NaNoWriMo 2011 is in the books! I finished this afternoon with a validated word count of 50,830. And guess what? I STILL love the story. (That's something that has never happened in my NaNo history; I usually despise everything about my novel by the last day.)
I am totally smitten by Beckon, and I can hardly wait to start editing it. This is most definitely something special, and I have a publisher in mind already.
I leave you with a final excerpt from this novel that I love:
My eyes scanned the landscape. The village was in a shambles. The buildings, even though they were on fire, were very unlike the buildings in my world. I wondered what had started the fires, and automatically looked to the skies for dragons.
Soaring high above, through white rain clouds and black soot columns, giant stiff birds with strange wings and noses flew in a V-formation.
I touched Beck's shoulder, where he crouched on the dirt. "What are those birds? Did they start the fire?"
He looked up and squinted at the shapes. "Those aren't birds." His eyes widened.
I turned back and saw that the birds were dropping what looked like little dots from where we stood.
"Chan, we have to go." He grabbed my hand.
"Where are we going?"
"Away from here!" He pulled on my arm, urging me to run.
Writing days have been up and down lately, squeezing in just a few hundred words here and there. It's been a weird week, and I've found myself behind. Tonight, I've got to get some serious noveling done!
'Round about chapter 7, I decided that it was time to change POVs (point of view) to the secondary main character, Beck. He's from a contemporary world (ours) and, as I discovered surprisingly, a total geek. He even wears glasses. I love, love, love his voice. Some great lines have come out from Beck's third person POV.
He had no idea the the old doorframe from the antique shop would take him to a distant realm of fantasy where there was no indoor plumbing and certainly no wi-fi to speak of. If he had known, he wasn’t sure if he would have walked though that shimmering portal at all. But standing here, even freezing to death in the stables, talking to Chan, he wondered if maybe she was the reason he was here.
Back in his world, a techie geek was sexy in theory, but in practice? Perhaps not so much. Not many cute girls liked to hang out in the computer data server room at corporate offices. It was dusty. And hot. And there was always the possibility of breaking something just by turning around. Or getting electrocuted.
And here's an awesome, comical scene from today's writing:
Beck stared at the ground from atop the enormous horse. He really didn’t want to meet the dirt any faster than necessary, but Chan was already too far off the road to call. No, he didn’t need help to get off of a horse. How hard could it be?
Fingers gripping the saddle horn, Beck leaned forward and brought one leg up. He rested it atop the horse. While adjusting his other shoe for balance, he lost track of his higher leg, and his body twisted. He reached out for something--anything--to grab. Finding nothing but air, he peeled backward off the side of the stallion and fell on his face.
The horse whinnied and sidestepped away.
Beck spat gravel from his mouth and tried to stand. His every sinew ached. “Thanks for nothing, Lester,” he muttered to the animal, who whinnied at him once more. Funny, he sounded like he was laughing at him. Or was that his pride turning into a cherry slushie?
I'm having a ton of fun writing both of these characters. So far, I still love the story. Here's hoping it lasts at least another 21 days.
In other news, the next episode of Month of the Novel was released today. Check it out!
Didn't get a whole lot of writing done today--about 1,000 words. But I'm still a bit ahead, so there's no cause for alarm just yet. This excerpt is actually from yesterday's writing, but I still like it, and it shows the main character's personality very well.
"Stay alert, Princess.”
“Yes, indeed I will, Sir Joshue.”
It was the burly man’s turn to blush. “Please, Princess. You embarrass me.”
“Precisely what I intended then.”
ON A RELATED NOTE: A handful of my young writer friends from the east side of the country and their cohorts have started a series about a writer who is attempting to write a NaNo novel, but she's...running into some creativity issues. This is hilarious and done completely by teens and young adults.
I didn't get any noveling done during the day today, but my friend MightiMidget and I squeezed in three 10-minute Word Wars in the wee hours of the night. Here's an excerpt from tonight's writing.
Now that I looked closer, I could see that he wore some kind of decoration on his face. Two circles of metal with glass windows in them, perched on his nose and affixed to his head by two metal bars that wrapped around his ears. “This is curious,” I said, reaching for the adornment.
I didn't realize Beck wore glasses until this moment. Love surprises like that!
Day 2 Word Count: 5,212 Words Remaining: 44,788
As a side note, I entered a short story into a contest at Lulu.com. It required putting that short story in eBook format to submit it, so here it is if you're interested in taking a look: The Question: A Short Story
Today, NaNoWriMo 2011 began. Having taken the day off of work, I went to the all-day write in in the morning. It was quite a productive handful of hours. The novel got off the ground, and my final word count after leaving the write-in was around 2,700. Each day, we need to write at least 1,667 words in order to make the 50K goal by November 30. I've still got some writing I want to do tonight, but I've got a great head start.
Here's an excerpt from today that I particularly enjoyed writing. It's a description of the view outside Princess Chan's window.
I gulped down the lukewarm tea, staring out the stained glass window into the fields around the castle. The forest spread out to the west, nestled up against the slate rock of the mountains. Snowy peaks whispered misty secrets to one another high in the light blue sky. Royal dragon riders circled the formations as they scouted the borders for signs of invasion by Westonia’s sworn enemy across the sea.
My young friend Blue Monkey gave me a plot dare via Facebook that really couldn't have fit in better with my previous inclusion of SiriusThoughts' plot dare. How perfect is this?
Blue Monkey: "Include a King who thinks he's batman." -----------------------------------
King Bruce jumped to his feet and clapped his hands once, then pointed at Cross. "I knew it! There has been an impostor fighting crime in my stead!"
Cross' brow furrowed deeply. He glanced at me as though I had an answer, then back at the king. "What?"
The great King Bruce straightened up where he stood, pulling his royal red velvet robes taut across his shoulders with a yank on the fluffy, gold-speckled white trim. "I am Batman." He leaned forward. "The REAL Batman."
Cross jabbed a finger in the air. "It's YOU who are the impostor, sir!" I could see that he would tip the cradle over if he continued getting upset in this manner. "I've been looking for you for the last five months!"
"It is I who have been looking for you!" King Bruce shouted back. He turned to the men on either side of the levitating basket. "Guards! Take him to the dungeon. I'll deal with this treachery later."
"No! I'm Batman!" Cross threw his fists wide and struck one of the guards. The kinetic energy tipped the cradle, and I rushed to his rescue, grabbing the side and pushing it back up.
Unfortunately, I over-corrected in my fervor to help and dumped his crippled body out the other side. Cross fell to the marble floor with a dull thud. He moaned in pain and cursed me.
If I were human, I am sure my cheeks would have been burning in the red blush that is indicative of embarrassment. Instead, my emotion receptors sent a pang of shame through my body, making my hands shake. This was neither a pleasant sensation nor one that made me feel at all useful. I turned it off at once.
Here's another plot dare I received via my YouTube channel: JHudsonrox: It stars raining oranges... -----------------------------------
Hover vehicles soaring overhead came racing away in droves. I sensed a vibration ripping through the air--a sonic boom--and suddenly the hover cars and trucks came crashing down towards the ground below.
A delivery truck overturned, correcting the steering and trying to stay afloat on the shuddering cushion of air, but its payload dumped out, sending a shower of hundreds of brightly colored, under ripe oranges through the air like citrus hailstones. This did not look good.
An orange hit my shoulder, denting it I was sure. I took to swift running and headed straight down the middle of the road, dodging broken buildings and out of control cars and crashing hover trucks.
I got some wonderfully silly plot dares on my YouTube vlog page, which I managed to integrate all into one crazy moment in my novel. Thanks to the following friends who posted the following dares which are featured in the following excerpt:
SiriusThoughts, "Dare 2: Use the exclamation "Holy Ninja Turtles, Batman!" Jhudsonrox, "Harry Potter is seen flying on a broom." -----------------------------------
A sound shoofed overhead, and my eyes rose to the sky. A boy in a black cloak was riding a rather scruffy looking broom and soared a dozen feet above our heads. I shielded my eyes and watched as the boy circled slowly. He made his way down in a spiral and landed on the vibrating ground.
The boy was mostly likely of sixteen years based on his height and bone growth structure. He wore visual aids in the form of wire-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. His hair fluttered in the rising wind, a messy mop of brunette. I could see a dark pink, jagged scar on his forehead when the breeze pushed his hair away. He looked at Cross, breathless, and exclaimed, “Holy Ninja Turtles, Batman!”
Cross' gaze darted in all directions as though he were looking for something or someone, then grabbed the boy's arm. “I told you not to call me that when I'm not in costume!”
“The turtles,” the boy yelled back, “they're taking over the frozen section of the grocery store down the block. It's mass chaos out there, man! Mass chaos!”
Cross rubbed his chin. “Frozen section, eh? If I know them, they're after the pizzas. A global catastrophe is no time for pizza!” He ran off down the street.
I've used several more dares, but I think I might save some of those for reading on my next vlog.
Thanks for all the plot dares in response to my last vlog! I have been using them all throughout today and plan on reading some of them on my next recording. For now, here's one from Beth, who posted the following dare on Facebook: "I dare you to add a very unusual princess."
So SR7 just got kidnapped right off the street. -----------------------------------
Sure enough, a door opened, and a woman entered. She was dressed in form-fitting body armor of red and white. Her bright red hair was pulled back into two fluffy ponytails that stuck out the bottom of a white leather skull cap. On the front of her cap, a red human skull glared out at anyone who dared face her.
I didn't have a lot of time to write today, but I did manage to make carrot cake muffins and peanut butter bars. Does that count for anything? My dear friend MightiMidget helped me out by suggesting that I incorporate a vase filled with sand in my novel since she was in the process of bubblewrapping it for a move. Excellent... -----------------------------------
A woman huddled in a corner between two broken concrete slabs. In her arms, she clutched a glass vase to her chest. The roses inside had been crushed by sand and debris that had fallen into the mouth. She had a wild but confused expression on her face.
She looked around at the street, at the chaos incited by the still-shivering earthquake, all the people running for their lives and resorting to their primal instincts for survival. Tears streamed down her dusty face, and I wondered how long it would be before she dropped the vase and joined the others in running for her life. If you would like to suggest a dare for my novel, leave a comment, and I'll write it in, then post the excerpt. Only one dare per person, please. Thanks!
I've been steadily pushing forward and writing as much as I can. Tonight, I've been doing some timed writings and challenges with some of my young wrimo friends.
Legossi gave me a challenge: "I say Mangy has to put a monkey in her story. And the monkey's name is Alowishes the fifty-fifth. And he likes brownies." Here's what I came up with...
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The bartender walked up to Mighty and rubbed a towel over a chrome flagon. He was a moniker, completely covered in a dark brown fur that looked almost black in the dim lighting. “Alowishes the 55th at your service, sir.” His round snout and wide mouth contorted as he spoke, but the light brown eyes set above his muzzle were filled with wisdom.
“Alowishes the 55th?” Mighty asked. “You come from a long line of Alowishes…es.”
The moniker nodded his head solemnly, then set the flagon before Mighty. “What shall it be?”
Mighty thought for a moment. “What is the house special tonight?”
Alowishes leaned forward and raised an eyebrow, turning his forehead into a cascade of wide wrinkles. “The brownies, sir.”
Mighty blinked. “Brownies? Is that a drink?”
“Oh no, sir.” Alowishes straightened up and walked down the length of the bar. He retrieved a pedestal with a transparent shield bubble over it. When he came back, he set the tray in front of Mighty. “Brownies,” he said with absolute reverence.
Mighty peered at the offerings. They were indeed simple chocolate brownies with a dusting of some sort of nut on the top. He shrugged. “A brownie it is. And perhaps a flagon of milk to go with it.”
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More to come!
Words to Date: 33,157 Words to Go: 16,843 (I tell you--that actually looks doable!)
So my friend MightiMidget and I have been word warring. That is, we have been doing 10-minute timed writings, but we've done ours with a twist. We will give each other a challenge to add during our 10 minutes, a dare, if you will. Then we write, and afterwards share how we incorporated the challenge.
Tonight, Midget said that I must put a talking Coke can into my story. So this is how it came about:
---------
Doxal smiled, curtsied, then opened the can. Instead of releasing the usual hiss of escaping carbon dioxide, a voice came out into the quiet of the hall.
“Mighty Myllon, I have a message for you.”
Mighty's eyes widened. He walked on his knees to Doxal's side and stared at the can. He looked up at Doxal. “Did you just hear...”
She nodded, her own eyes filled with curiosity.
Mighty took the can from her hands and turned it over. As he did so, the voice began to speak again.
“The message is from your father.”
--------
Though I am still incredibly behind for having only six days left to complete, I am oddly optimistic that I'll still finish. Let's see if I make it...
Words to Date: 26,616 (and still counting tonight) Words to Go: 23,384
I know I haven't posted in awhile, but it's been one of those weeks. Last year's NaNo was the same way--lots of zero days. Last week, I had three days of zero words and two days of under 1,000. Yes, I'm behind and my word count is rather pathetic, but that's okay. I'm not despairing just yet.
Here's an excerpt for you, such as it is. The Lasso has just narrowly averted a speeding comet, and Mighty had gone to check on the cargo.
------------
Mighty turned to study the box once more.
The hairline fracture in the lid crept further across.
Mighty took a few tentative steps toward the box.
CRACK!
The split in the metal and wood broke open, shattering the lid into two pieces and sending splinters across the floor.
Mighty felt for his sidearm. “Strikers,” he muttered to himself. He had left it in the hostler in his quarters. He certainly didn’t think he would need it alone on a ship with no one to fight. Now he wasn’t quite sure about that theory.
He pressed his back against the wall as steam billowed from between the broken pieces. His mind raced with the possibilities. Why hadn't he asked what was in the cargo? What kind of fool doesn't ask a thing like that?
The steam cleared a little after filling the immediate vicinity. Dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of tiny sparkling gold points of light hopped and skipped together, seemingingly in a primal dance. They came toward him but didn’t touch.
Mighty watched as the tiny stars swarmed together like bees, then compacted into a solid form. The light began to fade, and he could see his reflection for a split second.
Mighty blinked, then all at once, the image of himself was gone. All that remained was a girl mouser about the same height as he. Curious...
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Words to Date: 9,487 Words to Go: 40,513
I plan on writing another 513 words tonight but not before I finish posting this. ;o)
Pulled in 1,762 words today between a Sunday evening write-in and word wars with my friend MightiMidget later over IM. At least I passed the daily quota (1,667). I need to stay ahead though, and procrastination is being far too friendly to me of late. :oP
Here's an excerpt from today's bounty. It's a conversation between Mighty and Boshran, a giant frog guy (loffrax) who is going to offer him the shipping contract. There are two other "men" with Boshran--a foxish kind of creature (nicczar) and fish man (kelptin).
NOTE: I'm not usually not much of a fan of dialect, but this guy isn't a very major character and his way of speech added more words, so... *whistles*
-------------
“Wot’s yer name?” Boshran asked. He pointed a rubbery, green fingerpad at him. “And giv’t ter me straight.”
“Mighty Myllon,” the mouser replied, trying to stand tall to match his name.
The nicczar next to him grinned, his foxish teeth showing, and looked Mighty up and down again. “Mighty Myllon, eh? Mousers name their kitts after attributes.” He nodded to the kelptin. “Isn’t that right, Poshy?”
Poshy nodded vigorously, spurting water from his gills. “Right, that.”
Mighty held in his giant sigh. As though he hadn’t heard it a million times before. As though he didn’t live with this every day--trying to live up to his name.
Why had his parents held such high hopes for him? Why did they make it so hard? He gave a curt nod. “That’s right, sir.” He tried to puff out his chest a little more, realizing at the same time how ridiculous he must seem to these accomplished businessmen.
Boshran cocked his large froggy head as Mighty sat down. “Tis a good name, to be sure,” he said. “Yer upper kin woudda not giv’n that name ter ye if they’s din’t believe ye'ud live up ter it.” Mighty faced the loffrax. He couldn’t recall anyone ever giving him such an encouragement before. And coming from this old grouchy codger, it had to be a genuine compliment. That type didn’t hand them out as a general practice. He tipped his chin. “I thank you kindly, sir.”
The loffrax swiped a hand through the air. “Tis not a thing,” he replied. “Now, tell me, what uv yer ship? She a mighty vessel, like yerself?”
“Oh, she’s much better,” Mighty said, once again wishing his filter had caught his words before they spouted from his mouth.
We had a day-long write-in at Panera Bread today to kick off NaNoWriMo right. I didn't get there at the beginning, nor did I stay all day, but I did get a good chunk of writing time in there--enough to write 3,002 words! It was a good haul for a day's work, and I need to keep up on it because I doubt I'll be writing every day during the week. The more words I can rake in on the weekends, the better.
Here's today's excerpt. I liked this conversation that came out between Mighty and the correspondent at the space station Kirkkigaard. Mighty's ship is called Lasso.
-------------------- A blip sounded from the console, indicating an incoming message. Mighty flipped the com-switch.
“Lasso. Indigo Foxtrot, niner five two seven." His chest puffed with pride at the sound of his calling code. "Mighty Myllon speaking.”
“Affirmative, Señor Myllon,” came a young female mouser’s voice. “Pelter Chase on com for Kirkkigaard Space Station. Receiving your request for dock. Confirm? Ready to receive.”
Mighty flipped a blue switch next to the com. “Affirmative. Sending confirmation now.”
Mighty bristled. “Affirmative, Kirkkigaard. Lasso brings no cargo.”
A pause and a few clicks came through the com. “I’m sorry, Señor.”
A snide remark formed in Mighty’s mind, but he let it go. No need to assault this poor girl for something that isn’t her fault. “Thank you, Kirkkigaard.”
“Call me Pelter.”
Mighty paused, staring at the blinking com diode. Now, that was a little unorthodox. Com techs didn’t usually divert from the usual business communicae. They certainly never asked to be called by their first names.
“Thank you, Pelter,” he said. He was tempted to ask why the familiarity. Was she trying to make him feel better, like there was a mouser on the other end and not just some computerized entity calling him to port? He shook his head and dismissed it. Either way, he was here to do something that would hurt. Friendliness wasn’t going to change anything. --------------------
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