LitWridoNaNoWriMo - The Support Thread

[champagne1982]

18,224 and counting. . .

Okay, I'm way behind. I hate that.

On reflection, I'm way ahead. I have started writing a pretty decent novel length story.

I'm not posting word count any more. It's futile. I can write a bit everyday, but I can't write enough to catch up and finish Nano in time, unless I have a 10,000 word day.

Okay, I'll try to catch up. I'm only 9 or 10 thousand words behind . . .

Hahahahahaha... << maniacal laughter.

My problem is I can't write without editing. Here's a taste.

His Angel again tickled her fingers over Joey’s skin. He smiled at her as she loosened his belt, the belt that sometimes held her hands together over her head. She shivered at the memory. His belt hung loose, open around his fly and her fingers moved unhesitating to the rivet button of his blue jeans. She deftly slipped it through the button hole, tugging it to allow access to the tab of the brass zipper pull tab.

Angelica leaned her forehead against Joey’s shoulder. Her eyes watching as she opened his fly, she whimpered with need as she saw his cock, full and ready for her to please. Joey never wore underwear, Angelica was very glad. Her hands pressed his jeans around and down his slim-hipped form. As she lowered them below the swell of his muscles, Angelica had to move closer, pressing her breasts against Joey’s skin.

“All the way off my Angel. Don’t stop now.”

“I won’t, Joey, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it,” she turned her face and let her lips brush down his body as she bent to take his pants off. She knelt, raising one of his feet high enough to remove it from the pants leg. Repeating the actions for the other leg, Angel drew Joey’s jeans into her lap and folded them neatly.

She reached for his shirt but he stopped her with a touch. “Angelica, look up at me,” when she complied he smiled. Taking her chin in his hand he bent towards her, “I want you to devour your reward, Angel. Show me, your master, that you’re pleased when I’m pleased.”

“Oh yes, Joey sir, I love pleasing you!” eagerly placing kisses up his thighs and over the hard ridges of his pelvis. Her hands moved up and around his abdomen, then she circled his girth with her forefingers and thumbs. Pressing them close together, eventually Joey was clamped in her two-handed grip. She moaned as she brushed his cock head over her cheeks and across her mouth.

Joey scooped her hair up and twisted it into a rope. He wrapped it around his hand and placed the other on the back of her head, he pushed his cock at her lips, “Take it Angel,” his eyes closing as he hissed in pleasure. Her lips closed over him and soon she was bobbing up and down his length.

Joey clamped her head in his hands, holding her steady and slowly fucked her face. He watched as fully two thirds of his completely erect prick slipped in and out of the teenager’s lips. She was making love to his cock. Her tongue caressing his shaft. Her lips cradling them as she suckled. Wanting him to spend his pleasure because of her. It was a strange balance of power she was coming to realize. He may be master in his words and desires but she was mistress in obedience and his fulfilment.

P.s. I even edited this as I was checking the post. Dammit!

 

[Svenskaflicka]

*turns off internet to continue writing*

 

[Guest]

It's ***UPDATE*** time again.

I'll be uploading the updated table at 9pm GMT (in about 1 hour and 40 minutes), please PM me with your latest word counts.

Thanks!

Lou

 

[Guest]

I have to record this to help bolster my resolution. I've been writing for a couple hours now and feel, not stuck, but awfully slow going. So I have promised myself I will not look at Lit. or anything else except briefly and only after each 500 words. My goal is to write 5000 words today, and again tomorrow.

Fuck.

Perdita

 

[Guest]

I have to record this to help bolster my resolution. I've been writing for a couple hours now and feel, not stuck, but awfully slow going. So I have promised myself I will not look at Lit. or anything else except briefly and only after each 500 words. My goal is to write 5000 words today, and again tomorrow.

Fuck.

Perdita

You go girl! You can do it!

I find I do that; when the words aren't flowing as freely and easily, and I'm not in 'the zone' I stop myself from logging onto any forums or whatever. I find it keeps me going, without allowing myself to get too distracted.

It's amazing how sometimes, when you sit down to write, you can pound out 2,000 words without realising it, and at other times it goes much slower. These bursts of inspiration hit me at the oddest times. For example, I was ready for my bed at 1:30am (last night/this morning) and had a sudden urge to write the next scene. One and a half hours later (3am) I'd written 2,000 words of a very good scene (if I do say so myself). It was not only dark and mysterious, and pretty sexy in parts, it also moved the story forward and started to reveal some answers about the mysterious events to the reader. But not too much, I like to reveal things a little at a time.

Keep doing the good stuff!

Lou

 

[Icingsugar]

I have to record this to help bolster my resolution. I've been writing for a couple hours now and feel, not stuck, but awfully slow going. So I have promised myself I will not look at Lit. or anything else except briefly and only after each 500 words. My goal is to write 5000 words today, and again tomorrow.

Go for it. If an overworked, semi-illiterate punk like I could do it, so can you.

Here's what i discovered earlier this week. Say a huge nonking NO to all spontaneous time-consuming procrastination. Not even a little, because a little always turns into a lot. I have scheduled my Lit time, as well as other net activities. When the time is up, it's bye-bye and back to writitng. I even pull the network plug, and I've uninstalled all games on the 'puter. Same thing with TV. If there is something I have planned to watch, I do. If not, I don't.

Sitting in front of your project, staring frustrated at it and having no idea what to write can be really painful. But it works. Sometimes I need to just sit, stare and groan for a while, then the flow comes back.

Fuck.

That might help too.

/Ice - on sceduled Lit time

 

[Guest]

Fuck.

That might help too.

Ha! "It" is scheduled. Just finished 500 words, have five minutes to browse.

Thanks, Cake Bloke, your message was good, and Lou's too. My grans are in la cucina (kitchen) at the moment making my favorite menudo (don't ask).

Perdita

 

[pop_54]

Evening all

Lovely axtract champagne, I was like you, just couldn't resist going back and changing things, but I've done a session without editing this evening, I had to I was working all day and risked falling back if I pissed about too much this evening.

Purdy and the lovely Lou, I think you could be right, keep off the forums if it's distracting, by the way Lou do you always take the PC to bed? Poor hubby

Well I've just walloped off a few, and written some and stand at 38,274 now.

An unedited extract tonight so excuse any typo's or bad grammar.



As they rounded the headland and descended out of the woodlands Fharquar point came into view, the tide was out and the causeway high and dry.

“Stop!!” Tom shouted suddenly.

Marvin mindful of his near miss earlier slammed the brakes on hard and the wheels locked up with a loud squeal on the tarmac, the chums had to grab hold of something tightly to avoid being flung out of the bench seats in the back. Bertram was thrown forward and reached out instinctively with both hands to save himself from harm as the vehicle came to a halt.

“Bertram”

“Yes Polly”

“Get your fucking hands off of my tits”

“Sorry Poll, gosh they’re really firm, are they really all yours?”

“Yes, hand reared Bert, now move your hands please”

Bert grinned widely and wriggled his fingers about, “Bert that’s a very old joke and not funny” Polly snapped, there was a sudden movement a loud slap and Bert lunged back crying out as Polly’s right hook caught him squarely in the left eye.

“Fuck it I broke a nail” Polly mumbled unclenching her fist and shaking her hand in the air.

“Why did you shout out Tom?” Marvin enquired ignoring the commotion in the back and Bert’s wailing and moaning.

“Look on the causeway, look wheel tracks in the sand going out to the point, more than one vehicle as well look” Tom was stammering excitedly, “How dare they take vehicles to my point” She almost sobbed in anger.

“Calm down old girl, that will be the MI5 types restocking the lighthouse, or maybe even taking their kit away, the two sets of tracks means a something has gone across and then returned” Roger assured his cousin, “I must say though for a secret service they’re pretty damn clumsy and obvious, I mean one would think they’d cover their tracks after them” Roger continued.

“Oh my God she’s hurt me bad this time, something’s broken I’m sure of it” Bert was mumbling and moaning.

“Yes my bloody nail you big girl’s blouse” Polly replied angrily.

“Umm, Bertram, will you bloody well pull yourself together you lardy puffter, for Gods sake man can’t you take a little girlie slap without crying” Roger said in a very aloof tone, he hated Nancy boys who let the side down.

“Girlie slap, she’s got a fucking right hook like Mike Tyson” Bert stammered.

“Damn good show to her then, good old Polly she won’t have to fear the old fate worse than death then will she” Marvin interjected.

“What’s that Marv?”

“You know Polly old girl, the fate worse than death, you know being ravished by some big bad guy or guys, like you know how to defend yourself against rapists old girl don’t you”

“Oh I wouldn’t call that a fate worse than death Marv” Polly whispered with a look of anticipation on her face.

“Umm excuse me, when you’ve quite finished butting in, what about my point and this business of people treating it like Piccadilly bloody circus with vehicles trundling about all over the place and fucking tourists crawling all over it” Tom muttered.

“I don’t think it’s quite that bad Tom old darling, I mean your dad did give them permission to use it after all’s said and done” Millie added her two penny worth.

“Humph I suppose you’re right Mill’s, but I’m not happy about it” Tom mumbled with a very dark scowl as only Tom knows how to effect with real feeling.

Marvin put the Landy into gear and away they went again, they stopped briefly at the village shop to restock with local brew and were soon on their way up to the hall.

Marvin did the usual and gunned the Land-Rover between the gate pillars and on up the drive gravel flying in all directions, Thompson shook his fist at the vehicle as it passed showering him with stones, “Fuck you toss-pot” Marvin mouthed through the window glass.

“I don’t know what you’ve got against Thompson, I think he’s nice and handsome” Millie said sweetly as she waved to the gardener.

Marvin swung the vehicle to a halt outside the main entrance with half inch to spare as they passed the stone vase; it shook in the wind and vibration of their arrival.

As they piled out of the vehicle aunt Sheila sort of wafted out through the open main doors appearing very bright and breezy natured, “Hello kids, had a good day?” She chirped as she ushered them all into the hall like a mother Goose.

Sheila eased herself between Roger and Marvin placing an arm round each of their shoulders as they walked in through the doorway, “Alright boys, Ok for tonight, Thompson will be finished with me by about 9.30 then I’m all yours” She whispered, she reached down and patted them both on the arse cheeks then barged between them and away in front calling out for Cookie to feed the crew.

They watched her walk on in front, “Bloody lovely arse on her” Marvin mumbled.

“I’m getting a bit worried about you Marv, not a part time shirt lifter or anything like that are you?” Roger whispered, “Like not taking to bowling from the Gas works end are you”

“Good God no Rog, nothing wrong with a bit of double entry though is there” Marvin chuckled.

“Hello my darlings, come in and sit down, lovely big spread for you, loads of ripe tomatoes and liver pate sandwiches, and lashings of local brew to wash it down” Cookie gushed as she welcomed them into the dining room.


pops ................ slowly but surely going deeper into insanity.

 

[Guest]

Happy to be under Pops here. I've hit the 25K mark, half way there on this mid-way date. My neck aches and my eyes are fatigued. Going to take a nap and hope I'm up in time for a midnight caller.

Will go it again tomorrow with another 5K words goal.

I am content,

Perdita

 

[Svenskaflicka]

Oh, great!

Now the gay guy's old grandmother has suddenly popped into the story and makes the heroïne giggle hysterically!

I tell you, this story has a life of its own! "The story from Hell"!!!

I gotta get a cup of coffee...

 

[wornoutkeyboard]

Hey all....

Just thought I would pop in and say hello to you all and check to see how you are all doing. Seems like things are really coming along for everyone...that's great!

I'm also working on a novel (started writing it on Octover 4th) and I am currently resting at 73,586 words and I am right at about 1/2 through (the first draft is always really meaty for me...about 1/4 of it is just pure bloat).

Although I'm not doing the NaNoWriMo, I'm feeling your pain....trust me. It seems that things just get harder and harder the further you go...and the more your characters really seem to take on a life of their own.

Anyhoo... just wanted to drop by and say hello and congrats to everyone for sticking in there! It's difficult, but I am certain that you will all walk out the other end better writers for the effort.

OK...back to writing (and after these next 3 hours of "book time" I get to write a lovely article on Stonewall Jackson that is due by Weds....oh joy oh joy...)

~WOK

 

[Guest]

Thank you, Wornout, that was sweet of you. Now why didn't I go your route and just do this on my own years ago, haha. No regrets though, I love this experience and it was obviously good timing for me.

Flicka, you gave me yet another smile.

I may give myself a break today, will just write as much as I can and not think about a goal. I've got two full weeks yet (haha).

cheers and kisses to all,

Perdita

 

[BardsLady]

My neck aches and my eyes are fatigued. Going to take a nap and hope I'm up in time for a midnight caller.

Perdita

*offers neck rubs*

It's okay, Perditia, I'm still stuck at the 23519 mark at the moment. Still dealing with the stress of having the Mom in Law in the hospital. Ah well, I'll work on the story when I get the chance today. heehe Maybe I'll lock the door and tell everyone to screw off.

Keep in touch,

 

[BardsLady]

Oh, great!

Now the gay guy's old grandmother has suddenly popped into the story and makes the heroïne giggle hysterically!

I tell you, this story has a life of its own! "The story from Hell"!!!

I gotta get a cup of coffee...

*chuckles* My main character has a friend who runs a political magazine, but there are two things she has to keep in the closet:

A: She's a lesbian. To have liasons, she arranges `business meetings' with her significant other who is a vice-president of a different company.

B: She's pagan. Which really is going to help Terri because she has a goddess that has suddenly decided to start popping into her life every now and again to give her advice and/or physically showing up to startle her on thos very rare occasions. The Goddess started out as Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess the Shinto beliefs, but I get the impression that she's going to jump into any form she chooses.

Hey, it's good to be da Momma Goddess.

 

[Guest]

*offers neck rubs*

Umm, I feel better already. Muchas gracias Señora Bard.

Perdita

 

[Guest]

Hey all....

Just thought I would pop in and say hello to you all and check to see how you are all doing. Seems like things are really coming along for everyone...that's great!

I'm also working on a novel (started writing it on Octover 4th) and I am currently resting at 73,586 words and I am right at about 1/2 through (the first draft is always really meaty for me...about 1/4 of it is just pure bloat).

Although I'm not doing the NaNoWriMo, I'm feeling your pain....trust me. It seems that things just get harder and harder the further you go...and the more your characters really seem to take on a life of their own.

Anyhoo... just wanted to drop by and say hello and congrats to everyone for sticking in there! It's difficult, but I am certain that you will all walk out the other end better writers for the effort.

OK...back to writing (and after these next 3 hours of "book time" I get to write a lovely article on Stonewall Jackson that is due by Weds....oh joy oh joy...)

~WOK

Thanks WOK, encouraging words of support from a fellow writer (and novelist) mean a lot. It's a shame you couldn't join us, but maybe next year.

All the best with your novel and other writing work. I can fully appreciate how tough it can be now, and also how very rewarding the novel writing process is. You are so right, I am going to come away from this a better writer, and one not afraid to take on the 'big' stuff.

Thanks again, all the best!

Lou

 

[Guest]

...but maybe next year.

Next year? Louloupoo, I cannot think more than a day ahead, please, have mercy.

Purrditta

 

[Guest]

Next year? Louloupoo, I cannot think more than a day ahead, please, have mercy.

Purrditta

Hehehe! I was going to suggest we keep this up and write a novel per month, forever. But I think that may have met with some protestation and rotten tomato throwing in my direction, so I decided against it.

Lou

 

[Guest]

Different extract, only 550 words. No preface, no translations, writing, writing, writing.
- Perdita
_____________
Dita was a judge of love, a real supreme court justice of it she thought. I think she never understood it—Love—despite the fact that she had the best of it from my Remi. She looked far down in disdain at Rita and her four bastard children and the tonto Tony. Dita was fortunate to have Remi’s social security pension and a monthly check from the V.F.W. too, but Rita was on welfare, making ends meet as well as her cuñada, so to Dita she was like the yard-nigger and Dita the house parlour maid. Rita did not hold it against her. She had adored her brother, and believed, despite no outward signs of it, that Dita was truly grieved by her loss.

Hector was the oldest, Nicanor the youngest and retarded, everyone called him Cuco, the adults with affection, the other children mean-spiritedly. Nazario was the most attractive, muy guapo, pretty enough to attract all the girls and the few maricons in the neighborhood, though they kept to their own kind and were not “out of the closet” then; their mamacitas made sure of that, ha ha!

Soledad was the saddest of Rita’s children, the saddest of all my grand-children. She had a hard fall one day, when she was only two or three, down a flight of old stairs and landing on the concrete sidewalk. Ever since then she was slow and suffered from epileptic fits. She was still smart as anyone her age but it took her longer to think and express herself so she was always behind. She developed an ugly self-image and never had a real man, always losers, pendejos, even maricons.

She was extra dark too, a real morenita, and that was not good in Detroit. When we all lived there, from the thirties on, it was a very black-and-white city. Everything was divided that way. There were different neighborhoods like the Jewish area, Greek Town and Hamtramck for the Polacos, but all the non-coloreds were thought white, no matter how golden or swarthy, up to a point anyway. We called the colored people los negros, with no disrespect, it is the Spanish for black, without the ‘e’ as in negroes. But of course the whites used the word negro and nigger so that we learned quickly not to use our palabra except among ourselves. Ha ha—we were even called niggers by the gringos who did not know what to make of us. Sometimes, especially after Pearl Harbor, we were asked if we were Japs. ¡Es verdad!

Pobrecita Soledad, her name too was prophetic. She is yet in Life, alone and sad. She misses her Tío Remi still, he used to make her believe she was beautiful and good.

Rita lived in a big rundown house on X_____ Street with only a dusty dirt lot between it and the Teamster headquarters. It was the safest house in Detroit, ha ha. She saw Jimmy Hoffa all the time, he flirted nicely with her and she believed he was a man of the people, like Padre Hidalgo, Juarez and Zapata.

 

[Wills]

I've finally got writing again, extract below. Still way behind my own schedule but not too worried now that I have finally managed to get going.

Another time, years later, I drove that way with Madeleine. It was winter, a few days before Christmas, we had a notion that retracing our footsteps might open our eyes and had flown to Madrid, hiring a car to drive on into Portugal. We lay over-night in Salamanca taking the Ciudad Rodrigo road early the next morning. It is an isolated and barren region, vast walled estates bordering the road, a few cork or olives trees the only relief. Bitterly cold outside the car, despite the heating our breath misted as we spoke. We didn’t speak much, silent for mile upon mile, taking in the vast freedom around us, a release after the intensity of London life. A hoar frost painted the landscape a ghostly white adding to the flatness of the high plain. We descended into a river valley, the road wound down off the plain, hillside lined with stunted cork oaks, gradually descending into a mist. Sancti Spiritus announced itself with a frost coated road sign through the fog. Moisture laden air had coated everything with a layer of ice, each blade of grass, each twig encased in a thick coating that hung brushing the highway like translucent skeletal fingers seeking to ensnare the unwary.

We drove past a few isolated ruins on the outskirts of the town driving into white mist rising in voluminous clouds off the steel grey waters of the Gavilanes where the river met the road. I slowed the car to a crawl barely able to see through the mist, marvelling at the ice landscape waving at our passage. Silently we drove through Sancti Spiritus, not a soul to be seen, everything shuttered against the cold mist; a muffled church bell tolling the hour, the normally grubby dwellings cleansed by their coating of frost. On the outskirts of the village we started up the other side of the valley, hauling ourselves out of the mist. In a clearing by the edge of the road, hung a pig suspended from the thick black branch of an ancient cork oak. A knife glinted in the weak silver sunlight as it was brought down splitting the beast’s stomach, eager hands of black shrouded women easing intestines into a terracotta basin as a cloud of steam from the body cavity and spilled guts rose into the frosty air. The visage came upon us so quickly as we emerged from the fog and yet played out in slow motion before our eyes. A scene repeated from before the Middle Ages, the Matança, the ritual festive slaughter, we merely spectators from another time and place. I laughed and reached across rubbing Madeleine’s thigh.

“Do you remember the first time I came to your house? You were making chorizo with another girl, both of you sat splayed legged, skirts pulled up your thighs forcing meat into intestines, working it up and down with your hands. I’m sure you had no idea just how erotic that was, your hands slippery from the marinated meat sliding up and down firming the sausage, hair falling across your face. God you looked so sexy to me.”

“I was happy then.” She said.

 

[Guest]

Wills, that is a gorgeous and gorgeously written passage. Superb, hombre! I want to read more.

great regard, Perdita

 

[oggbashan]

No extracts

I'm not posting extracts because you can read my output in full.

I'm now writing two chapters simultaneously - chapter 10 and chapter ?28 which is the conclusion. Chapter ?28 may get to be renumbered as Chapter 11 if the word count passes 50,000.

With the work currently done on those two I have just passed 42,000 and should reach the 50,000 target by Friday. Apologies to those who are finding NaNo more of struggle.

All I can say is that I spent hours just writing at the keyboard and I haven't cut out much. The stories would be better for pruning and recasting but there are very few obvious errors in the eight chapters so far. I spend about five minutes after each hour of typing to review the output to correct typos and look for plot inconsistencies.

Best wishes to all other Lit NaNo-ers. Reviewing my regional threads it seems that all of us, including Svenskaflicka, are doing much better than the average.

Og

 

[Lauren Hynde]

I agree with perdita. That is a beautifully written piece, Wills. Eagerly awaiting for more.

 

[Guest]

Ogg, don't apologize, you are a help of inspiration. Bravo, hombre.

regards, Perdita

 

[DarkLight]

Great to read your extracts

Hi all, no sooner did I introduce myself Nano starts, so I hadn't posted since (thanks to those who welcomed me ).

Its been great to read your extracts and has encouraged me to stick with it. I was going to post a story on Lit but this has consumed my life (as Tatelou will testify).

Well.. I just wanted to say I have passed the 32K mark and looking forward to the next 18K. It has proved hard work with many ups and downs but I've taken it one word at a time

For those finding it hard work I understand what you're going through. Real life can have a habit of getting in the way!