Yeah, I'm doing that too--looking over what I wrote and saying, "Eh? This sucks!" But then I'm like, "No, it's quantity....not quality...." but it still goes against my instincts do do that.
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- Nov 02, 2004
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Miketo, you sound like me. I finished chapter one, did three edits. Finished chapter two, and that took two edits. I'm a perfectionist and an english major. I think this must be my curse. -_-'
I'm broke and took some time to read part of a book on writing good dialogue at Borders. It helped me figure some things out. I'll probably go back and buy it, cos I can't just go and read it whenever I need help and write in the store.
- Nov 02, 2004
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Keep it up guys! ^_^ I'm so proud. :3 Here's a little tidbit of my novel so far, the first page or two; if I can figure out how to fix it I'll post more at my journal.
There were no clouds. Maeve expected that there should be. Some part of her subconscious squawked about a 'dark and stormy night', but it was quickly submerged beneath her roiling emotion. She felt herself slipping again, but she couldn't resist.
There were no clouds. The stark moonrays shone unfettered past the ragged shingles and vermin-infested depths of the shattered ruin. It touched briefly on the shining orbs of a rat, which quickly scuttered back to its nocturnal home. A slight breath of wind did little to sway the tattered remains of festive scrap and bits, which clung to the skeletal, mourning limbs of the few faint trees with some scrap of life remaining.
The lunar rays continues their blind, directionless groping. They climbed, swaying and glimmering with effort, searching tentatively across the bent and weathered floorboards, open to their heartless scrutiny.
The wind picked up, the groaning of branch on branch wove with Maeve's subconscious moaning, as she tangled comfortless in her sleep-drenched sheets. A third voice rose, to match their eerie chorus. Maeve's eyelids flicked back and forth, back and forth. She tossed, desperately trying to wake herself, before the eyes...
The searching rays slowed, and for a moment the ruin paused, breathless. A stale scent, as of faded rosemary sachets, hung in the air. Tremulously, the beams of light slowed, caressing their beloved. Her porcelain cheek, the alabaster ringlets, the gentle blush of health upon her smoothly parted lips. Her delicately veined eyelids, ringed with a fan of darkest lashes, began to slowly move back and forth. Back and forth... Maeve's eyelids began to swim in unison. She knew that somehow, she mustn't open her eyes... The girl's eyes were moving more rapidly. The wind began to swirl in time, kicking up tufts of cast-off ribbon and sending pirouettes of dust leaping to the sky through the empty vault of the ruin. She groaned delicately with the moaning branches, unquiet at the center of the maelstrom. With a shudder, she raised herself on her elbows. Maeve whimpered. Her lips parted in a delicate pant. The ornate fans of her lashes separated, revealing the garnet-red jewel set behind. Maeve's eyes flashed open.
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Maeve stared into the flashing red glow of her alarm clock. The howling wind outside her window lifted the branches of her cherry tree in a rhythmic tump-tump against the panes. A look of unattached dismay flickered across her face as her hand sought to silence the alarm clock. Her recurring dream was more vivid and complete each night. Maeve's sleeping form continued to synchronize unwillingly with the unknown girl.
But she was so sweet, so seductive, so...real. Maeve blinked. She shouldn't be wasting her time with such nonsense, she had to get moving. Today was her big day. What a laugh. She briefly contemplated skipping, but then Jules, her publisher, would be incensed at her. He was a pretty worthless publisher anyways, if he could go to all his authors' signings. But she wasn't in a position to be picky.
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Fifteen minutes later, Maeve clicked her door shut and leaned against it to slip on her shoes. Then she removed the toast from her mouth and scavenged for her bike. She spied it leaning at an inebriated angle against the tree, and pedaled off with only a few miss-starts. The few startled birds she encountered along the way, along with that peculiar freshness to the air and the lack of people, let her know she was on time better than her clock. She slowed down a moment, reveling in the crispness of the early fall weather. Lord knows she had little enough time lately to slow down and smell the roses, as her grandma used to say.
Maeve tried to summon some excitement for the fact that she was now, officially, an author. Published. In print. Invited to all the cool conferences she had dreamed about as a child. But she was too unsettled by her dream--no, it was far to vivid, too...alive to call it merely a dream. More like a vision. That perfect child, so...porcelain...like a doll...And last night was the first time she had seen her eyes. Maeve blinked. She had skidded to a stop at the thought of those crimson orbs, scaring a bird from its breakfast. It cawed, indignant. She hastily maneuvered around it and continued on her way. What was so disturbing about a mere phantom of her imagination? But those eyes...she wanted to drown in them forever, to release herself to them and never look back, but there was something just too right about that feeling. Nothing could be so perfect.
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Maeve finally skidded to a stop in front of the dusty bookstore and flung herself off the bike, wheeling it carelessly to somewhere in the general vicinity of the bike stand. Adjusting her bag, she steeled herself for a moment; this was the real deal. Then she flung her hair back, and stalked proudly into the store. She stopped inside, waiting for the jingle of the tattered bell to cease, and inhaling the timeworn scent of old leather and copper. She didn't really get the copper, but oh well. She tucked her hair nervously behind an ear with one hand and cast about for Jules. She heard a faint sound of voices coming somewhere from the back rooms, and she struck out past the teetering piles of dusty tomes and the occasional, even dustier patron. Following her ears, she poked her head around a doorway and sneezed, having accidentally kicked up a cloud of dust by unsettling a box of old newspapers.
When Maeve looked up, blinking the dust from her watering eyes, she beheld Jules Morvant. He was a robust sort of fellow, but with the hollowness behind his tan that told of a long string of childhood illnesses. He still shouldn't be running about in dusty old bookstores, but he cheerfully ignored Maeve's dire warnings. Jules had short, ruffled blackish hair and clear green eyes. He stood about six foot, but with a sense of wiry strength that led people to assume he had more height. He made good use of what stature he did have, with flashing emerald eyes and a temperament to match. He had a gentle exterior, but if pushed he could dig his heels in better than any mule. All in all, he was a frustrating, nice kind of guy.Jules regarded Maeve with an irritating sort of unblinking calm. She stared back, determined not to give in. The intensity of his gaze made her finally turn away and blink angrily. What had she done to deserve this? He smiled, and spoke before she could say something angry in reply. "Ready to get started, miss Published Author?" he said calmly, his eyes seeming to deny any charge of presumptuousness. Maeve considered attacking, but decided to show him up by going for the calm, collected look. She straightened her skirt and marched into the room. "Indeed, Mr. Morvant. Where do you want me?" Here eyes challeneged him to make an issue of that statement, but he let it pass. "I've told you time and again to just call me Jules, you know." he sighed, with an insufferable air of patience. "Indeed, Mr. Morvant, I do believe you have." she returned primly.
He chose to ignore that one and continue. "I'd like you to sit right over here," he said, guiding her over to a card table which had been hastily cleared of its cargo of books and festooned with various colorful drapery. "We'll open shop in a few minutes, and wait for the deluge," he said cheerfully, seemingly daring her to find a trace of mockery in his tone. Maeve swept past him cooly, and, seating herself behind the desk with a flourish, began to arrange the copies of her book.She paused a moment in admiration. This baby, her pride and joy, had absorbed more than two years of her life. She felt old. *Eden Underground*, her first novel, was published, and she was 27. Not exactly young, but success has its price. If you can call a limited circulation, 20,000 copy run by a hole-in-the-wall publisher 'success'. But still, beggars can't be choosers. Story of her life.
She glanced out the grimy window with a sigh, trying to find a spot with slightly less accumulated filth with which to determine the angle of the sun and thus the time. Jules laughed. "Trying that old witching-trick again?" he asked with just the ghostly hint of a condescending hint of a smile. Maeve 'hrmphed' and turned away from him, peering through the glass. Though Jules might mock, this was actually quite an invaluable skill, one which Maeve had been taught by her grandmother and again during her training.
She sighed and gave up, the dirt on the window being too much for her rather below-average eyesight. She refused to wear glasses regardless, as she was actually a trifle vain. Her grandmother had always bothered her about it, citing her need for even more extravagantly ludicrous eyewear in future if she didn't take care now. As always, she had skipped out on her well-meaning grandmother with cries of 'Four-eyes, four-eyes!' to taunt her poor grandma. She was a bit of a haughty child, too.
-- That's the first day's worth. ^^ Feel free to post or link to your excerpts too! And if anyone wants to help, my NaNo journal is at http://www.pxae.com/journal I can't figure out how to manouever the text into place. :X
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Groups: Express || Elite Scan, Inc. || New Wave Project || Morphine's Scent || The Grunge Family- Nov 03, 2004
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Excellent work, Biriwilg! The story really gets rolling by the time you get to the bookstore and has an easy, effortless feel to it. That is difficult to do, so congrats on being able to do that so early in your novel!
My own report card: Way behind on word count, already. Only 4888 words, was hoping to have 8000+ by now. My plot, that I was so excited about, now hates me. I'm also feeling down for various reasons and the whole election thing has me feeling like all this is pointless.
I'm going to try switching over to using a digital voice recorder and speech-to-text software to see if it makes things easier. Since I write for a living, I'm trying not to be overly picky, and I'm very good about not editing my previous work. But I take a long time to write small amounts, making sure that the ideas and sentences flow and that the conflicts are adequately described.
*sigh*
Maybe a giant asteroid will strike Seattle. Stranger things have happened!
- Nov 05, 2004
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Yeah, I've barely made it to 3000 words...man. My plot has to do with this college girl waking up one day and discovering her campus has been turned into an RPG-like world. Story isn't coming out the way I wanted it to, though. Miketo, I'm in Seattle too! Wasn't Mt St Helens supposed to blow a couple of weeks ago?
- Nov 05, 2004
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Yep, I'm a Seattlite, living and working in Ballard, a few blocks away from Ballard High School. If you're nearby, there's a Nano write-in on Monday's at Cupcake Royale, a new coffee shop next to the Majestic Bay theater on NW Market Street. Come join the eight or so of us next Monday for some coffee, cupcakes, and attempts at writing.
St. Helens is still working away. The lava dome has grown 300 feet in nine days. http://www.komo.org/stories/33827.htm
- Nov 05, 2004
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Sorry to interupt, but a friend pointed me out to the NaNoWriMo thing and I was wondering if it was too late to join? I write fast tho and have some ideas, so if somebody could tell me I would be very thankful! :)
Woof? XD- Nov 05, 2004
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Heck no. Grab a program and start writing. All you need is 50,000 words by midnight, Nov 30. They don't have to be good words, your characters can be terrible and your plot awful. Bad dialogue is encouraged. http://www.nanowrimo.org has all the info you need, and you can update your daily total on the board.
BTW, for those of you with Excel, there's a spreadsheet to track your progress that's pretty cool. See this link if you want it. http://erikbenson.com/nanowrimo-report-card.xls
- Nov 05, 2004
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Thanks for the info, I'll be signing up now then. Thanks again!
Woof? XD- Nov 06, 2004
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Welcome to the club, Nemontine! ^_^ Glad to find another person crazy enough to join us. ^^
And thank you for the lovely comment Miketo, you're too kind. *blush* I'm really in the hole right now as far as word count goes, I'm waaaay behind thanks to chess club on Wednesday. >< I'm gonna write most of today, hopefully I can get back up to par. Good luck everyone! ^_^
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Groups: Express || Elite Scan, Inc. || New Wave Project || Morphine's Scent || The Grunge Family- Nov 06, 2004
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There's no shame in being "behind" on word count. If there was, I'd have a whole busload o' shame to go around. I mean, I write for a living, dammit -- you'd think this would be easier.
BTW, does everyone have a Nano account? Post your Nano name and I'll send you Nano messages of encouragement, wackiness, or snips of truly bad writing that I've managed to spew out in an attempt to make my daily goal. As mentioned above, I'm "miketo." Yes, originality is strong with this one. XD
/***Nano Excerpt***/
CHAPTER ONE
The ball bounced high, arcing away from the many hands that grabbed for it. "I got it! I got it!" several children cried. The ball zigged away, batted by an invisible hand. "No fair! You pushed it!"
El looked around. "No, I didn't! Jermiah did it!" She pointed at the boy, who stuck his tongue out at El.
"Nyah nyah. You're just jealous." Two kids were fighting over the ball, wrestling on the ground; the other kids jumped happily on the growing pile of bodies, everyone squirming to get a hand on the ball. A flare of light popped somewhere in the pile. Several kids squealed in surprise and the pile shook off a few bodies.
El ran up to Jermiah. "I would have had the ball if you hadn't pushed it."
"No way. You were nowhere near it. Quit being a baby. Just because you can't do anything." Jermiah walked away from El, a smug expression on his face.
She watched him go. His taunt cut her deeply. She tried not to show it and give him the satisfaction of knowing he slid in under her normally impervious guard.
"Come on, Dragons, get the ball!" El ran over to the pile of bodies that was slowly sorting itself out. One boy at the bottom of the pile stood up, the horsehide ball filled with straw clutched firmly. His face was flushed but triumphant. "Gargoyles win!" Cheers broke out from half the kids, while the other half looked dejected and tired.
The captain of the Dragons shrugged his shoulders. "I gotta get home for chores. Besides, we would have won if you hadn't cheated. No magic, remember?" Jeers and hoots greeted this, but the two groups were slowly breaking up. Kids picked up school books, shirts, and jackets from where they'd been tossed or laid down to mark boundaries. El wandered over to her own stack and picked up her satchel. It was heavy with books, a reminder that she had a lot of studying to do before she could go to bed.
The Dragon captain came over to her, still breathing hard after the group scuffle. "Sorry about Jermiah, El. He was being a jerk. He didn't mean it."
"Yes he did, Ranny. I know I can't do magic yet. Like hitting a ball is such a great skill anyway." She yanked her clothes into a semblance of order and whipped her hair back from her eyes.
"You'll figure it out some day. I'd hate to be Jermiah when he gets a taste of what you can do." Ranny smiled, his dark brown eyes looked at her from under dark bangs. El had always thought of him as a big brother, but for the first time she felt a thrill as she looked into his eyes. "Anyway, I gotta go now. See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow." El made a show of cleaning the street dirt off her clothes. She watched Ranny stroll to the other side of the crossroads, admiring his tall trim figure. She had known him ever since she was a young girl; he was a couple of years older than she, but the age difference was not a difference at all. They had laughed together, cried together, and celebrated together when he discovered his skill of drying any wet clothing that he touched. They had always been more like friends than boyfriend and girlfriend, and when she was growing up she played games with her dolls and played make-believe as if Ranny was her husband.
But she never took the games seriously, and she grew out of the games entirely as she grew older. She only saw Ranny as her protective older brother. Now, at fourteen, she felt a stirring of awareness that maybe he wasn't just an older brother -- maybe he meant something different to her. Something more.
/***End Nano Excerpt***/
- Nov 07, 2004
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Aww, Miketo, that's so cute! ^^ Sorry, the sugar is getting to me. Sounds like an intriguing setup; high school romance, with magic?
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Groups: Express || Elite Scan, Inc. || New Wave Project || Morphine's Scent || The Grunge Family- Nov 07, 2004
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I just realized her age is supposed to be fifteen, not fourteen. Damn continuity problems.
It's more like a "voyage of discovery" / coming-of-age story. She learns to be confident in who she is, not who others think she should be. Ranny is going to accompany her when she's banished from home, as will a mysterious stranger who is currently her tutor attempting to find out what her skill is.
I didn't intend the soft romance stuff to get in there, but it kind of wrote itself in. I'll need some sanity checks later on from persons of the female gender to make sure I'm not stereotyping the internal dialogues or external actions. I've already determined she doesn't cry a lot -- no weepy-teary wilting flower protagonist here!
--Mike
- Nov 07, 2004
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Lol, she sounds fairly realistic so far from a 'female perspective'; good job on the crying - I know very few girls who burst into tears at the slightest provocation, myself included. ^^ Sounds like it'll be interesting! I'll be sure to keep track. ^_^
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Useful Links: Service Thread || The Sandbox || Changelog || Guide to MT3 || Complaints || Adopt-A-Group
Groups: Express || Elite Scan, Inc. || New Wave Project || Morphine's Scent || The Grunge Family- Nov 07, 2004
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Monday update: I'm still far behind on word count, having cracked 8000 only last night; I should have been near 12,000. I've found that I use voice reognition for when I'm stuck, and switch to manual when the thoughts start flowing freely.
Anyone else behind on the productivity?
- Nov 08, 2004
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Oh, yeah. =_= I'm somewhere around 6000 short right now, I'm hoping the long weekend and Thanksgiving will help in that department. ><
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Useful Links: Service Thread || The Sandbox || Changelog || Guide to MT3 || Complaints || Adopt-A-Group
Groups: Express || Elite Scan, Inc. || New Wave Project || Morphine's Scent || The Grunge Family- Nov 09, 2004
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Miketo, your excerpt is so cute like biriwilg said XD Except I didn't think the charas were 14, they seemed alot younger. Nice work on the first chapter, keep it up! I've got to catch up with everybody else. -_-
Woof? XD- Nov 09, 2004
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Thank, Nemontine! BTW, the characters' voices matured quite a bit over the last 8000 words. This is all first draft -- editing, continuity, cleanup is thrust aside until January.
And I'm still 'way behind. Fortunately I can take most of today to focus on writing.
- Nov 09, 2004
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Omg...I'm WAY behind! I only have 14,000 words :angry: ^_^'
Oh well, I blame joining and starting the NaNoWriMo on
11-7-04 for that.- Nov 12, 2004
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Sheesh. I'm at only 11,000 and I'm hating life right now. If things don't get better I'm quitting.
- Nov 12, 2004
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Don't quit, Miketo! I'm vastly behind too, but that doesn't matter. Even if you don't finish your novel till February, at least you can say you wrote one. And that's what counts. Don't lost heart!
Latest wallpaper: End of All Hope
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Groups: Express || Elite Scan, Inc. || New Wave Project || Morphine's Scent || The Grunge Family- Nov 14, 2004
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I'm WAY behind. I kinda lost hope. I'm at like 16,000
words when today you are supposed to have 36,000. Oh gosh,
I hope you guys have better luck. Work won't let me write
my story (staying up to 12:00 to do work even though that
isn't bad).- Nov 19, 2004
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I'm trying to figure out why my novel won't write. I think I'm out for this year's competition, but I've got another novel in progress that I *do* like that I can return to, an idea for a third, and a medium-length short story fragment that my wife wants me to continue working on because she likes it so much.
My wife has kept pace with her Nano novel, though, and she's only 2000 words behind. She's having fun doing it, too. I think that's awesome!
- Nov 19, 2004
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I...have officially lost hope. Unless I can write 30,000 WORDS
in 4 days, I won't make it @_@;;;- Nov 27, 2004
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