I had an incredible weekend. But it didn't start out that way.
Friday, as I joined in with some of my NaNo'ing friends to talk about our progress, I realised I was terribly behind, having not really written all week. And they were ahead, on track, or going to be on track very soon. They were moving, and I wasn't. And I thought to myself, "Figures. I'm just going to end up failing NaNo again because I can't commit to anything. This story is stupid anyway." Maybe I'd just lie and tell everyone I finished. Not like anyone would really know anyway.
So I started thinking about my new, NaNo-free life. It was going to be nice, wasn't it? I could focus on what was really important to me. Like my trip up to San Francisco coming up! First weekend of December, and I'm off to see my best friend! It's going to be awesome.
And then it hit me: first weekend of December. That's when all the NaNo'ers were going to be celebrating finishing NaNo. And wishing it were 1 November again so they could start again. Did I really deserve an exciting trip to see my best friend after failing to commit? Did I really deserve a vacation after taking the month off? It started to bother me that I was going to be celebrating my incompetence. I didn't want to have to tell anyone I'd failed. And lying wasn't really an option; I'd never feel good about it.
Grudgingly, I decided I wouldn't be allowed to go on my trip if I didn't finish. Telling my best friend I couldn't go visit her because I didn't bother to write a stupid story would suck, and what kind of friend would I be? I knew it would be enough motivation to get me through a miserable November. And so I sat down, looked at what little I had so far written, and started forcing out words.
And then something amazing happened: my narrator developed a personality, the story got interesting, and I was suddenly scrambling just to keep up with my out-of-control story. I caught up to the day's quota. And then I got to Saturday's quota: 10K. 20% done! I decided I wanted to hit 15K. And then I did. 20K? Too crazy. I hit it. Going out on a limb, I suggested 25K, and that would be my stopping point. 25K came and went, and I passed 30K Sunday afternoon.
What. A. Weekend. After only a few thousand words, my plot changed and started going in its own direction. Before I knew it, I was sitting at 25K at what should have been the climatic ending. Nearly 30K, and my narrator died. I knew by then I'd lost it, but I kept writing and let things play out.
And boy have things played out. I already know that what my novel has turned into is endlessly better than what it once was. Something about reckless abandon—a senseless disregard for quality and full embracement of spur of the moment ideas—led to what I consider my best work ever. Better than any other story I've written. I love what this story has become, and I cannot wait to see where the rest of it will go.
And then comes the revision.
Showing posts with label NaNo 2010. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NaNo 2010. Show all posts
09 November 2010
06 November 2010
Luce's Dream
Hey! Guess what? Another excerpt for Call Me Lux is available for your viewing, free of charge! Yeah, I'm that nice. Of course, since this is in the middle of everything I've been writing (still in the early parts of the book though!), you won't know who all the characters mentioned are, but that's not terribly important right now. Just enjoy the excerpt!:
I don’t remember falling asleep— I must have fallen asleep immediately—, but I remember dreaming about the posters. They were demanding that I hand Whatsername over, but, for some reason, I was refusing. I didn’t know why they wanted her or, more importantly, why I seemed to have her held hostage from them, but it made perfect sense to dream me. My subconscious.
The posters began to turn violent after I continued to refuse to let them have her. They called in reinforcements. Grace and Hayley (though I’d never met Hayley) both came to get Whatsername, and Eamon was there too, though I wasn’t really sure whose side he was on. I think he was on mine because he was telling the posters just to let Whatsername and I be, but he also seemed to want to take me away from Whatsername.
It didn’t make much sense, like any normal dream, but the weirdest part was the lightning. It was everywhere. Everything I touched erupted with electricity. But the posters didn’t care about being electrocuted. I could zap Grace and Hayley, even Eamon and Whatsername if I wanted, but the posters were immune.
And then, suddenly, the electricity turned in on me, and I felt my whole body being electrocuted. I woke up screaming. The light was on again, and bright enough to blind anyone. Whatsername groaned, and then jerked awake suddenly. Within a second, she was at my side, sputtering nonsense. The electrocuted feeling subsided, and I stopped screaming.
“Luce! Luce! Are you okay?”
I groaned. “Yeah. Just had a bad dream, I guess.” Silence. “Was the light always that bright?” Whatsername looked up at the light, furrowing her brow.
“I thought I turned it off.” The light flickered. “I’m going to tell my dad to check the wiring. Maybe it’s the circuit breaker.” She stared at the light as the flickering slowed. This time, it stayed off. “God, that’s so weird. Ever seen a light do that before?”
“No.”
“So weird.”
Silence. I looked at the clock. It was flashing 12:03. The power must have just gone out.
“Three am, Luce.” She must have seen me look at the clock. Or just realised I’d probably want to know the time. “I’m going to go back to sleep if you’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Silence.
I don’t remember falling asleep— I must have fallen asleep immediately—, but I remember dreaming about the posters. They were demanding that I hand Whatsername over, but, for some reason, I was refusing. I didn’t know why they wanted her or, more importantly, why I seemed to have her held hostage from them, but it made perfect sense to dream me. My subconscious.
The posters began to turn violent after I continued to refuse to let them have her. They called in reinforcements. Grace and Hayley (though I’d never met Hayley) both came to get Whatsername, and Eamon was there too, though I wasn’t really sure whose side he was on. I think he was on mine because he was telling the posters just to let Whatsername and I be, but he also seemed to want to take me away from Whatsername.
It didn’t make much sense, like any normal dream, but the weirdest part was the lightning. It was everywhere. Everything I touched erupted with electricity. But the posters didn’t care about being electrocuted. I could zap Grace and Hayley, even Eamon and Whatsername if I wanted, but the posters were immune.
And then, suddenly, the electricity turned in on me, and I felt my whole body being electrocuted. I woke up screaming. The light was on again, and bright enough to blind anyone. Whatsername groaned, and then jerked awake suddenly. Within a second, she was at my side, sputtering nonsense. The electrocuted feeling subsided, and I stopped screaming.
“Luce! Luce! Are you okay?”
I groaned. “Yeah. Just had a bad dream, I guess.” Silence. “Was the light always that bright?” Whatsername looked up at the light, furrowing her brow.
“I thought I turned it off.” The light flickered. “I’m going to tell my dad to check the wiring. Maybe it’s the circuit breaker.” She stared at the light as the flickering slowed. This time, it stayed off. “God, that’s so weird. Ever seen a light do that before?”
“No.”
“So weird.”
Silence. I looked at the clock. It was flashing 12:03. The power must have just gone out.
“Three am, Luce.” She must have seen me look at the clock. Or just realised I’d probably want to know the time. “I’m going to go back to sleep if you’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Silence.
04 November 2010
Thursday
I am in love with this cover of "Maps" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Karen O doesn't realise this, but "Maps" is actually about the unconditional love of a parent (biological or otherwise) for their child.
I don't really have much to say. This week has been dragging on, and I'm a little behind with my NaNo'ing right now, but we're ahead of schedule with rehearsals for Where the Wild Berries Grow, so I have a little time to catch up now before Monday. Nevermind the 20-something-page paper I'm writing this weekend.
But it's an autobiography; I could write about myself for 200 pages and still have more to write about.
I know this is short, but I'm fighting a cold, so I'm going to get some sleep. See you Tuesday!
I don't really have much to say. This week has been dragging on, and I'm a little behind with my NaNo'ing right now, but we're ahead of schedule with rehearsals for Where the Wild Berries Grow, so I have a little time to catch up now before Monday. Nevermind the 20-something-page paper I'm writing this weekend.
But it's an autobiography; I could write about myself for 200 pages and still have more to write about.
I know this is short, but I'm fighting a cold, so I'm going to get some sleep. See you Tuesday!
02 November 2010
Call Me NaNo-ing
It is November. I am exhausted. (When am I not?) National Novel Writing Month has begun.
I realise I haven't posted in a few days, and I apologise. Don't worry; it's not permanent. But we're down to a T/Th blog (with more posts when I can) for right now, okay? I'll post up excerpts from my NaNo throughout the month so you can see what I'm working on. Like the except we have below. These are the first words, completely unrevised, of my novel, Call Me Lux:
Call me Lux. I used to be known as Luce, Lucine Merrick, but almost no one knows me as Luce these days. That's what happens when you're famous. Oh well.
I always figured I was pretty ordinary. I wasn't particularly happy about it, but I accepted it. It was out of my control, so I knew better than to dwell on it. My hair was brown, plain, flat. It didn't do much but sort of hang there. It never held curl very well, it wasn't shiny, and it wasn't even a particularly nice shade of brown. It was just brown. Like fresh dirt. Like my eyes. My eyes were brown and dull and plain too. Some people had interesting eyes if you looked closely, like some bright colours mixed into their plainer eyes, but not me. My eyes were just brown. Plain. My skin was even plain. I had a few freckles, a little acne in my youth, but I never had that beautifully perfect skin. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. It was just there, like everything else about me. Like me.
In school, I was never an outcast, but I was never popular either. Grace, my best friend since pre-school, was just popular enough to make sure I was never unpopular. She was prettier than me. Her dark blonde hair was shiny and naturally waved in some apparently attractive way. Her eyes were green, and everyone seemed to like green eyes. Her skin wasn't perfect either though. Like I said, she was "just popular enough", not super popular. We weren't queen bee material. If you've ever seen the movie Mean Girls, we were definitely not like those girls. Our high school didn't quite have those girls though either. There were definitely girls who thought they were the queens of the school, but there were too many people who didn't care.
My brother was the hot bad boy to everyone but me. He was Danny from Grease, but not as in love. He acted tough a lot, and I think he convinced himself that's who he really was, but before he got to high school, he had been a loving brother to me, three years my senior. Jules was his name. I loved him as a kid, and I still did after he changed in high school, but things just weren't the same. He seemed angry. He made my head hurt. I couldn't figure out what happened to him, and I slowly gave up on trying to understand him. Of course, this whole "bad boy" act made him hot stuff to all the girls. I think I had friends who were just my friends because they had a crush on my brother. I didn't really care though. I was okay with being used because I knew everyone used everyone. It was just how things worked.
I realise I haven't posted in a few days, and I apologise. Don't worry; it's not permanent. But we're down to a T/Th blog (with more posts when I can) for right now, okay? I'll post up excerpts from my NaNo throughout the month so you can see what I'm working on. Like the except we have below. These are the first words, completely unrevised, of my novel, Call Me Lux:
Call me Lux. I used to be known as Luce, Lucine Merrick, but almost no one knows me as Luce these days. That's what happens when you're famous. Oh well.
I always figured I was pretty ordinary. I wasn't particularly happy about it, but I accepted it. It was out of my control, so I knew better than to dwell on it. My hair was brown, plain, flat. It didn't do much but sort of hang there. It never held curl very well, it wasn't shiny, and it wasn't even a particularly nice shade of brown. It was just brown. Like fresh dirt. Like my eyes. My eyes were brown and dull and plain too. Some people had interesting eyes if you looked closely, like some bright colours mixed into their plainer eyes, but not me. My eyes were just brown. Plain. My skin was even plain. I had a few freckles, a little acne in my youth, but I never had that beautifully perfect skin. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. It was just there, like everything else about me. Like me.
In school, I was never an outcast, but I was never popular either. Grace, my best friend since pre-school, was just popular enough to make sure I was never unpopular. She was prettier than me. Her dark blonde hair was shiny and naturally waved in some apparently attractive way. Her eyes were green, and everyone seemed to like green eyes. Her skin wasn't perfect either though. Like I said, she was "just popular enough", not super popular. We weren't queen bee material. If you've ever seen the movie Mean Girls, we were definitely not like those girls. Our high school didn't quite have those girls though either. There were definitely girls who thought they were the queens of the school, but there were too many people who didn't care.
My brother was the hot bad boy to everyone but me. He was Danny from Grease, but not as in love. He acted tough a lot, and I think he convinced himself that's who he really was, but before he got to high school, he had been a loving brother to me, three years my senior. Jules was his name. I loved him as a kid, and I still did after he changed in high school, but things just weren't the same. He seemed angry. He made my head hurt. I couldn't figure out what happened to him, and I slowly gave up on trying to understand him. Of course, this whole "bad boy" act made him hot stuff to all the girls. I think I had friends who were just my friends because they had a crush on my brother. I didn't really care though. I was okay with being used because I knew everyone used everyone. It was just how things worked.
27 October 2010
Searing Rain
Prompt: "Help I'm Alive" and "Sick Muse" by Metric
Time: 9 minutes
Result: 387 words
The rain was falling. Hard. More like hail. Except it burned. Hot, scalding rain. She looked up, and the searing rain fell into her eyes. She would have screamed, had she any voice left. So she ducked her head back down, pulled her hood over her head, and ran down the street to the park at the end. The gate was locked, but she climbed the chain-link fence. She lept down, and groaned as she heard her jeans rip. The fence had grabbed her pants and ripped a giant hole in one leg. Her left leg burned as the rain hit her now bare flesh. She swore under her breath, knotted the ripped fabric together to block some of the rain, and continued on. Past the swing sets, past the baseball field, past the once green grass. This was dystopia; no such things had any use now. No one swung. No one played. No one lay in the grass underneath the sun. What sun? All there was was an endless torrent of searing rain. She refused to accept it though. She remembered life before dystopia. Life had been better once, and she knew. There had been light, had been sun. This she knew, no matter how much she had been fed the lies that it was only a dream. It wasn't a dream. She didn't only dream of blue skies, sunburns, children laughing, couples in love; she remembered them. Maybe others only dreamt, as if such things had never existed and never could exist, but she knew better. She knew it had to be more than a dream.
But what if she was wrong? She was fighting for a memory which might have been only a dream. But she was so sure. They had to be lying. They had to have done it. But she couldn't see why. Not even the filthy government workers, the spineless gits who ran everything, liked this. Everyone dreamed of the same sky, the sam parks, the same light. It had to be real. And so she wouldn't stop running in the searing rain. She couldn't. She had to find out what had gone wrong, what had happened to destroy the light, to eliminate things like swing sets and baseball fields and green grass, to find a way to bring it back.
Time: 9 minutes
Result: 387 words
The rain was falling. Hard. More like hail. Except it burned. Hot, scalding rain. She looked up, and the searing rain fell into her eyes. She would have screamed, had she any voice left. So she ducked her head back down, pulled her hood over her head, and ran down the street to the park at the end. The gate was locked, but she climbed the chain-link fence. She lept down, and groaned as she heard her jeans rip. The fence had grabbed her pants and ripped a giant hole in one leg. Her left leg burned as the rain hit her now bare flesh. She swore under her breath, knotted the ripped fabric together to block some of the rain, and continued on. Past the swing sets, past the baseball field, past the once green grass. This was dystopia; no such things had any use now. No one swung. No one played. No one lay in the grass underneath the sun. What sun? All there was was an endless torrent of searing rain. She refused to accept it though. She remembered life before dystopia. Life had been better once, and she knew. There had been light, had been sun. This she knew, no matter how much she had been fed the lies that it was only a dream. It wasn't a dream. She didn't only dream of blue skies, sunburns, children laughing, couples in love; she remembered them. Maybe others only dreamt, as if such things had never existed and never could exist, but she knew better. She knew it had to be more than a dream.
But what if she was wrong? She was fighting for a memory which might have been only a dream. But she was so sure. They had to be lying. They had to have done it. But she couldn't see why. Not even the filthy government workers, the spineless gits who ran everything, liked this. Everyone dreamed of the same sky, the sam parks, the same light. It had to be real. And so she wouldn't stop running in the searing rain. She couldn't. She had to find out what had gone wrong, what had happened to destroy the light, to eliminate things like swing sets and baseball fields and green grass, to find a way to bring it back.
25 October 2010
The Woman in the Chartreuse Dress
Prompt: Chartreuse
Time: 10 minutes
Result: 369 words
Her dress was chartreuse. A strange, greenish sort of colour, right in the middle of the spectrum. The sort of colour you look at, and no one can seem to find the right way to describe it. Some say it's green. Some say it's teal. No, it's a much yellower colour than that. Teal's a more deep sort of colour. But look at the saturation! On and on, it goes, and no one can agree.
Of course her dress was chartreuse. She was chartreuse. Not literally, but she might as well have been; perhaps it'd be the one thing everyone might agree on about her. But no. She was impossible to describe. From the moment she walked into the room, wearing that indescribably chartreuse dress of hers, all eyes were on her. All minds were on her. Every tongue, ever pair of chapped and chewed and over-glossed lips, every chiseled and unchiseled jaw, every high voice and every low voice could make no sound but the sound of whispering about her.
Who was she? Where was she from? What was she doing here? No one knew. Everyone was confused, perplexed, puzzled by her. It was her way. And she was completely unfazed. The woman in the chartreuse dress was apparently either oblivious, dumb, or wholly accustomed to this treatment. It would be unsurprising to any who stood there that she had always been this way, so indescribable, so addictive.
Yes, additive. No one could look away. Some tried to carry on new conversations, but their every thought still clung to the woman like her tight, form-fitting chartreuse dress did her bosom. Every mind hungered madly for her, to know her, to solve her. Like a Rubik's cube, but worse. Even the brightest minds could never twist and turn her into any form that made sense, that followed logic.
She was illogical. How could she exist? This was the thought on every mind. It was as if she was from another world entirely. She deified all laws of logic an reason known to this world.
And yet she made perfect sense. She was mere a woman. Just another human being. Perhaps it was this simplicity that made her so incredible.
Time: 10 minutes
Result: 369 words
Her dress was chartreuse. A strange, greenish sort of colour, right in the middle of the spectrum. The sort of colour you look at, and no one can seem to find the right way to describe it. Some say it's green. Some say it's teal. No, it's a much yellower colour than that. Teal's a more deep sort of colour. But look at the saturation! On and on, it goes, and no one can agree.
Of course her dress was chartreuse. She was chartreuse. Not literally, but she might as well have been; perhaps it'd be the one thing everyone might agree on about her. But no. She was impossible to describe. From the moment she walked into the room, wearing that indescribably chartreuse dress of hers, all eyes were on her. All minds were on her. Every tongue, ever pair of chapped and chewed and over-glossed lips, every chiseled and unchiseled jaw, every high voice and every low voice could make no sound but the sound of whispering about her.
Who was she? Where was she from? What was she doing here? No one knew. Everyone was confused, perplexed, puzzled by her. It was her way. And she was completely unfazed. The woman in the chartreuse dress was apparently either oblivious, dumb, or wholly accustomed to this treatment. It would be unsurprising to any who stood there that she had always been this way, so indescribable, so addictive.
Yes, additive. No one could look away. Some tried to carry on new conversations, but their every thought still clung to the woman like her tight, form-fitting chartreuse dress did her bosom. Every mind hungered madly for her, to know her, to solve her. Like a Rubik's cube, but worse. Even the brightest minds could never twist and turn her into any form that made sense, that followed logic.
She was illogical. How could she exist? This was the thought on every mind. It was as if she was from another world entirely. She deified all laws of logic an reason known to this world.
And yet she made perfect sense. She was mere a woman. Just another human being. Perhaps it was this simplicity that made her so incredible.
23 October 2010
There is just over a week left until NaNoWriMo begins, so for the rest of the month, instead of the usual posts, you'll be getting the results of "word wars" I'll be doing to re-sharpen my speed-writing abilities. Word wars, sometimes called sprints, are high intensity writing "races" in which one writes for a pre-determined amount of time, and at the end of the time frame, a word count is taken to determine how many words were written during the "war". The goal is to write as many as possible, which means that deleting, over-thinking, and hesitating all lower your score. The real point is to shut off the infamous "Inner Editor" which prevents writers from ever getting anything written for fear it might be wrong. The beauty of art is that you are never wrong. Art is just opinion. No matter how many people disagree, it's always yours.
So for the next little-over-a-week, I'll be posting the results of various writing prompts and free writes. Come November, I'll either write about NaNo or post up excerpts from the day's writing, varying as I see fit. Today begins pre-NaNo blogging!
Prompt: "I hope your chair falls apart and someone throws an apple at your head."
Time: 15 minutes
Result: 438
"I hope your chair falls apart and someone throws an apple at your head!" she shrieked, slamming the door in my face. Literally. I stumbled over and landed with a smack on my back. I just sort of laid there for a few minutes. Maybe I hit my head when I fell over too. I don't really remember exactly. All I knew was my best friend had just slammed a door right into my face, my nose was probably broken, and I wasn't even going to consider what kind of pain my back might be in from landing on it. And for what? It wasn't like I had done anything to her. I didn't ask for this! I was tired of it. If I could have given it to her, I would have. After all, she was the one who actually wanted.
But nothing ever works that way, does it? Stupid me wanted nothing more than to just be a normal, average, high school and fit in, so of course I'm the one who gets these stupid powers and can't even function in normal life anymore because I keep electrocuting things. Stupid me. I should have know trying to fit in would only make me stand out. And now my best friend's all mad at me just because I don't want to wear the stupid costume she made me. I mean, seriously? It's spandex. I don't even know where she got spandex, let alone managed to make the whole thing.
I'm going to go to school tomorrow and act like nothing happened. No one else knows besides her anyway, and no one would actually believe her if she started telling people I had superpowers. Because everyone knows superpowers don't really exist. I'm sure it's all just in my head. There's some kind of logical explanation for all of this. A scientific reason. Some sort of electron issue or coicidence or something.
I'm not going to go walking around in some bright yellow spandex tights with a stupid lighting bolt across my chest and a stupid low-cut V-neck thing. What is up with that? That's what I don't get the most. I've never understood so-called "superhero" women who all wore these crazy-tight outfits with their boobs popping out and everything. And high heels! How are you supposed to stop crime in heels? That's ridiculous. I'm not wearing the heels either.
I don't know why I'm even bothering to think about this. It's totally irrelevant. I'm not a hero, I don't have powers, and, actually, I'm going to wake up from this weird dream right about . . . NOW!
So for the next little-over-a-week, I'll be posting the results of various writing prompts and free writes. Come November, I'll either write about NaNo or post up excerpts from the day's writing, varying as I see fit. Today begins pre-NaNo blogging!
Prompt: "I hope your chair falls apart and someone throws an apple at your head."
Time: 15 minutes
Result: 438
"I hope your chair falls apart and someone throws an apple at your head!" she shrieked, slamming the door in my face. Literally. I stumbled over and landed with a smack on my back. I just sort of laid there for a few minutes. Maybe I hit my head when I fell over too. I don't really remember exactly. All I knew was my best friend had just slammed a door right into my face, my nose was probably broken, and I wasn't even going to consider what kind of pain my back might be in from landing on it. And for what? It wasn't like I had done anything to her. I didn't ask for this! I was tired of it. If I could have given it to her, I would have. After all, she was the one who actually wanted.
But nothing ever works that way, does it? Stupid me wanted nothing more than to just be a normal, average, high school and fit in, so of course I'm the one who gets these stupid powers and can't even function in normal life anymore because I keep electrocuting things. Stupid me. I should have know trying to fit in would only make me stand out. And now my best friend's all mad at me just because I don't want to wear the stupid costume she made me. I mean, seriously? It's spandex. I don't even know where she got spandex, let alone managed to make the whole thing.
I'm going to go to school tomorrow and act like nothing happened. No one else knows besides her anyway, and no one would actually believe her if she started telling people I had superpowers. Because everyone knows superpowers don't really exist. I'm sure it's all just in my head. There's some kind of logical explanation for all of this. A scientific reason. Some sort of electron issue or coicidence or something.
I'm not going to go walking around in some bright yellow spandex tights with a stupid lighting bolt across my chest and a stupid low-cut V-neck thing. What is up with that? That's what I don't get the most. I've never understood so-called "superhero" women who all wore these crazy-tight outfits with their boobs popping out and everything. And high heels! How are you supposed to stop crime in heels? That's ridiculous. I'm not wearing the heels either.
I don't know why I'm even bothering to think about this. It's totally irrelevant. I'm not a hero, I don't have powers, and, actually, I'm going to wake up from this weird dream right about . . . NOW!
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