the rack! Slam it down!

Jake knew he’d never play Draymond’s game, but he liked it. Its bulldog and unrelenting quality, oozing with overcoming attitude. Draymond Green before success, fighting for his place and a team making it to the top.

Jake dribbled and shot by himself, fighting for his place and hoping of a team to make.

Saturdays and Sundays always were best, because Jake had more time to play at the park. Even after going to church. That was the time his grandma still stepped in. Grandma took her grandson to church. She hadn’t been able to get Jake’s grandfather or dad to go for as long as Jake could remember. But he went. That was his time with Grandma. Sunday morning.

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Howdy,

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 3
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

And when his obstacle course of athletic creativity circled back around to an empty half court, he’d shoot.

And shoot, and shoot, and shoot.

That’s what a boy and a ball and a basket could do. All by himself. Shoot baskets.

Jake Jones spent hours hoisting shots with high arc from his low launching point, getting great angle on his shots and a nice, soft, shooter’s touch on the rim. He’d often get balls to drop through the hoop after multiple bounces on the rim. These good rolls also included the famous “toilet bowl.”

He smiled when a shot with english on it would spin around and around and start to look more and more like it’d drop for a score. Sometimes he’d try for it, time after time. The toilet bowl, though, had a bit of its own mystery to it, difficult to replicate successfully on demand.

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Howdy,

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 2

Continued …
(And unedited, or at least only slightly)

Mostly Jake had played basketball by himself, though. That was a way he and Basketball weren’t a weird connection, but a great fit. He and his family didn’t have much money. Really, Jake didn’t have much family. What he did, money was their concern. Ironically, because they didn’t have much to worry about.

Funny how it works that way, money. It’s worried about a lot, if a person has a little. And it’s worried about a lot, if a person has a lot. Seems to only be worried about little if a person has “enough.”

Jake treasured the gift of a couple of bills in his wallet for lunch, but Jake didn’t worry about money. Yet he didn’t dream of affording all the equipment baseball players touted around. Gloves and bats and baseballs.

Cleats and hats and catcher’s mitts.

Cups and jockstraps and sliding pants.

Batting gloves and pine tar and rosin bags.

Eyeblack and flip-down sunglasses and stirrups.

Equipment bags and gum and sunflower seeds.

Gear and equipment and stuff.

He had his ball. Jake and his basketball. He never thought of tossing it in a bag, didn’t stuff it in a backpack. He dribbled it everywhere he went.

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Howdy,

Here we go, starting a Hawes version of National Novel Writing Month.

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 1

Our “yet unnamed” main character is named: Jake Jones.

CHAPTER ONE

It was odd, really.

Odd the way the game of basketball grabbed young Jake Jones’ attention — and held it.

Jake sensed earlier on, before he’d even entered junior high, that he and the game he loved made for an unusual marriage.

He lived aware, of course, that he stood shorter than a majority of the other boys his age. Not terribly short, but shorter than average; and the rules and regulations, essentially even the object, of basketball favored players taller than average. Way taller.

He knew he moved slower than the athletic kids who zipped in bursts on the court. His body a step slow to typical competition, but also a step slow to his mind. He willed his muscles and reflexes moved him quicker, but still Jake’s mind played ahead of his body.

He didn’t have a team to play the game of full-court basketball, but Jake hoped the season ahead of him would be the year he joined a team, playing for his new school.

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Howdy,

Only recently have I been aware of #NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), but it’s intriguing.

Like in an impossible way.

Seems that way to me.

I’ve written a novel. But in a month?!

Yet when I consider #NaNoWriMo it is with intrigue and fatigue. Just thinking about it.

I mean, come on …

Really, I’ve always thought, no way. No way.

No way can I write a novel (even just a draft) in a month. Not at this stage in my life. Too many children; too young.

But without using them as excuse no way with my plodding writing, planning, and working style. It just isn’t instinctive to composing a novel in a month. And a month that doesn’t even have 31 days!

I mean, writing almost 1,700 guided words a day consistently for 30 days is a little much.

Here’s the idea of National Novel Writing Month from nanowrimo.org:

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to creative writing. 

On November 1, participants begin working towards the goal of writing a 50,000-word novel by 11:59 PM on November 30.

Valuing enthusiasm, determination, and a deadline, NaNoWriMo is for anyone who has ever thought about writing a novel.

Phew! I get a little shiver reaction simply rereading the above description involving “seat-of-your-pants” and 50K and “enthusiasm” driving toward a “deadline” for a “novel.”

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