1-a. Dr. Lim’s lips are dry and thick, like his words. He’s spoken to me this way for years. I understand his heavy-accented English, and I understand his relative stoicism in dealing with people like me. He is a strong man, and a wise man. He must be. “Any time,” he says. His eyes fix on the tile near my feet. He crosses his arms over his tiny chest, tangling his stethoscope in the wrinkles of his lapel. “A minute, an hour...any moment, really.” “I understand,” I say. “You’ve called the rest of your family?” “There’s no one else who can come. My father’s here.” “Yes, I see him come.” Dr. Lim lingers, but I know he is anxious to leave us here. He says, “any time,” and it is his judgment that I should be by the bedside rather than here in the hall awaiting words that he will never deliver. “Thank you,” I say. He nods and pats my shoulder. He is shorter than I am, and it’s almost as if a child were trying to console his mother. I turn and place my hand on the cold metal doorknob, watching as Dr. Lim shuffles down the corridor toward the elevators. He’ll stop to see another patient or two, to his office to check his schedule or thumb through messages. Then he’ll head for home in his tiny sedan to meet his equally tiny wife. She’ll have a hot meal for him; they’ll eat together and talk in their native tongue, and then they’ll crawl into bed bedside each other, to pray their old prayers and sleep their old sleeps. Dr. Lim is seventy-four years old, and his wife is seventy-five. I suspect they may live to be 100, and they may die together. His white coat disappears around a corner, and I push open the door. She lies in shadow. The lights hurt her head, so even in the middle of the day, the room is dark. Darker now. The sun has already set, and Dad stands in front of the lamp, shielding her from the glare. I sit near her on the edge of the bed and take her hand. Her flesh is thin and light, like soft paper. “Mama?” I say. “Are you sleeping?” Her eyes roll under her eyelids, and she turns her head almost imperceptibly. Even in the grips of disease, she is beautiful.

I just thought I was ready for Kick-Off! YIKES!!! It's almost here! Only an hour and half left! I never did settle completely on the Hônaunau plot, but I think I'm going to use this last bit of time to name my protagonist and just run with it. The weekend was sickly inspiring, so I doubt I'll have to struggle for feeling. But I do need to have something to work with. Goals for tonight:

• 2,000 words
• introduce protagonist
• begin character sketch (not necessary to flesh her out!)
• establish immediate setting
• reveal emotional/mental state

Possibly. But there are a few things that may prevent me from using the title, none of which are--thankfully--because the title is already copyrighted. I draw my title from the Pu`uhonua of Hônaunau. Hônaunau is a district of the Big Island of Hawai`i. This western area is known for its pu`uhonua, or "city of refuge" (virtual tour). This pu`uhonua is the symbolic focus of the story. From the National Park Service website:

Pu`uhonua o Honaunau National Historical Park preserves the site where, up until the early 19th century, Hawaiians who broke a kapu or one of the ancient laws against the gods could avoid certain death by fleeing to this place of refuge or "pu`uhonua". The offender would [be] absolved by a priest and freed to leave. Defeated warriors and non-combatants could also find refuge here during times of battle.

The biggest problem with the title is, there are no "gates" at Hônaunau. The most prominent feature of the area is a 10-foot-high, 17-foot-thick stone wall that separated the refuge city from the nearby palace grounds. Entrance to the city--as far as I can tell--was gained where the wall met the shore, or directly from the ocean. But metaphorically, "gate" would be the appropriate word. "Gate" represents a threshold, a distinguishing boundary, etc. I haven't reconciled this little conflict yet, so for now, the NaNo title will still be "working title." ----- The plot:

In a small Southern rural town, Heroine's mother reveals from her deathbed enigmatic information which eventually leads Heroine to a grotesque discovery--she may be the product of a rape. Heroine's world shatters as she faces the reality of her identity. Desperate to understand the trauma, Heroine journeys to her mother's Hawai`i birthplace and forms a relationship with Aunty, her mother's twin sister. While immersing in the family's heritage, Heroine and Aunty grow close, and Heroine learns the depths of her mother's suffering while continuing the search for healing, self-forgiveness, and God's mercy.

My Nano novel site is updated and ready to go. That's about all the progress I've made so far. Still no plot. No outline. Not even a viable protagonist. Oh, how I love November!