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nano_writers2009-11-21 12:17 am
ladyseishou) wrote in nano_writers2009-11-21 12:17 am
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NaNoWriMo 2009 Day 21
Never look at a blank page for more than two minutes. Write something. Anything. Even garbage will get your neurons firing. Eventually it's apt to morph into something useful.
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog...
Well at least it warms the fingers up and takes away the paralyzing power of the blank page! My favorite trick is to describe what the character is wearing and why it's appropriate for the scene. It gets me into the writing from a cold start and it helps bring a little color to a scene that sometimes gets taken over by action and dialogue.
An excerpt from today's work:
Lord Alric wore a dark rough linen skirt with a tattered edge that hung so low that it swept over the cobbled streets as he walked through the market stalls. His jacket was a surprising pale green silk with two rows of tiny brass buttons that suited his vanity, borrowed from the pack of a merchant leaving the city.
This bit led quickly into a romp through the market as my characters chased down a suspected spy. I'm closing in on my climatic scene!
And how is everyone doing today? Today's word count is 35,000! Is today a day to catch up? Surge ahead? Excerpts? Questions? Comments? It's all good! Keep writing!
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"I deseve everything that I have," he said slowly. "Everything except you."
This is someone who has a boyfriend, to whom he is speaking, and nothing else good. His family is dead, his friends are either dead or missing, normal people hate and fear him, his home is gone and he owns, quite literally, nothing.
He's also got some pretty serious survivor's guilt and a metric fuckton of self-esteem issues. Also probably PTSD, but to write that I'd have to do research and quite frankly I haven't the time; my wordcount's 18224.
1,137 so far today. It's only been four and a half hours since midnight. My eyes aren't quite focusing right and my brain certainly isn't processing right but I have to keep writing. I finally feel like I've caught that brand of crazy particular to NaNo.
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And what I try to do as I come by something that needs more research - I often fake it and mark the sentence (or scene) with ** so I'll be able to find it and fix it later. The important thing for me was to try and stay "in the story."
Good luck!
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“I almost don’t know why I’m surprised, honestly. It’s not like she’s the easiest person to live with, and who gets his head cut off anymore? I mean, really?”
I love these posts,
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And thanks! ^__^
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Not really sure how much progress I've made, but there have been developments, which is nice. At least we have conflict and things to resolve. And an epic love triangle. XD
Still having fun with it though. :D
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However... Today, I sat down this morning and wrote 2k. That brought me up to about 32k. I'm still about 3k behind, but damn, it felt nice to write that 2k. I'm attempting, while the children are quiet and roommate is busy, to write more, but it's not going nearly as well. Even though I rewarded myself with a bit of fun.
Fave thing I wrote today:
In the hierarchy of the Enclave, she and Hyst were very low on the ladder. They had to answer to just about everyone. When another Cat chirped, mewled, growled, roared or anything else in their general direction, they paid attention.
For an ex-noblewoman, she's learned how to take orders. Finally.
Now, back to writing, I hope.
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Now for the other two. *cackles and rubs hands*
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Once I caught up from the beginning of the month, it's been comparatively easy to keep my wordcount going. It's always that way with me, it seems!
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I also have a problem. In the pre-chapter 1-chapter I want to have my character break up with someone. My idea was a woman, but considering that Bee will end up marrying someone who identifies as a man (and having the XX-chromosomes is only subtly shown so people might miss it) I'm worried that that would make people think the story is too heteronormative, which is not but people being people they might complain. If anyone were to ever read it in the first place.
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Being a descriptive writer, I like to give more than the average detail when describing clothing or locations.
The silver chalice stood upon a tall, slender pedestal of dark stone. It was a natural altar in the centre of the small garden which was located in the centre of the manor, several stories high. A cast iron wrought gate opened into a levelled courtyard of earth, that was neither large or small. An intricate labyrinth design of pale, white stones was embedded within the rich, dark soil. Tiered stands of night blooming flowers spilled from corners and lined the walls. Vines wound upward around cast iron trellises toward the sky, tiny buds awaiting the arrival of dusk before opening to the night.
Under the harsh light of day, the courtyard garden was a glimpse of natural beauty surrounded by stones and mortar. Under the soft light of the moon, the courtyard garden transformed into a magical display of exotic flowers and scents which heightened ones senses. Under the soft light of the moon, the courtyard garden transformed into a place of magic itself. Where rituals were performed and offerings made to the darkest aspects of the deity.
The pale grey eyes continued to gaze into the silver chalice. Long, black lashes framed their almond shape and gave the appearance of a smoky outline, which was further enhanced by kohl. Equally dark brows were presently drawn together, the perfect arch lost in a moment of expression. A slender nose and prominent cheekbones gave emphasis to nobility, as did the slender line of jaw which was partially hidden by a lock of dark hair. Lips as pale as her skin were pursed by the same unforgiving expression but still attractive with a slight fullness.
Much about the woman could be described as slender. Of average height, her svelte body was well defined beneath the black silk gown she wore. Elongated arms ended with small hands which held long fingers, currently curled into loose fists by her side. The bell sleeves of her gown trailed down her sides, blending seamlessly with the flowing skirt that swished about her ankles.
A chilling aura of rage radiated outward from her body. Uncurling one of her fists, the woman picked up the chalice from the stone altar before gazing upward at the sky. The pale light of the moon turned her grey eyes to silver and cast a soft glow upon her skin. Tresses as dark as the night itself framed her face and spilled down her back in natural curl to her waist.
I had originally gone on to describe what the flowers were, doing some research on which flowers were of the night blooming variety, to give people a better idea of what exactly they were seeing.
That excerpt is from my first chapter, which introduces my protagonist and a key event in the whole story. I feel that my first chapter really should be considered a prologue, as apart from setting the scene and giving my readers a vague idea that something very important is happening, it does not quite flow into the start of the story. My second chapter though, flows wonderfully and is prompted by the events of the first chapter. Hence why I think it should have been a prologue.
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I was actually much better about sticking character description or relevant thought sequences from the POV character toward the beginning of the month, so as I'm working back through I'll be doing more of that in the later chapters to boost word count.
One character description I stuck in back at the start of the month (with a slight addition from today):
It was no surprise, then, that Samuel’s typical appearance as an immaculate gentleman was breaking down. His blond hair, usually slicked back, fell forward on either side of his face to brush against his temples. It was entirely possible, George thought, that he had dislodged it himself by running his hand over it out of nerves. His manner of dress was no different than usual: waistcoat, trousers, clean white shirt. It didn’t even look that different; the real difference lay in how Samuel wore what he did, instead of what he wore. There was nothing overt about it; subtle differences in the way Samuel held his body and the way his clothes lay gave the only signals George thought he was going to get. Instead of looking polished and refined, Samuel looked just a little desperate for help.
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