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I've got a spanky new (and hopefully functional) laptop arriving via eBay tomorrow. I'm vowing to use the heck out of it to work on this damned book.
I expect anyone reading this to hold me to that.
Okay, so I totally forgot about Write Night. My friend didn't, though, so kudos to him.
Truth is, I was deeply engrossed in writing a new song, so it could have been worse. At least I was involved with creating something.
I'm feeling the itch to get back to the book more and more every day, though. so I may not wait until next Write Night to have a go at some new pages.
In other news, I've started the other blog I've mentioned a few times in the past. It focuses on my translation business. You can check it out here:
Translate This!
My friend Jason told me last night that he's going to try to make his Wednesday nights Writing Nights. He's an aspiring screenwriter with motivation problems, just like me, the aspiring novelist with motivation problems. I think it's a good idea and I may jump on that train. Stay tuned.
I did it.
50,000 words in 30 days.
It got rather difficult near the end, as I was pretty tired and it was getting late. I think the last four pages or so are pretty disappointing work.
However, that is actually the point of this whole thing - to spew out a bunch of crap that you can use/refuse later on.
I was feeling sort of let down last night when I got there. I guess it was anti-climactic. But now I feel better. I'm excited to finish it. I think I'll let it stew for a little while, though, just to let some ideas creep around in my brain first. After a week or two I should be back at it.
The count slowly advances. I had a good evening last night. I got into a good stride and wrote quite a bit. I was reluctant to stop but the nanowrimo gathering in Jericho was taking place and I wanted to go and meet some of my fellow sufferers. I dragged my wife along in case there were serial killers or very bad things, but luckily there was nothing of the kind. I think this was the first time I've ever met someone from the Internet in real life. It worked out very well, all things considered. And I discovered that I'm not the only one who is desperately behind. I think those random people on the nanowrimo boards who claim to already be finished must be lying, or writing crap. There just isn't any other explanation.
There's a short excerpt in the extended entry because I've been told that some people like reading them. This is another "bring on the drama" section. It will probably embarrass me in about three months.
Xer says nothing in response, only looks Alex over as if surveying his appearance. Alex finds it impossible to read any expression in the man’s chiseled, motionless features. His eyes are so dark that Alex can barely distinguish his pupils from the rest of his eyes. They stand out in stark contrast to the ashen hue of his face.
“We’ll get it back – don’t worry,” Alex says. He forces a smile.
“I do not worry. I only respond.”
This response strikes Alex as particularly odd, but he suppresses his urge to express his confusion. Xer looks him over for a long while.
Finally, Xer speaks. “I’m sure you remember our friend, Fehler. Do you remember him, Alex?”
Alex nods.
“It is only with great effort that I am able to do so,” Xer continues, “because the worth of that man’s life died with the passing of his body and spirit. He made mistakes, Alex. He made mistakes that I believe you are intelligent and capable enough to avoid. You are skilled in certain ways. Your estimation of character is noteworthy.”
A glimmer of severity flashes through Xer’s face.
“However,” he continues slowly, “Do not step beyond your means, Alex. Do not allow your certainties to grow to a size larger than your intelligence or capabilities are equipped to handle.
“Fehler is not worth remembering, Alex. Pray that you do not fall victim to the same fate.”
Xer rises then, surprising Alex with the fluidity of his movements, despite his enormous size. He moves to the door like a shadow drifting across an empty street; quiet, dark.
Alex stands up, blurting, “Don’t worry, Xer, I’ll get it from that bastard.”
He is immediately self-conscious; he has spoken too loud, too quickly, too much.
Xer only pauses with the door halfway open and turns his head partway in Alex’s direction. Then he continues, stepping through the door and closing the door behind him. It clicks closed as if pushed by a draft, or maybe a ghost.
Alex stands alone in his apartment, his heart racing in his chest.
The count slowly advances. I had a good evening last night. I got into a good stride and wrote quite a bit. I was reluctant to stop but the nanowrimo gathering in Jericho was taking place and I wanted to go and meet some of my fellow sufferers. I dragged my wife along in case there were serial killers or very bad things, but luckily there was nothing of the kind. I think this was the first time I've ever met someone from the Internet in real life. It worked out very well, all things considered. And I discovered that I'm not the only one who is desperately behind. I think those random people on the nanowrimo boards who claim to already be finished must be lying, or writing crap. There just isn't any other explanation.
There's a short excerpt in the extended entry because I've been told that some people like reading them. This is another "bring on the drama" section. It will probably embarrass me in about three months.
Xer says nothing in response, only looks Alex over as if surveying his appearance. Alex finds it impossible to read any expression in the man’s chiseled, motionless features. His eyes are so dark that Alex can barely distinguish his pupils from the rest of his eyes. They stand out in stark contrast to the ashen hue of his face.
“We’ll get it back – don’t worry,” Alex says. He forces a smile.
“I do not worry. I only respond.”
This response strikes Alex as particularly odd, but he suppresses his urge to express his confusion. Xer looks him over for a long while.
Finally, Xer speaks. “I’m sure you remember our friend, Fehler. Do you remember him, Alex?”
Alex nods.
“It is only with great effort that I am able to do so,” Xer continues, “because the worth of that man’s life died with the passing of his body and spirit. He made mistakes, Alex. He made mistakes that I believe you are intelligent and capable enough to avoid. You are skilled in certain ways. Your estimation of character is noteworthy.”
A glimmer of severity flashes through Xer’s face.
“However,” he continues slowly, “Do not step beyond your means, Alex. Do not allow your certainties to grow to a size larger than your intelligence or capabilities are equipped to handle.
“Fehler is not worth remembering, Alex. Pray that you do not fall victim to the same fate.”
Xer rises then, surprising Alex with the fluidity of his movements, despite his enormous size. He moves to the door like a shadow drifting across an empty street; quiet, dark.
Alex stands up, blurting, “Don’t worry, Xer, I’ll get it from that bastard.”
He is immediately self-conscious; he has spoken too loud, too quickly, too much.
Xer only pauses with the door halfway open and turns his head partway in Alex’s direction. Then he continues, stepping through the door and closing the door behind him. It clicks closed as if pushed by a draft, or maybe a ghost.
Alex stands alone in his apartment, his heart racing in his chest.
