LitWridoNaNoWriMo 2004 - The Support Thread

[Remec]

Excellent to read that so many of you have made such a great start. I did 800 words last night, before knackeredness fully hit.

Maintain that forward momentum!

What I wanna know is who is going to be the first person to post an excerpt?

Oh, why not? <nervous chuckle>




Barbara Owens never used her alarm clock. Ever since she could remember, she was always early for everything. Her mother joked that it was only to be expected since she’d arrived a week early in the first place. And now, no matter what she’d been doing throughout the rest of a given day, if she needed to be somewhere or awake at a specific time, she just was.
Unless something or someone slowed her up and put her off schedule, of course, she was chronologically infallible.
It was a nice talent to have acquired. She just wished it would help her in dealing with the deadlines the city room editor kept putting her on. “Where’s the bank robbery write up?” he asked. “What about the investigation into mob connections with the local sports franchise? And weren’t you the one who said she had the ‘inside story’ on the police covering up that shooting in the projects last month?”
Barbara just beamed and nodded. She took a moment to thumb through the stack of files on her desk. “One bank robbery,” she said as she handed him a folder, “just as promised.”
“What about the rest?”
“Investigation should be finished this evening. I’m editing it now. And the other story is moving slower than I’d hoped, but I’m supposed to meet my source later tonight.”
“You gonna need someone watching your back?”
A light laugh slipped past Barbara’s lips. “If I did, I’ve people I can call. No offense, Bert, but anyone you’d send with me would be more likely to be watching my ass than my back.”
Bert shrugged. “Probably so, but I can’t say I blame them in the least.” He took a step away from Barbara and flagged one of the errand runners to come over. As the intern approached, Barbara thought about Bert’s words, surprised that he still thought like that about her. “Take this to Stevens in Copy. Tell him to prep it for the evening edition, but not to go with it until he calls me down to look it over. Got it?”
Steven nodded. “Sure thing. Anything else, Bert? Barbie?”
Barbara sighed. She was never going to escape that nickname. Serves me right for starting off in society and entertainment. “A strong Irish coffee with fresh whipped cream and a shot of crème de menthe would do wonders, but since you’re not old enough to buy alcohol, I guess I’ll run out and grab it myself,” she told Steven. His eyes boggled as she smiled and gave Bert a wink and picked up her purse.
“Anything I need to run down or get some information on while I’m out? My current stories are on idle until after dinner.”
“Got some fresh crackpots in the slush pile…seeing things that no one has seen before, or having detailed knowledge of the conspiracy of the day…ya wanna go for one?”
Barbara laughed. “Why not? You never can tell where that Pulitzer story is going to come from.” She sized up the box that had originally held reams of copier paper, then slipped her hand into the middle of the various letters, file folders, and manila envelopes it now held and pulled out a good sized one.
She read the inscription. “To Bert Johnson: Eyes Only! Observations and Conjectures about our missing Heroes.” Barbara regarded Bert for a moment. “Did you read this one? What’s it about?”
Bert made a dismissive gesture. “Some retired scientist claims to have info on what became of the Good Guys Five.”
“Really? Damn, there’s a name I’ve not heard in a long time.”
“No one has. That’s why he thought I’d be interested. But he’s a loony, you’ll see.”
Barbara nodded. She swung her bag over one shoulder and draped her jacket over the same arm. “Yes, I think I will.”

 

[Liar]

Back from school ,gonna write me another thousand words before dinner.



Oh, and here is my current intro (never mind typos, please):

-----------------------------------------------
The Stockholm Globe arena is a weird sight. This hockey arena, scene of choice for international rock stars on tour, et al, is a humongous golf ball, one hundred and seventeen meters in height, perched in between an industrial complex on the east side and a area of apartment buildings and parks on the west. North of it lies an open gully of water, the end of the Mälaren lake and the beginning of the Baltic Sea. Built in a zeitgeist of optimism that came and passed just as quickly in the end of the 80's, it is a remarkable architectural and engineric accomplishments.

But most of all it said a whole lot about it's creators. Swedes are a peculiar breed, make no mistake. IKEA land has given rise to some oddities in the past, from meat balls to ground reindeer horn aphrodisiacs, from ABBA to ambient house. But none of those compares to the Globe Arena. Because seriously, what other people, and what other metropolitan city in the world would consider erecting their skyline's most prominent phallus symbol in the shape of a gargatulan sized clitoris?
-----------------------------------------------

 

[English Lady]

Oooh good exerpts Remec and Liar

i'm just over 1000 words now heres a little snippet for ya....remember its in its roughest form *L*

"It’s getting busier now as we pull into the main shopping area of Longsight the bus fills up so much that people are queuing in the aisle. An old lady with crisp grey curls and many warm smile lines sits beside me and begins to talk to me about my baby.

“Isn’t she beautiful” she coos, leaning over the arm of the pram. “What’s the little darlings name?”

“Amy.” I answer

“Did you know Amy means beloved?” a deep male voice said above my head, I lift my chin and look for the source of the masculine voice. A tall guy, is holding on to one of the wrist straps just to the side of the smiling old lady.. He has a soft yet chiselled chin, slight stubble juts just out of the creamy soft tan of his skin, a tiny dimple set right in the middle of the fleshy bump of his chin. His lips are drawn and thin yet plump and deep pink and something in the back of my mind added infinitely kissable. "

 

[Alex De Kok]

Slow start for me. Didn't get going until this morning. And then, almost 500 words into the story I thought 'WTF am I doing? This is boring even me!' So I backed up, thought about it and started again

Just over 1200 words into #2 but this one is keeping me interested. More to the point, Lou, I have a title! 'Shattered Image' is my working title, still in Romantic thriller field. No need to note the title yet, I'll include it in the update PM tomorrow.

Alex

 

[Guest]

Slow start for me. Didn't get going until this morning. And then, almost 500 words into the story I thought 'WTF am I doing? This is boring even me!' So I backed up, thought about it and started again

Just over 1200 words into #2 but this one is keeping me interested. More to the point, Lou, I have a title! 'Shattered Image' is my working title, still in Romantic thriller field. No need to note the title yet, I'll include it in the update PM tomorrow.

Alex

Hey, I did the exact same thing!

I sat and wrote about 800 words last night, went back to it this morning and realised it wasn't going to work, scrapped that and started again, this time adding an extra dimension. It will be essentially the same novel, but with more scope and a spooky element. It should make it much more interesting both to read and write. I can't help but write something with a slightly dark atmosphere, must be the way my mind works.

I'm back up to 1100 words of the new draft.

Great excerpts Remec, Liar and EL. I really enjoyed the reading of excerpts last year, as it showed the diversity of what we were all writing, as well as the quality.

Lou

 

[Colleen Thomas]

10,800 words. lmost a complete story for me normally and I am pooped.

My intro:

In the quiet, backwater system of Halderon IV, the old war horse had been put to pasture. She floated majestically in geostationary orbit over the gas giant, star maps called HIV-16 and the locals called Lesvous. A bevy of smaller ships darted around the system, all of them hopelessly obsolete by modern standards, but compared to the old campaigner, they were state of the art.

Almost one thousand years had passed, since her massive; seven mile long keel had been laid in the long ago vaporized shipyards at Arnhem. She had been the first of fifteen ships of her class. Massively built, heavily armored, carrying the then revolutionary, fifteen inch Particle Projection Cannons, and internal bays for a whole wing of fighter/bombers, she had been the pinnacle of space going naval technology. For one hundred bloody years, she and her sister ships had protected the Gunarian Confederation from being annexed back into the Terran Authority. The Sol III treaty of 3745 had marked the end of hostilities, as the Confederation had bowed to the inevitable and joined the Authority. Four years later, she had been refitted and with a Terran crew, had joined the Authority Navy.

In her nearly limitless positrinic database, the bloody history of the reconquest was stored. She had rained fire and death on the rebellious planted of Sig-Alpha five, taken part in the great naval engagement on Solstice, provided fighter support in the final battles against the Volluskuns and taken part in more skirmishes and fleet actions than most people could imagine.

Eventually, time and technology turned her cannons into pea shooters and her hangar decks into less than today’s auxiliary carriers boasted. She had been consigned to the scrap yard, when some bean counter realized she was the oldest active duty ship in the Authority fleet. Rather than scrap her, the powers that be had parked her here in orbit and turned her into a training ship for new pilots.

The old warhorse was quiet now. The only sound and fury aboard came from raw recruits shooting at targets. Her great guns had been silent for more than a century and the battle circuit that would bring her to full wakefulness had been dark for twice that. She slept, and perhaps she dreamed of battles long ago. A living monument to Man’s determination to conquer the galaxy.

 

[Guest]

***DISCLAIMER***

Please do not let Colly scare you. She is not human. Us mere mortals need only do 2,000 words per day to comfortably complete.



Well done, Colly!

Lou

 

[cloudy]

***DISCLAIMER***

Please do not let Colly scare you. She is not human. Us mere mortals need only do 2,000 words per day to comfortably complete.



Well done, Colly!

Lou

Too late.

 

[Black Tulip]

Colly,

Are you trying to write 4 novels in November???

God, this is scary. Thank you Lou for calming us down.
And I was so pleased with my 2225 words so far.
I hope to get some more done tonight, as I won't have time tomorrow.

 

[Liar]

The first day so far.
3 hours 30 mins, and 3391 words

This is far exceeding my wildest expectations. What the hell is happening to me?

#L

ps. Colly, just out of curiosity: How many hours of writing did it take to churn out 10k of words?

 

[Black Tulip]

I find it very interesting to read what the others are doing so far, so to return the favor...

Please remember this is not even spellchecked.

**********
Chapter 1

The flames were leaping high in the air, painting the night bright red and orange. Their light dimming the stars of the warm summer night. Alred sobbed on her fist, trying to stifle the sound as she made her way among the glowing embers of the dying fires. Here, at the outskirts of the small settlement most houses were already burnt out. The only big fire still going was the house of the hetman in the center.

With a last look at the smoking and smoldering ruins, Alred took a deep breath and plunged into the forest that lay behind the little village. She never looked back again as she forced her way through the dense undergrowth. For an experienced tracker it would be easy to follow her trail, but she doubted those barbarians had the skill to do so.

As her legs took her deeper into the forest, her mind returned to the events of the last few hours. What should have been a gay midsummer night celebration had turned into a horror party from hell. One minute the villagers had been dancing around their bonfires, the next they were run over by hundreds, maybe even thousands of soldiers.

Alred wiped the tears from her cheeks, smearing soot and blood from a cut on her forehead across her face. Shocked, shivering despite the warm air of the summer night, she relived the terror of those moments when they were suddenly surrounded by countless legionnaires.

There had been rumors for months but nobody had believed this distant ruler, a Julius Caesar, would be interested in their tiny village. Alred felt a bitter satisfaction. Her parents had named her aptly, Alred, oracle. Only nobody had paid attention to her dreams of blood and fire. They would listen now perhaps, but she had no intention of going back to her parents.

If they had listened to her in the first place she would never have been allowed to visit with the family of her betrothed. Her betrothed, whatever, had died with a Roman sword in his belly, trying to protect her. It had been no use.

She tried to block out the memories but it was impossible. Her body hurt and her mind screamed in silence as her legs carried her ever further northwards. After they had killed the men, the soldiers had started looting and raping, and Alred knew she was lucky to escape alive. She would heal eventually, she didn’t think there was any permanent damage. Except perhaps that new feeling inside her. She had heard that hate could be a powerful tool. Now she would find that out for herself.

Alred vowed that from now on she would make sure she stayed lucky. She would pay very close attention to whatever she would dream for the rest of her life. Biting her lip she nodded to confirm her plans to herself.

Those Romans wouldn’t stop till they reached the big river to the north. To stay safe she needed to cross the river. Therefore she could not go back to her own village. By the time she got there she would either be too late or be back at the hands of those barbarians again.

No, it was much wiser to go on, maybe she could find a place with those tribes that lived near the sea. The Frisians were rumored to be a fierce people. Proud and stubborn, but fair and mostly minding their own business.

Finally Alred had to give in to the demands of her body. Abused, exhausted and still in shock she was no longer able to go on. For the first time in hours she actually looked around her and really saw her surroundings. In the grey light of predawn she noticed how deep she had entered the woods. There was little chance of Roman soldiers following her this far so she found a spot under some bushes and stretched her legs.

Too tired to care for wild animals, she closed her eyes for a moment, not expecting any sleep. Not with the scenes from Ragnarok still haunting her. The killing, the burning, the laughter of soldiers drunk with blood lust, the leering faces and the obscene acts, it all whirled around in her head, making her nauseous and shivering. Her teeth chattering.

**********
Off to fix dinner.

 

[cheerful_deviant]

10,800 words. lmost a complete story for me normally and I am pooped.

My intro:

In the quiet, backwater system of Halderon IV, the old war horse had been put to pasture. She floated majestically in geostationary orbit over the gas giant, star maps called HIV-16 and the locals called Lesvous. A bevy of smaller ships darted around the system, all of them hopelessly obsolete by modern standards, but compared to the old campaigner, they were state of the art.

Almost one thousand years had passed, since her massive; seven mile long keel had been laid in the long ago vaporized shipyards at Arnhem. She had been the first of fifteen ships of her class. Massively built, heavily armored, carrying the then revolutionary, fifteen inch Particle Projection Cannons, and internal bays for a whole wing of fighter/bombers, she had been the pinnacle of space going naval technology. For one hundred bloody years, she and her sister ships had protected the Gunarian Confederation from being annexed back into the Terran Authority. The Sol III treaty of 3745 had marked the end of hostilities, as the Confederation had bowed to the inevitable and joined the Authority. Four years later, she had been refitted and with a Terran crew, had joined the Authority Navy.

In her nearly limitless positrinic database, the bloody history of the reconquest was stored. She had rained fire and death on the rebellious planted of Sig-Alpha five, taken part in the great naval engagement on Solstice, provided fighter support in the final battles against the Volluskuns and taken part in more skirmishes and fleet actions than most people could imagine.

Eventually, time and technology turned her cannons into pea shooters and her hangar decks into less than today’s auxiliary carriers boasted. She had been consigned to the scrap yard, when some bean counter realized she was the oldest active duty ship in the Authority fleet. Rather than scrap her, the powers that be had parked her here in orbit and turned her into a training ship for new pilots.

The old warhorse was quiet now. The only sound and fury aboard came from raw recruits shooting at targets. Her great guns had been silent for more than a century and the battle circuit that would bring her to full wakefulness had been dark for twice that. She slept, and perhaps she dreamed of battles long ago. A living monument to Man’s determination to conquer the galaxy.

Colly, that's great. I hope we'll get a chance to read the whole thing when it's done.

 

[Colleen Thomas]

The first day so far.
3 hours 30 mins, and 3391 words

This is far exceeding my wildest expectations. What the hell is happening to me?

#L

ps. Colly, just out of curiosity: How many hours of writing did it take to churn out 10k of words?

I knocked out 4300 in the first hour & a half liar. All character intors, so it was mostly an exercise in working the stuff on my character work ups into the flow of the story.

About 5 hours to do the rest.

 

[cloudy]

I have a very rough working title now..."Serpent's Legacy" (don't really like it, but oh well).

Okay, here's my intro.....(there's more, but this is all I'm willing to commit to right now - I'm such a tease):


The phone's strident ring sliced through the dream she was having, and she had the receiver in her hand before she was actually awake.

"Sherry Hawk" she manage to mumble, praying it wasn't an emergency, but almost certain it was.

"You need to come home, Two Eagles is calling for you."

With a sigh, Sherry settled the receiver more comfortably, and looked at the clock next to the bed. Five a.m., and her grandmother was trying to get her to come home - again.

"Grandmother, Two Eagles is fine, and his name is Joseph, you know that."

"Huh. So you say. It is time for you to come home, this is where you belong. I know you feel it calling to you. Besides, you are needed here."

"Could we not talk about this some other time? I have to work today, Grandmother, and I don't want to argue with you about this again, please."

"Sherry," her grandmother pronounced her name carefully, its syllables unfamiliar to her lips, "it is time, I won't be here that much longer, I'm getting old and tired. You need to be here so that I can teach you the things I need to teach you, show you the things you need to see. Please."

The note of pleading was unfamiliar in her grandmother's voice, and it made her pause before she answered. "I have a vacation coming soon, I'll tell you what - I'll see if I can arrange to be off next week, and I'll come to visit, and we can talk about it then, instead of over the phone. Will that be soon enough?"

"Huh. I will see you Sunday, then." Her grandmother hung up, not bothering to say goodbye. Sherry pushed her hair back from her face, absently tucking the long strands behind her ears, and then swung her legs off the bed. The old woman's arrogance never changed, nor did her certainty that Sherry would eventually move back to the reservation, and take up the reins as a medicine woman like her grandmother was now.

Sherry shook off her thoughts, and headed to the shower, focusing instead on the day ahead of her.

 

[steve w]

Whoa!

I couldn't even TYPE 10,000 words in a day, Colly, even if I was just copying someone else.

There I was thinking 3,075 wasn't a bad start for the first day. Having read everyone else's, I feel more underwhelmed with the quality of my own efforts. However, being the democratic soul that I am, here's a snippet. It's not an intro as such, because I'd written the first seven chapters before. A couple of them are posted with Lit under steve w.

Thank you please.


Chapter 8

Kyle Martens was Maddie’s only client. Kyle didn’t realise this. He’d made an assumption that she had a whole set of clients and, given the fees she undoubtedly charged, a number on a waiting list to see her. Because of this, there was an element of Kyle’s thinking that was grateful to be able to spend time being counselled by her. He considered her an expert in her field and since it was a field Kyle knew little about, he tended to accept her knowledge and authority.

Had he dug a little deeper, Kyle would have discovered that the truth was a little different. Oh, Maddie had been a counsellor for many years, and a very good one. It was simply that she had, effectively, retired. Yes, she’d retired a little young, but retired nonetheless. Following her mother’s death, she’d continued to work in Hong Kong for a couple of years, selling her business at the time when the offices they owned were worth more than the business they generated. Coupled with a large apartment and a beach house near Santa Barbara, it had generated a sufficiently large nest-egg for her to be financially secure for life. She had since inherited control of her father’s not-inconsiderable funds, as he was slowly swallowed by Alzheimer’s. She’d taken him to the Azores where he was happily ensconced amid a sea of wild flowers on a hillside farm, enjoying the mild winds and clean air, blissfully unaware of her control of his money, and slowly smothered by the gradually-acquired ignorance of his state of mind.

Free of financial restrictions, Maddie had plenty of time on her hands. For the first couple of months, it was bliss. After the hectic claustrophobia of Hong Kong, she’d taken a short sabbatical in Antigua, before moving to London. There were enough galleries and museums to keep her happy for a while, but she’d never been a shopping freak and it all soon lost its flavour. So when she’d been asked to counsel Kyle after Simpson’s bizarre suicide, she’d had to fight the urge to jump at it.

This made Kyle’s life an amusing hobby for her. She found him a strange mix. Beneath the bluster and arrogance of youth was an intelligent, sometimes charming man. The “inner man”, as it were, was almost attractive, but the outer man repulsed her. There was that cocky belief that everything would just naturally fall his way, because that was the order of things. A sort of social Darwinism, that he had every right to expect that other people would carry out his wishes, simply because he wished them. And then there was this control thing, especially during sex. Were it not for the professional relationship, she would have spent no time on him at all.

However, on a professional level, he intrigued her, mainly for the sense of possibilities. Was it possible to change this man, simply by the force of her arguments? In reality, he had no essential need to change. He was confident and successful, and there were no apparent signs that he was failing to cope with life as it stood. He wasn’t drinking heavily, didn’t appear to do drugs, and there were no signs that his immune system was struggling to cope. He was doing well at work, and seemed able to form relationships – of all kinds – fairly easily. And so it had become an intellectual challenge for her.

First off, she’d convinced him that things needed to change. That had been fairly easy. She’d correctly guessed that he was prone to perceptions about his career path, and the insinuation that he wasn’t going to achieve all he might without a re-think. It was a slam-dunk to suggest that the boardroom might be out of reach without a correction. Once he’d agreed that, he was far more pliable than she’d expected. She had, of course, spent many years persuading people of the need to change aspects of their lives, but Kyle was different. In some ways, she was fixing something that didn’t need to be fixed. Or more correctly, she was changing something that had no apparent need of change. Just for the hell of it. Just for fun.

 

[sweetnpetite]

What a great way to start. I immediately lost my first two pages. Great!

Off to bed now, done the first 1000 words.

I typed 83 words and hit save!!!

(could call me paranoid)

What does it work out to that we must type each day to stay on target?

 

[Liar]

I knocked out 4300 in the first hour & a half liar. All character intors, so it was mostly an exercise in working the stuff on my character work ups into the flow of the story.

About 5 hours to do the rest.

About the same pace as this mere mortal then. (Ok, a bit faster) Thanks for the clarification, I was beginning to think you were some kind of alien.

 

[Colleen Thomas]

About the same pace as this mere mortal then. (Ok, a bit faster) Thanks for the clarification, I was beginning to think you were some kind of alien.

Nopers. Just had time on my hands and my muse was being coopertaive

 

[Liar]

Nopers. Just had time on my hands and my muse was being coopertaive

Sigh. I got no time and my muse has a migraine and doesn't wanna play.

 

[Guest]

I typed 83 words and hit save!!!

(could call me paranoid)

What does it work out to that we must type each day to stay on target?

1,667 words, to be (almost) precise. But, I prefer to aim at writing 2,000 words per day, that way if I don't get any writing done one day (due to unforseen circumstances, or whatever), I have a cushion.

I'll add you to the table now!

Lou

 

[CrimsonMaiden]

Am I the only one who hasn't written a word yet? No matter, I'm sure I'll get some in today sometime. If I could totally scrap a whole weeks worth of writing last year and still get the 50,000 in by the end of the month, then I can manage to not start writing til the end of the first day and still make the 50,000, lol.

 

[sweetnpetite]

NaNo Navigation Troubles

I can't seem to use my back arrows on naNo anyone esle have this problem?

Crimson: I have 83 uninspired, but tone setting words so far!

 

[Svenskaflicka]

I start out at a humble 2.153... time for dinner!

 

[Guest]

Ok, seeing as others have gone first, here's the opening to my novel:

The car sped along the dirt track and Kim tried to brace herself. She’d already banged her head twice and the nearside rear light console was a worry to her. She felt uncomfortable, rather shocked, but most of all, angry.

What the fuck is he playing at?

They’d met at the usual spot and she’d followed his instructions. Lee liked to surprise her and rarely let her know what he had in store for her during their sessions. Kim liked it that way, because she wanted him to be in control. But now she was regretting it. She trusted him, that wasn’t the issue, but he had taken her by complete surprise and had done something she never thought he’d do.

Lee had told her to park her car in a certain spot, then, when she saw him approach from behind in his car, she was to pick up everything she needed – her handbag and so on – then get out of the car and lock it. She did exactly as he’d asked, her mind reeling about what he might have planned.

He pulled up next to her and through the open passenger window asked, “Do you know the way to Tidenham?”

“I think so,” was her reply.

“Can you show me?” He got out of his car and went to the boot, beckoning her to follow him. She did. He opened the boot and leaned in to get the map. Opening it at a certain page, he pointed at it. She leant in, to get a better look at where he was pointing at.

That’s when he hit her with his surprise. In one swift movement he had hold of the back of her neck and overbalanced her, pushing her into the boot of his car. She didn’t have time to react or say anything, before he slammed the lid down – making sure all of her was safely inside before doing so.

Kim heard him get back in the car and he growled at her, “Stay quiet and don’t bang.”

She cursed him under her breath, too stunned by what he’d done to put up any kind of verbal fight.

When he pulled away, her body slammed against the inside of the back of the car. “You bastard,” she muttered.

 

[Guest]

WORD COUNTS!

Don't forget to periodically log into your NaNoWriMo user profile and update the word count there. It has no bearing on anything, but when and if you post in the forums it's great to see your blue indicator bar grow.

Lou