LitWridoNaNoWriMo - The Support Thread

[Guest]

I am posting another bit as I need encouragement (not praise, thanks). It's so slow for me but I can't write any other way. This is the ending of a segment about a very young girl and her older lover, a whore who saved her from an awful marriage to an old goat (a cabrón, not the farm animal). - Perdita
_______________
Minerva moved her fingers so that they parted the vulva lips and found the honey-juice collected at the fount of the girl’s virginity. With her fingers wet and warmed by the young cunt, the whore poked inside until meeting the little drum-skin of its hymen. It was supple enough to enter and find the spongy little mound hidden inside, which she began to massage and pat as if it were a newborn kitten.

“Aye-ee, mi gatita. Meaow, meaow.”

Enriqueta looked down, startled more and excited beyond her imagination, but she quickly looked back and was caught once more in the near black and flashing eyes of her whore. Soon all the fingers moved back and forth between the pussy’s lips and rested on what proved to be an extraordinarily large pepita, engorged fully and more sensitive and tender than any other the whore had ever touched.

“Aye, Chiquita, you are like a boy—you will be my little man, my boy-girl. Verdad?. Trust me now, amorcita, I am going to make you scream and roar but it will be with pleasure and happiness.”

She knelt before the girl and began to lick around the rosy, nearly bald mound at the top of her pussy. The girl began moaning so that she needed to hold on to her lover’s head to stay in place. Soon the whore took all of the abnormally large pepita into her puckered mouth and sucked slowly and rhythmically. The girl’s clímax was a shock—she screamed as predicted and started to move away but the whore held her tight around her legs and kept sucking, harder and faster. The girl screamed as if being tortured, for it was a torture of pleasure. Her entire body felt the orgasm which seemed to go on forever as her screams turned into deep groans and roars as if she were a wounded jaguar.

“Mistress, please stop. I am dying of pleasure. Let me go, I beg you. Estoy muriendo, estoy muriendo.”

Minerva slowed her sucking and very slowly the girl was relieved of the orgasmic tremors into a timeless blissful state wherein she laughed and sighed and felt as if all life had left her body but the feeling of pleasure and peace.

The older woman stood, kissed her boy-girl sweetly, chastely but for the circumstance, and let her go into the water, floating like a lily in the full satisfaction of the sun’s first light.

“¡Mi azucena de agua—que linda!

They lived together as lovers and best friends for eight years until the whore was murdered by a drunk and angry customer who could not take her dominant ways. Of course, Enriqueta was devastated and grieved as passionately as she used to come to orgasm. She was not afraid of death or grief and let the sorrow wash over her at any time of the day. She gave herself to grief as she gave herself to love. She fucked her grief, fisted and sucked it until it dissipated, wafted away like dust in wind, and only her pure sorrow was left to be swaddled in the happiest of memories.

 

[raphy]

Cara, it just gets better. Your style is so luxurious that it takes all of the effort out of reading. It reads as if it flows from your 'pen' equally as effortlessly, even if that's not the case when writing it.

 

[Mhari]

For Svenskaflicka...

Don't try to pigeonhole yourself to Harlequin, Silhouette, any of those people. They want "formula" stories. Any real creativity, and they're gonna throw your story out the door.

Look for a mainstream publisher instead. That way, you can write what *you* want, not what some idiot at Corporate HQ thinks will sell well.

 

[Wills]

Perdita

That extract is heady, evocative, sumptuous.

Doesn't matter how long it takes, just keep writing it the way you want it.

For me it has always been less about a race and more about a personal achievement and you can feel rightly proud of the quality you are achieving with your writing. That takes time.

Just press on.

Will's

 

[otherdarkmeat]

Congratulations to those who have crossed the 50K mark since my last congratulatory message.

For those of us who are still plugging away, we have 7 days left and we can all make it. It's just a matter of unleashing your creativity.

At the very least, many of us started on a writing adventure that we might not have without the challenge NaNoWriMo provides.

On a final note, NaNoWriMo is a non-profit organization and event. No one should feel obligated to donate, but if you can it helps to ensure that NaNo will see another year. If you want a keepsake of the event, buy a NaNo t-shirt, the proceeds go a long way toward financing the organization.

I'm not on Chris' staff, and the only benefit I gain from promoting the event is the pleasure of participating, and watching so many others enjoy the experience.

Thanks to all, and the challenge is still on, so lets keep writing.

-Mike B.

PS: Tate, I made my donation this morning, and I added extra in yours and Darklight's names. Consider it a thank you present to you, and a birthday present to him.

 

[TheEarl]

Pear: Superlative.

The Earl

 

[Wills]

This will be my last extract before completing the NaNo part of this novel. I could do with someone telling me if this hangs together. Not the events and timing, I'll research those later.
Just the language, I'm aiming for pent up grief and finding someone to share the burden of that grief.

Will's

"We enjoy as much time together as we can. I am going to show you bits of Portugal and explain why I am so angry with my country; and you are going to help me put some perspective on my life because, honestly I have lost sight of where I am, what I am supposed to be doing and what I can achieve. The last twenty-four hours have opened my eyes to what is possible. I now have to decide what I want. Lets go sit down by the river, I want to tell you about my brother.”

We climbed down the bank near to the falls. The noise of the water coursing through the boulders so loud that we couldn’t hear our selves think let alone hear the other talk. Walking down under the bridge, the river calmed into a deep pool, eddies churning at the surface catching at leaves and tugging them down only to spit them up further down the flow; the sound of the falls dropping to a gentle background buzz. The bank here flat and well trodden, probably a fishing spot I thought; looking around the telltale debris confirmed my guess. Some convenient rocks provided a seat and we sat, like we did up on the mountain, with her leaning back against me and she began her tale.

“My brother was fiercely patriotic. Though he didn’t believe in the reasons for the colonial wars he did believe it was his duty to go where his country ordered him to go, do what they ordered him to do. The whole family argued with him, trying to persuade him to go to university to avoid the call-up. That way he could have taken an officers commission and been safer, rather than just being a fighting soldier. He argued that his country needed him now, not in three years time and nothing could dissuade him from joining his unit when the call up papers came.

“He joined with two other friend’s from the village, Lino and João, not the one you know, another boy, João is a very common name. On the night before they left, the four of us, and Lino’s fiancée went up to the mountain, where we went. We all cried together, me and Suzana terrified that we would not see them again. She was so distraught, even more than me, she and Lino had been together more or less since senior school started. They were so happy together.

“We made the boy’s promise to look after one another, each to protect the other, of course there was no guarantee that they would even be together after they joined but we clung to the notion that they would be there for each other, it was the only hope that we had. The next morning they set off for Porto in high spirits, buoyed by a nervous excitement, going to new places seeing new things, the war almost a secondary consideration.

“The last time I saw him, I went with my mother to Porto just before he was sent overseas, he had completed his training and had a few hours leave, not long enough to travel back to the village so we went to him. He was scared. He put on a brave face for my mother’s benefit, kept reassuring her that everything was going to be ok, that he would not be going to anywhere dangerous, that even if he was involved in the fighting he would make sure that he kept out of trouble. When he looked at me, I could see the terror in his eyes, fear, he had the haunted look of someone who has seen a nightmare, who was out of his depth. In the few minutes that we had to speak alone, he told me of some of the horror stories floating around the regiment. Huge numbers of men killed or injured, bad organisation, equipment breaking down, and poor supplies. I begged him to leave with us, that we would find away to get him to France or England where he could be safe. He insisted that he had to stay, that he would not be able to live with himself if he ran away leaving João to go alone; Lino had been assigned to another regiment.

“He told me how much he loved me, crushed me to him as we said our goodbyes, tears running down both our cheeks. The last image I have of him is standing on the station platform waving to us as our train pulled away, a big smile to give my mother courage, his eyes speaking of his anguish and the fear in his heart.

“We didn’t hear from him for some time. We expected that; it takes a while to get to Guinea and even longer for post to arrive. My mother and I wrote to him almost everyday begging him to be careful, not to take risks. We received one letter from him. It was short and simply said that he had arrived safely and there was a lot to see, new things to take in. The letter was cheerful, almost happy, with lots of reassurances that everything would be alright. Weeks went by without a word from him. The radio and television news carried virtually nothing about the serious fighting taking place. We had a radio that we could tune to foreign stations, my father kept it in one of the outbuildings, we would listen to all kinds of foreign stations trying to pick up information. Rarely anything mentioned about our wars, when it was, it usually was just a sentence about Mozambique or Angloa, nothing about Guinea.

“One day, about four months after we had visited him in Porto, we received an official letter to say that he was missing in action, presumed dead. It was such a cold letter, such a big shock for my parents. My father, always so strong in the family, shrunk over the next few weeks, hair tuned white. He blamed himself for not forcing my brother to leave the country. My mother cried and cried with me and by herself, neither able to console the other.

“I remember on the day we received the letter, we went to the Church. I have never prayed so long and so hard. The Priest stayed with us, João’s family came, they had heard nothing about their son and would eventually receive the same letter a few days later. Their anguish must have been dreadful, not knowing if he was safe or not. The whole scene repeated out for them, and us, adding to out torment.

“My father went to Porto to speak with the military people, he went to Lisboa; no one could tell him anything. He said everything was a shambles, No one seemed to have any idea what was really happening. They did not know if my brothers body had been found or when we could expect any news. It was so dreadful, we couldn’t even begin our grieving properly without him being returned to us.

“About three months later we received another letter simply informing us that his body could be collected from the military mortuary outside Lisboa. His body sent home frozen in a container ship. My father made the arrangements to collect him, my mother and the Priest attended to the funeral service together with João’s family, both families received the same news on the same day.

“The families decided the boy’s should be buried alongside one another, not in the family plots. They had been life long friends; it didn’t seem right to separate them now. The whole village turned out for the funeral, it was a cold wet day; it made the whole event even more sorrowful. The coffins were sealed; that made sense after the time that had passed. Normally when a person dies in Portugal, the coffin is open for a day so people can pay their last respects; even that sorry privilege denied to us. My poor mother was so completely grief stricken, I had to be strong for her. Her tiny black shrouded figure prostrated over the coffin. I refused to wear black, I refused to mourn him like that, I wanted to remember him as he had been; he is still alive to me in every possible way, except the one that counts.

“Much later, I heard two men talking in the village, one was the school master, he had been a pall bearer for my brother. He was telling the other how the coffin had been so light, how there couldn’t have been very much of my brother inside. That is when his loss really hit me. Part of him would never ever be coming home but was lying lost in the jungle. I cried for weeks after overhearing that and sunk so low that l truly believed I would never recover. It was such a difficult few months; each day facing a nightmare that would not go away. My parents at least had the farm to pull them back into some kind of routine; animals needed feeding, crops sown. They immersed themselves in activity.

“For me the anger grew and grew. The whole callous, disgusting business of war, the loss of so many lives, young lives, people whose futures were essential for our country. Their lives and the lives of their families shattered, destroyed. Suzana tried her hardest to comfort me, finally falling into her own nightmare when Lino returned home without his lower legs. He had trodden on a land mine. Their future together snatched away, he is still in hospital; the trauma of what happened to him imprinted so strongly in his head that it is doubtful he will ever recover. Suzana looks like a woman of thirty, not a young girl of nineteen. She is determined to nurse him back to health, to make some kind of future for them both, it looks impossible, some days she sits with him in hospital and he doesn’t even know she is there.

“This is just one small village, it is happening all across the country, thousands of young men, no more than boy’s, gone.”

It was only now that she started crying turning herself into me her body racked with deep sob’s clutching at me in her anger and frustration as she released the pent up emotion that had lay within her for too long.

“I’ve had no one to tell… just how I feel. I couldn’t tell… my parents have their own grief.”

Her small clenched fist was pounding my chest while she struggled for words between her tears and gulps for breath.

“I have been so alone since… he was so good, so beautiful…why did they take him from me. It’s not fair… I want to hurt them… I would kill them. They… never told us…happened. Just … they were in the wrong… place. I don’t even know if… our own… soldiers killed them…Hold me… I need your arms around … Don’t ever leave me…I need you to love me…”

Her tears wet my shirt as she sobbed uncontrollably, body shaking with as the pain of her love swept through her. I cradled her in my arms, rocking her gently, stroking her hair.

PS - New AV This years temporary pavilion outside the Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park by the 93 year old Brazlian Architect - Niemeyer (probably spelt that wrong - corrected thanks to Lauren) Me and my daughter on the ramp.

 

[Guest]

Congratulations to those who have crossed the 50K mark since my last congratulatory message.

For those of us who are still plugging away, we have 7 days left and we can all make it. It's just a matter of unleashing your creativity.

At the very least, many of us started on a writing adventure that we might not have without the challenge NaNoWriMo provides.

On a final note, NaNoWriMo is a non-profit organization and event. No one should feel obligated to donate, but if you can it helps to ensure that NaNo will see another year. If you want a keepsake of the event, buy a NaNo t-shirt, the proceeds go a long way toward financing the organization.

I'm not on Chris' staff, and the only benefit I gain from promoting the event is the pleasure of participating, and watching so many others enjoy the experience.

Thanks to all, and the challenge is still on, so lets keep writing.

-Mike B.

Thanks for the great words, as always, Mike. I have also gained huge pleasure from NaNo, not only in participating, but being part of a great group, and experiencing them enjoy it, too.

PS: Tate, I made my donation this morning, and I added extra in yours and Darklight's names. Consider it a thank you present to you, and a birthday present to him.

You are a truly wonderful friend, thanks honey. That means a heck of a lot, to both of us. I'm sure Adam will thank you personally, but here's a from him anyway.

I'm the one that should be doing something to thank YOU! You are the one that brought NaNo to me, and consequently everyone here. You have been a big part in changing the direction of my career, I'll never forget it.

Tate

 

[Lauren Hynde]

PS - New AV This years temporary pavilion outside the Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park by the 93 year old Brazlian Architect - Neimar (probably spelt that wrong) Me and my daughter on the ramp.

Niemeyer.

The extract is beautifully written. Just one very small thing: if you use Lisboa and not Lisbon, shouldn't you say Porto instead of Oporto?

 

[BardsLady]

Doin Da Happy Dance!!!

I should be finished with my book sometime tonite!

It's been a long haul, but definately worth it!

 

[Wills]

Hi Lauren,

Thanks for both corrections, writing too fast trying to finish a section before flying tomorrow, don't have time to check everything.

Thank's for your comments on the extract, I'm thinking of re-writing, don't think it conveys enough of the type of person the brother was, or develops the bond between them strongly enough. I'm ok about the ending but the bit before is too flat.

I will correct the posted errors.

Thanks and Beijinho.
Will's


BardsLady

Well done you. Bet you are over the moon.
Congratulations.

Will's

 

[Guest]

Re: Doin Da Happy Dance!!!

I should be finished with my book sometime tonite!

It's been a long haul, but definately worth it!

Yay! Go for it!

I'm just under 3,000 words away, but I'm not going to push it tonight. I'll probably complete NaNo tomorrow night, but not my novel. That will take another 10,000-15,000 words or so, and I plan to continue writing all week. I'll then put it away for a while, then go back to it and edit. By the time I've added scenes here and there I expect it will go up to around 80,000 words.

I'm building up to the very climactic ending now, and the adrenalin is pumping.

Lou

 

[Alex De Kok]

Way to go, Bardslady

You others - keep pushing!

Now that I'm both down from my adrenalin high and slowly recovering from burn-out, I'd like to say that without the constant encouragement from this group I don't think I'd have reached that 50k mark. My sincere and grateful thanks to you all. I still need to write another 10-20k to finish the story, then I have to go back and edit, but now I'm looking forward to it. I was pretty sure I enjoyed writing, now I'm convinced.

Alex

 

[Guest]

Well, I have broken past the 40,000 mark, the problem is that I don't think I have 10,000 words left in this story, ACK!

 

[Wills]

Crimson,

Of course you do. (Getting out big whip)

You haven't done 40k to wimp out on the last 10.
Go back and make em do twice, three times even. It won't spoil the ending.

Will's
(Hoping its sex he's talking about and not killing people)

 

[Guest]

Get that whip away from me, LOL!

Well, I got to thinking. I could marry two of them off.... and have them go on a honeymoon. Maybe I could squeeze 10,000 words out of that. Hmm, definitely could if I described all the wedding guests in great detail, lol.

 

[Wills]

The groom was very very very tall.
The bride wore a white dress with a very very very long train.

Yeh, that wiill do it.

Will's

 

[pop_54]

Hmmmmmm

Yea go for it Crimson, you can do it love, a few fights at the wedding reception and a good bridal suite sex orgy with all the bridesmaids and best man can be a good vote catcher and word cruncher as well

Serious note, just keep at it love, write some more into the tale further back, add a few lines of dialogue or a few extra words to a narrative section. I know you don't want to mess up your tale, but it can be edited later, 50K is the goal for the moment as well as a readable story.

I have to admit I'll be editing the last section of mine later, it got a bit scrappy towards 50K as the brain started shutting down.

 

[pop_54]

Yeppers

I am posting another bit as I need encouragement (not praise, thanks). It's so slow for me but I can't write any other way. This is the ending of a segment about a very young girl and her older lover, a whore who saved her from an awful marriage to an old goat (a cabrón, not the farm animal). - Perdita
_______________
Minerva moved her fingers so that they parted the vulva lips and found the honey-juice collected at the fount of the girl’s virginity. With her fingers wet and warmed by the young cunt, the whore poked inside until meeting the little drum-skin of its hymen. It was supple enough to enter and find the spongy little mound hidden inside, which she began to massage and pat as if it were a newborn kitten.

“Aye-ee, mi gatita. Meaow, meaow.”

Enriqueta looked down, startled more and excited beyond her imagination, but she quickly looked back and was caught once more in the near black and flashing eyes of her whore. Soon all the fingers moved back and forth between the pussy’s lips and rested on what proved to be an extraordinarily large pepita, engorged fully and more sensitive and tender than any other the whore had ever touched.

“Aye, Chiquita, you are like a boy—you will be my little man, my boy-girl. Verdad?. Trust me now, amorcita, I am going to make you scream and roar but it will be with pleasure and happiness.”

She knelt before the girl and began to lick around the rosy, nearly bald mound at the top of her pussy. The girl began moaning so that she needed to hold on to her lover’s head to stay in place. Soon the whore took all of the abnormally large pepita into her puckered mouth and sucked slowly and rhythmically. The girl’s clímax was a shock—she screamed as predicted and started to move away but the whore held her tight around her legs and kept sucking, harder and faster. The girl screamed as if being tortured, for it was a torture of pleasure. Her entire body felt the orgasm which seemed to go on forever as her screams turned into deep groans and roars as if she were a wounded jaguar.

“Mistress, please stop. I am dying of pleasure. Let me go, I beg you. Estoy muriendo, estoy muriendo.”

Minerva slowed her sucking and very slowly the girl was relieved of the orgasmic tremors into a timeless blissful state wherein she laughed and sighed and felt as if all life had left her body but the feeling of pleasure and peace.

The older woman stood, kissed her boy-girl sweetly, chastely but for the circumstance, and let her go into the water, floating like a lily in the full satisfaction of the sun’s first light.

“¡Mi azucena de agua—que linda!

They lived together as lovers and best friends for eight years until the whore was murdered by a drunk and angry customer who could not take her dominant ways. Of course, Enriqueta was devastated and grieved as passionately as she used to come to orgasm. She was not afraid of death or grief and let the sorrow wash over her at any time of the day. She gave herself to grief as she gave herself to love. She fucked her grief, fisted and sucked it until it dissipated, wafted away like dust in wind, and only her pure sorrow was left to be swaddled in the happiest of memories.

This is a work of art sweet one, not just a story, keep at it darling, I know you'll make it

 

[Icingsugar]

Well, I have broken past the 40,000 mark, the problem is that I don't think I have 10,000 words left in this story, ACK!

There are always extra words to add. Go back somewhere, and add an entertaining, but non-important sub-story.

Or just add, "you know, or whatever." to every sentence.

 

[Icingsugar]

Perdita, stop it! You're making me feel unworthy of sharing a thread with you.

 

[Guest]

When I wrote my glove-slap story for Earl I used full Russian patronymics for all my characters every time I mentioned them. Without that the story would have been half as long.

E.g., Pyotr Petrovich Petrovsky, Yelena Yakovich Yaklovsky

Do'cvedanya,

Perdita Perditovich Perditskaya

 

[Guest]

Perdita, stop it! You're making me feel unworthy of sharing a thread with you.

Of course you're unworthy, Cake dude, but that was even before we started NaNo.

Chill. Pay homage regularly.

Perdita

 

[Guest]

Actually, I have written 48,247 words total for Nano, but 6,015 was on the first story that I ended up trashing (well, not literally, I still have the file).

 

[Icingsugar]

Of course you're unworthy, Cake dude, but that was even before we started NaNo.

God, you're wonderful, woman.

/Ice