Travelin' through NaNo

Aye, I'm joining the masses and participating in National Novel Writing Month.

Every year, thousands of new and established writers come together to attempt to do the impossible: write 50,000 words in the month of November. Of course, this is not really a novel--novels are usually at least 75,000 words or so. But it's a great start on a new novel, or, in my case, progress on a WIP (Work-in-Progress).

So I took up the gauntlet and even downloaded an icon to show my progress (or lack thereof...)

Oh, boy. Do you think at the end of the month, there will be a ton of characters suddenly breaking into song at random points in the story, singing things like this ballad (along the themes of what I'm writing today...)

Travellers are Travellers for all eternity. /
Travellers were Travellers in ancient history. /
Travellers, I would say it world wide, /
Travellers are Travellers I will say it with pride. /

They slept in their tents from sun to the snow,/
And on old tattered ass out begging they'd go. /
Wearing old hobnailed boots and blankets for shawls /
They would beg in the farmyards, school kitchens, and halls. /

For meat, flour, cabbage and tea, /
That was the Travellers dinner that day./
Around the fire that night they would tell stories and sing, /
And the old matchmaker a wedding she'd bring. /

When the fire died out the stars would shine bright, /
And the straw was the bed for the Travellers that night. /
An old 'Glathering Box', they would make money from lead, /
And "Many's the farmer was fooled," they said. /

But give it a week and the farmer would know, /
And from an old woody camp the Travellers would go. /
Finding camps on Ireland's muddy back roads, /
Would be a blessing from God to lay down their loads. /

But the farmer would come full of demand, /
In the middle of the night they'd be put off his land. /
So in one place today and another tomorrow, /
There would be camps full of happiness, more full of sorrow. /

From disease and illness some of their children would die, /
For weeks after their mothers would cry. /
When the news was brought back it was the dampness and rats, /
The Travellers were told borrow from the farmer some cats. /

The news they were told was from an old Dr. Ward, /
But the Travellers would say it's the will of our Lord. /
To the Travellers the happiest times of the year, /
Was when they packed up their loads to go to Puck Fair. /

Selling all kinds of things from wagons to swag, /
And a good old Puck Fair the Travellers would have. /
When the fair was over they all would go home, /
To the four corners of Ireland the Travellers would roam. /

They would laugh and think back of who they had met, /
The laughing would fade when they heard of a death. /
Off to Mullingar to bury him low, /
And straight to the pub the Travellers would go. /

Through a few drunken words one of them would say, /
God rest the soul of my cousin today. /
After a while there would be a fight, /
And the Travellers would be barred from another pub that night. /

So when old Travellers tell you of long times past, /
And say that the good times they did go by too fast. /
They might be right in the long lives they had, /
I bet ye some of it was good, more of it bad. /

Travellers are Travellers for all eternity, /
Travellers were Travellers in ancient history,/
Travellers, I would say it world wide, /
Travellers are Travellers I will say it with pride./

~Bernard Power

I've already cast some singers in my novel.... or, at least, it's crossed my mind! Aye, that song would fit several of 'em... :D

Good luck to all my blog readers who are participating in NaNo.