Yet Another NaNoWriMo Update

Anyone else remember when I was insane enough to do blog posts almost every day during NaNoWriMo?  Good times.  Good times.

Anyways, I’ve put a capper on Book One (or Part One, if you prefer) of the novel.  So far this has been the best NaNoWriMo yet, with a coherent, good story, where the exposition comes in I think fun little doses.  It won’t be perfect when it’s done, but I’m loving every inch of it.

Here’s the thing, though.  This story?  Isn’t the one I want to tell with these characters.  Not in the slightest.  So when I’m finished, I’m scuttling it, taking the best stuff, adding a few new tweaks, and fashioning a new novel to send out to the publishing world.  Who knows with it, right?  Right.

The important part of that last paragraph is the “when I’m finished.”  I don’t mean with the contest.  I intend to finish this novel, the wrong story, before moving on to the next one.

I said I was loving this novel, right?  I’m loving it too much not to finish it.  I want it and its future (fraternal?) twin sister to be.  That sounds nuts, even to me, but there we go.

Any luck, I will be adding “finished novelist” to the list of honestly meaningless titles I have either at year’s end or just at the start of next year.  The twin shouldn’t take too long finishing, what with a lot of it already written (hopefully).  Then I can worry about the only title that matters.

Professional writer.

That said, let’s look at some stats.

Book One is 22,636 words long.  About half of what I need for the contest.  The full novel I want is about 100,000 words long, though as it’s possible I’m not going to send this one out I might let it stop at 75,000.  Depends how I’m doing, how eager I am to get to the twin, that sort of thing.

All said, I’m about 22 to 30% done.  Which is closer than I’ve ever come before.

Those checking my NaNo stats for today might notice I’m at 38,405 words.  Of that total, 3,856 of that (roughly a mere 10%) is stuff that happens later in the novel.  How much gets used I won’t know until I get there.

The rest of that (11,913 words, or about 31%) is scrap.  Wheel spinning.  Me trying to get this bird off the ground.  It’s there to keep the count where it should be, sad to say.

Which means that only around 59% of what I have is actual novel for the contest.

It should be added that this is a bigger percentage than any other time.  Except maybe Fear Adventure.  That might have been 100% novel but only 80% (or so) finished.

While I’m breaking no rule this way, it does feel a little cheap.  My goal has always been finished novel.  Every year doing this, though, has taught me more and more about the craft.

Hopefully next year will be the year.

Another Brief NaNo Update

Well, I’ve almost got the first two chapters done right.  I’ve a scene maybe three or four chapters down the road about perfect.  I have a tonnage of stuff I’m only holding on to because of the contest; 50,000 words comes around, its all in a folder marked “Scrap.”  Now that it’s too late to restart, I want to write something else. And I’m behind in my word count.

In other words, typical NaNoWriMo.

I like this novel.  I hope I finish.  But it’s not 50,000 words.  75,000, maybe.

Still.  I’m having fun.

Brief NaNo Related Post

So I’m writing.  My character’s furious, ranting, and he uses a naughty word.  It’s own of the F words, but not the one usually used.  I don’t want the weight that word has.  It’s a brick it is, best used to really hit.  Part of the reason I don’t use it here.

Instead, I use its synonym, feck.  I like feck.  Unlike the other word, it sounds funny.  Especially shouted.

I type it out the first time, and my wondrous writing program Scrivener auto-corrects it to me.

By changing a single letter.

You can guess which one.

I find that hilarious.  It’s like Scrivener’s is objecting to my wimpier language.


Godzilla 000
“For me? Why, you shouldn’t have. Really. Got plenty more of these back home.”

Godzilla Demotivator

I bet you think I’m going to do a lot of bad puns with this one, dealing with volt and amp and the like. Well ha! I currently conduct myself better than THAT!

Ghidorah 004
No he’s not trying to fly here. That’s another movie entirely.

v Hedora 013
Godzilla considered doing Hamlet’s graveyard scene (“Alas, Poor Yorick”) but as there were no Shobinjin there to translate, he decided to do seven verses of “Barnacle Bill the Sailor” instead.

I can’t believe I almost let this day go by. Absolutely disgraceful.

The Apparition – A Fiction

In lieu of anything else to say, here’s a short short I wrote in February.  It’s not the greatest, but hey.  It keeps the blog going.

He had driven past the cemetery for almost twenty years and hardly thought of it in all that time, much less look at it. When he did, all he saw was row and row of gray stone and the occasional statue worn smooth by the passing of time. He would think, “What a waste of good property.” And then he wouldn’t think of it again until the next time, long after.

This night should have been the same. Maybe a little different; his mistress had come back to town after a long absence taking care of an ailing mother. Through it all he had to bear up under the ministrations of his wife, which had never been much in earlier times and even worse now. Now that the mother had cacked it, he intended to make up for lost time.

So he was doing a little speeding, okay a lot of speeding, say sixty in a forty. He had a nice, fast car, sporting colors, and it felt good to trot it out once in a while. Had he his druthers he’d be doing more. In fact, with the thrill of the ride and the promise of the mistress, perhaps he would do a little more.

His foot pressed down against the gas, and now he was at the cemetery, almost to his work during the day, almost to the mistress now, and his head turned its direction. Not that he expected to see anything, not in this dark. The city had cut back on lit street lights to save money and the moon refused to move from behind the clouds. Still, what was there to see but a waste of good property?

Except there was something there. Something more. A bright pale shape beside the cemetery fence. Almost as soon as he realized he was seeing something, the apparition moved, tearing through the air at an incredible speed, straight for him. As it neared he saw in its pale glow blackness instead of eyes, blackness instead of a gaping mouth. The blackness was so malign that without thought he twisted the steering wheel of his fine car, twisted it hard without even the thought of slowing down.

The car flipped over.

How many times it rolled, he could not say.

Oblivion claimed him a moment.

When he returned, he was in the ruins of a car. Parts of him hurt; what didn’t felt horribly, horribly numb. He thought he was dying.

Perhaps it would have been better if he was.

He turned his head and saw the apparition looking in on him. It stood upright, yet bent at an impossible angle to leer in upon him.

To stare at him with that malign black eyes.

To grin at him with that malign black mouth.

A thousand thoughts assailed him at once. To pray not to die, to survive, to be forgiven for his infidelity and for the thousand of sins both little and small that he committed in his life.

But instead of giving voice to these pleas he asked the apparition one of the world’s oldest question: “Why?”

The answer came as a single amused word. “Lonely.”

In time the paramedics and police came. As they worked, none of them noticed the two pale shapes standing nearby on the other side of the cemetery fence.