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I prevailed! I crossed the finished line with 24.something hours to spare! I’m too hyper and tired to give it a full write up, but I am listed among the 3,000+ winners, and have been given permission to display the following picture with pride (I thought the viking helmet was apropos). More to follow tomorrow.
“A man paces up and down the street, a wild and desperate look in his eyes and a wooden sign strapped to his chest proclaiming: ‘The End Is Near!’” That’s not a quote from my book, but that’s what I think of when I look at my word count and my calendar (I always think that word needs to “L”s in it). The end of the month is near, and the end of my goal is near, but to continue the little scene: “A little girl, prim and proper in her lacy pink dress, walks up to the man, tugs on his greasy robes and looks up at him with large brown eyes. He stoops down curious what such a small child would have to say. She opens her mouth and shyly states, ”But the end is not near. There is still a lot more of the story to tell.“ I know for certain I will not complete my book for quite some time, but I think I might actually reach the 50,000 word mark. I will reach 42,000 words before I go to sleep tonight, and while I doubt I will finish the book tomorrow, I ought to be able to get it done before the final deadline.
Oddly, my main character, Jory, is turning out to be more of an inquisitive three year old than a young man in his early twenties. I’m getting concerned that he is asking too many obvious, or simple, or just plain too many questions. It’s as if I have designated him the tool by which I can explain how things work and function in the world without having to resort to narration. I like having characters explain the world so much more than simply narrating it. In some way it feels like I’m cheating when I just tell people how things work. In the real world we don’t have the luxury of knowing all the ins and outs of a group of people unless we are a part of that group, so why should I tell my audience all about that group when none of my characters know anything about it? Where’s the adventure, the suspense, the discovery, when a known villain challenges an unsuspecting hero? (Okay, so that sounded just pitiful. I’m trying to get to 50,000 words and I’m spending my time debating modes of conversation and writing tips.)
One thing I am rather anxious to find out is how the women characters will develop in the story and which one Jory would be more likely to ”hook up“ with. I want to have a bit of a romantic struggle in the story, and I had planned on Jory falling for the second woman, but it’s almost looking like he’ll have to fall for the first, given the way I have developed each of the personalities, and how they have already interacted. All of this makes me now understand what Tolkien, Lewis, and other authors have said regarding characters having a mind and a will all their own. It still sounds creepy, but I know what they mean more than I ever did before.
I had a good start. I religiously met my goals, even exceeded them from time-to-time, and often went to bed satisfied with evening’s work. Last week stopped that, and this week is proving worse than last week (presently I am 3,000 words behind. Ouch!). In the last two days I have been getting home late from work (Monday we went live with my mammoth update/rewrite, and last night I was caught in the worst traffic jam I’ll likely see in my little State), and as if that is not enough both nights I’ve had some phone calls that I either needed to make (figuring out the family Thanksgiving plans) or were forced upon me (tech support for my brother and his new iBook). Add to this the fact that I am beginning to feel under the weather and do not wish to be the sacrificial lamb this year (it seems every year only one person in my family is sick during the holidays, and it “rotates” at random).
Very thankfully I have Friday off, so I can either recover from overeating, being sick, and/or catch up on my writing (followed by an all day write-in with the local crowd of stress-out NaNo authors). On a downside, I will probably have to work late tonight to compensate for Friday. At least I can sleep in tomorrow, and get a couple of days off from responsibility. If only I could finish this book (or at least reach the 50,000 word mark) I could really relax! :)
Last week was by far my worst week. Exhaustion set in and my brain did not want to cooperate. I had to fight with it every day, every hour, for every word. With the arrival of the weekend came a break-in with our car (more on that at my blog) and even less motivation to write. My team lost its final game of the season, playing so miserably I don’t want to see them in bowl game, and would like my Saturdays back. My wife drug me down to the Humane Society to look at a kitty, a potential playmate for our cat, and after an hour of spending time with her we decided she would be just as hyper as our current cat and we did not want to two terrors. Despite all of this I manages to sit down and pound out 5,000 words last night, with an ease that surprised me. I am still 1,000 words behind my desired goal, but I think I can make that up fairly quickly.
I am finding that when I know an entire progression, including the transitions from scene to scene, before I start writing, that when I do write I can write efficiently and with less energy. That means I need to spend more time up front, figuring out what I want to happen and how to get from one scene to the next, but it might be worth it (this is a note about how I would write without pressing deadlines).
If all goes well and I get my words in on time, I’ll be “done” next Sunday! I’ll still have many tens of thousands of words to finish my book, but I’ll have beat NaNoWriMo!
I will probably have a tired audience, being forced to read many thousands of words just to finish a chapter. I wish I could offer some apology, but since I cannot yet bring myself to divide my chapters any further, nor shorten them, I will hope they find my words engrossing and not notice the number of pages they turn. This might seem like a wistful dream, but I received and email to this effect just this morning. I completed the chapter last night (making up some of my deficit but not enough of it to be real progress) and sent it off to my First Readers (as I call them). This morning I found a quick note from one of them, informing me he did not have to read my chapter, but after reading the first paragraph soon found himself half-way through it and had to force himself to stop. High praise indeed! If only the rest of my book will turn out the same way. I might actually have a little more gas in my tank to fuel me onwards into and through the next chapter (as soon as figure out what will happen in this chapter … I hate it when I change my mind midstream).
I squeaked out 1,300 words last night, bringing my deficit to 1,500. I might recover but this morning, after more caffeine than I usually imbibe, I am about ready to fall asleep. I might have to work like mad on my lunch hour then go home and go to bed early (say 8 PM?). This silly project is not worth my health, and if I cannot do it, I cannot do it. I should be more concerned with getting the entire book done, than with meeting the 50,000 word goal.
With that said, I will still continue. I had to fire up iCal last night and put in my total word count goals on the days coming, since I can no longer just add 2,000 to my present count (and managing a deficit along with my goal is proving too much for my tired brain). The upshot is, if I maintain my goal I will finish over the Thanksgiving weekend. The other upshot is I’m just a hundred words or so behind the 1,700 daily goal. So, I guess things are not as bleak as they look, though for me, I am still 1,500 words behind, needing to pull out a magical 3,500 words today.
Honestly, I sometimes think there is more drama in my life this month (managing this silly project) than there is in my actual book.
All is not well in NaNoWriMo land. I am tired. I am more tired than I have ever been. I’ve been exhausted, I’ve been burned out, but I’ve never been tired like this. Last night I could have gone to sleep at 9PM (A full 2-3 hours early!) and tonight is no different. My brain is not functioning normally. I am forgetting things, my speech is abnormal (in conversation my words are getting jumbled). Things are not good. I cannot even write.
I wish I could quit. I wish I could say, “I’ll do it next week, but not this week,” but those kind of thoughts seem to always end up leading to things never getting done. So I will press on. Besides, I have come too far to quit now. I am half way to my goal. Now if I could just keep my eyes open … . Oh yes, I had some coffee before I left work (I hate the stuff) but it is having no effect. Makes me wonder if I’m getting sick or something.
I’m 866 words behind as of now, but it’s bound to grow by tomorrow. It’s too late to hit my goal for tonight, and I fear that will be my death knell.
I’m not sure if I should be terribly excited, ashamed, embarrassed, stunned, or a combination thereof. I’m on target as of this morning. I needed to be at 20,000 words by the time my head hit the pillow last night (to meet my own goals) and I hit it, exactly (so I wrote 25 more words for good measure). Looking back at yesterday, I was quite a handful to deal with, spewing words of frustration and fear at those who know me best, for I really thought I was going to remain behind. I was down 1,500 words, had a meeting, and then found out my in-laws were making a surprise visit from out of state and that’s when all Hell broke loose. Despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances I made up my deficit and then pushed forward to complete my 2,000 word goal. I managed to write nearly 1,000 words on my lunch break (I’ve usually taken that time to just relax), wrote a few hundred at the meeting, and hacked out another 1,800 when I got home. (At times like this I can imagine my mother calling me “prolific”.)
At the meeting last night, one of the few participating gentlemen complimented me on my diligence, having read some of this blog (hullo, hullo!) and I merely passed it off a “being lucky.” As I later thought about that, I discovered it’s true in some senses, but not really true at all. I too have been noticing that I am meeting my goals consistently (or making them up) and am well on my way to “winning”. I really cannot say how I am doing it, or where I am finding the motivation to write, so I can only shrug my shoulders about my diligence and just say, “It happens”. Even then I’m trying to figure out how and why, because I will not finish the book at 50,000 words, so I will need to continue writing well beyond the end of NaNoWriMo and the biggest challenge for me will be to maintain a good writing habit and finish the book.
If I have any “secrets” about my “success” it would be a few simple points:
Maybe this will help some people, maybe it won’t. This is what I have to do just to get the story told, for I am a perfectionist and would otherwise never finish the story (I’ve got a file folder full of these) because I would get stuck on a spot that was not good enough. Hopefully I will find that I can finish this book, then edit it and make it sing with a pleasing harmony, so my readers will stop gouging their eyes out.
This will probably be my first and my last NaNoWriMo (though who can tell). I set out to see if I could first of write a book, second of all write 50,000 words in 30 days. I know the answer to those two questions already (though I should wait until I am done to see if my knowing was really knowing … I just love epistemology). The pace being set for me is too much. Too many pieces of my life are on hold, and I cannot sustain that for much longer than a month. There are things I want to do, people I want to visit with, and having to push everything aside just to write 2,000 words a night … there is not enough payoff in the end to make it worthwhile. One thing I will need to figure out, come December, is what pace is comfortable. I will say I am satisfied that I am writing and that it is going well, but I don’t like seeing everything else around me begin to decay.
Last night did not go so well. As it turns out, last night was a horrid night for writing. I arrived home late, accidentally deleted the show from our PVR that we were going to watch (I did this before we watched it), fought with my wife’s machine, trying and failing to get it to cooperate with a microphone, and had to send a gob of pictures to my brother in Hawaii. In the end I had 90 minutes to write and a fume that took 60 minutes to calm down from, so I only managed 500 words.
I have a meeting tonight, Saturday is swamped with activity, Fridays usually find me desiring rest from the week, and I’m already 1500 words behind. Maybe I’ll catch a break or something.
The second day of the second week (I cannot count Sunday) and I’m in great shape (though my wife tells me I need to get some exercise). I not only hit my goal of 2,000 words, but I finished early, and I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,000 words on the tip of my tongue. I decided to quit because I was tired, excited, and really wanted to continue watching a series on TV. I’ve learned that when I lose focus I don’t write well, so I took a break and don’t mind not writing any further tonight. I’ve met my goal, I’m on track. The tortoise beat the hare in the fable.
The wonderful thing is I’ve begun to have fun. Some part of me now knows I will be able to exceed the 50,000 word goal, baring any unforeseen calamity. I’ve started to enjoy the writing process again, like when I was a kid. My mind is filling with visions of the scenes my characters find themselves in and I am like a tiny tot in a toy store, staring about me with wide eyes and eager to see, hear, and touch everything. I had nearly forgotten how much fun it can be to create such vistas in my mind, revel in them for a moment, then describe them in way that will [hopefully] convey the same mood to my audience.
If there is anything about my evening’s writing that could be disappointing it would have to be the fact that I did not finish my chapter. I thought I would only have 2,000 words to finish out the chapter but I found it took me 2,000 words to get to the spot that will now take me between 1,000 and 2,000 words. This could very well mean that my second chapter is not paced properly, and that is something I am concerned about (but only when it is time to edit, because for now it means I’m going to finish NaNoWriMo with ease). My poor proofreaders will have to be the judge of my pacing, and if it is too slow I’ll have to shift some conversations to appear later in the story.
I think I can rest happy now, and perhaps dream of the settings I so recently narrated. I only hope no one nor thing will distract and derail me.
My writing software informs me I have completed 28% of my goal, an exact count of 14141 words, pure luck that it’s a palindrome. As to the percentage completed I want to strut about proudly. Double spaced this would be about 50 pages, and I can honestly say I’ve never written anything so large in my life, and I’m only in the second chapter! I would be slightly worried about this week, considering the veterans tell us this is the worst week of the entire month, but I cannot see how I will struggle. I do well writing in the evenings after work, and I am coming upon the sections of my story that I’m somewhat eager to tell. The real challenge, for me, will be near the end, because I’m not quite sure how to unravel and resolve the conflict. I know the end result, but not the means, not yet anyway.
One thing I have noticed about my writing is I spend most of my agony in the transition points. I am constantly trying to get one scene to flow into another, and those points seem to sap my mental strength. I have also noticed that spending more time writing doesn’t necessarily mean proportionate word count. Last night I needed 2,700 words to catch up (I managed 2,800) and I found out that 2,000 is a comfortable goal for me. After two and half hours of writing I wanted to be done. After I hit 2,000 I was beginning to spend more time motivating myself to write, so my words per hour dropped by a few hundred.
I will finally admit, that if my writing could ever be known for anything, I would like it to be remarked as vivid, able to paint fantastic pictures in the minds of my readers. I have hesitated to ever make that statement for fear that discover or be told opposite. I know I cannot achieve vivid detail in every scene, but I would love for people to read my stories and get caught up on the imagination of it all. In the end I would want people to close the book and have the impression that I painted a vibrant picture in their mind, and that they enjoyed it. I don’t know if I will achieve this. Taste is subjective, so folks may not like my writing, might not care for my scenes, and perhaps it is to ward off these people that I have never before stated my goal/desire for my writing. Hopefully this admission will not do me in.
Below is an excerpt from last night, an inspired piece if I do say so myself.
They continued to talk and walk, sharing interests, swapping stories, and passing the time. As Conn stated they were passing time far faster than they realized. They came upon the crossroads and took the southern fork, barely taking the time to notice they were a half hour early in arriving. The sun continued its constant journey towards the horizon stretching its lazy dusk light over the distant hills and spilling it out upon the clouds. The trees captured the remaining light and soaked it in with great relish, letting only brief glimpses sneak past their leaves and branches to rush towards the travelers and create long shadows that slowly climbed the trees.
In the waning light Jory spied a grove of flowering trees, whose blossoms of pale pink and light lavender tugged upon his soul with a beckoning unfamiliar to him, but too strong to resist. Conn agreed the spot looked well suited to setting up camp for the evening, though he was reluctant to use any of the nearby wood for a fire, stating that such delicate beauty was often cared for with a zeal that should never be disturbed. Jory was quick to agree that the trees should not be disturbed, and gazed lovingly at the trees and their blossoms. When the wind would blow groups of delicate petals would take flight from the tree, swirling and dancing on the breeze, sometimes surrounding the two travelers, but never landing upon them. At the end of their dance they would rest upon the ground, adding to a carpet arrayed in the most delicate of hues fit for the bed of the most noble and purest of elvish maidens.
As Jory stood in rapturous delight his heart began to swell with emotion. Feelings of warmth, of comfort, of peace began to wash over him. His head was filled with the fragrance of the trees; his ears heard nothing but the sound of the whispering wind holding conversation with the trees all about him. He dared not move and break the enchantment of the small, quiet grove. In that quiet, still moment he forgot all about Meagan, he forgot about the journey, and he forgot about his growing hunger. In that one moment he was taken up in the delight of such beautiful natural wonders and desired to see and protect such treasures; in that one moment he knew there were things in this world that were much bigger than his life, that this world offered riches beyond compare, but riches few men would count as valuable.
Conn eased himself out of his own pack, and sat himself upon the ground, letting out a near-silent sigh. “These groves are marvel aren’t they.” Conn whispered. “The elves planted them long ago, as sanctuaries, they say. They swear they are not enchanted, but I say otherwise. The beauty in these places, and the peace it brings, is an enchantment all to itself. Even a toughened old soldier like myself has been tempted to turn poet in groves such as this.”
“I would swear there is magic at work here,” Jory faintly whispered. “This is too beautiful, the fragrance too alluring, and the atmosphere too calm.”
“You are not the first to notice, nor will you be the last.”
This weekend was a terrible mess as far as writing goes, but in that mess I think I might have learned something I suspected might be true: the weekends are bad writing times for me. There are simply too many distractions, too many things I want to do, too much unwinding from the week I need to do in order for me to make any real progress. This is good for me to know, because in the future, when I want to write another book, I will not force myself to write on the weekends. Instead I’ll be free to socialize, work on household projects, and vegetate.
I have to end the weekend 1,000 words short of my minimum goal and 3,000 words short of what I would have liked to obtain. And to top it off, I am beginning to wonder if I should shift my outline some, or make this one book into 2 or 3 books (it looks like daglo was right after all). More on this later, for now I want to go watch some TV!
I did it! I actually finished my first chapter of my novel! I’m not so much stunned that I finished a chapter, so much as that I have been consistent in reaching my word count goals each day (on average that is). By this time I thought I would be complaining that I was 1,000 or more words behind and giving myself an ulcer. Instead I have found that at any given point I can sit down and crank out words. I’m flabbergasted that I can do this, for at no other time in my fiction writing attempts have I been able to just write. I usually had to sit there and agonize over what to write. I credit my success to my outline, for I know where I am and what I need to do next, so I always have something to write (until I run into one of those dreaded plot holes).
For example, last night I had to pay the bills before they got away from me. I hate paying bills (who actually likes it?) and when I was done I was none to happy. I didn’t know if I was even going to be able to write (I hate finding out that no matter how hard we work we still don’t have the money we want). Regardless I managed to get to 8,000 words by 11:30, and I started at 9:30! :)
First, I have noticed that inertia is at play in my writing as well as in the physical world. I have the hardest time writing when I start. Once I have a three or four sentences down I can usually work straight through to my goal without a problem, but those first few sentences can take me 5-10 minutes! I have had to force myself, each night, to start writing, and once I’m started I rarely want to stop (so far I’ve actually had fun watching the world develop).
Second, I have been sleeping better even though I have been sleeping less. This positively baffles me. I will got to bed, on average, 30 minutes later than usual (meaning I get 6.5 to 7.5 hours of sleep instead of my needed 8-10), and yet when the alarm rings I’m awake and rested. What gives? Thus far I have not noticed any ill effects, and on a few occasions I wake up wanting to write instead of going to work (we’ll see if this holds true tomorrow morning). A friend suggested I am probably getting better sleep. I’m guessing he might be right, because I go to be happy and satisfied (I finished writing a rather creepy villain section last night just before bed and half expected to give myself nightmares, thankfully I was safe). As long as I can continue to get restful sleep and get my writing done, I’ll be happy.
I was lucky last night; at least that is how I look at it. My wife’s car needed some work done on it, so we took it over to my parent’s place as it is better suited for work (our drive way is sloped, and I’d rather not trust an emergency brake with my life). I knew last night would be a hard night for writing; my parents are friendly people and we get along well enough that we usually miss our intended departure because we are engaged in conversation. Last night was not much different, with the exception of my ability to show off my writing software to my mother (who writes), and that they left me alone for about an hour so I could try to hack out something, and that is where I got lucky.
I dodged a bullet, but it grazed me. My writing time was divided last night. I planned my story some on the way to my parent’s house, spent some time writing while I was there (thank goodness I have some really good headphones), and had to wait until I was in bed before I could pick up again. I have never worked in such spurts, and I felt certain I would fail to meet either of my goals (either 2,000 words for the night or 6,000 words total). I don’t know how I did it, and I am a little proud of myself, but I managed to make it to 6,000 words before I went to sleep; I was grazed by that bullet in that I worked longer than I should have and did not finish until Midnight (I am drinking tea this morning!).
I ran into an interesting situation last night, one I am not sure how readers (or editors) will react. I hope that I can state, without sounding mentally ill, that I talk to myself from time-to-time. My main characters takes after me in this regard and is one who would think things through by having a mental dialog with himself. The quandary lies with showing the reader the thought process of my protagonist without sounding too awkward. There are times that I will just narrate that he thought of something, but as I found last night, it seemed completely uninteresting to just state that, so I decided to have my character spill his thoughts upon the page in a sort of dialog with himself. This is one thing I have not heard anything about from other authors or from writing teachers, and I cannot recall reading anything similar either. I could be violating some “rule”, but I decided it is far more interesting to show my audience (will I actually have one I wonder?) what is going on in the troubled mind of my character rather than just tell them his mind is troubled. (If you’d like to chime in your opinion on this, feel free to leave a comment.)
One thing I recall I have been instructed on over and over again is to maintain a consistent tense. I should not interweave past, present, and future tenses in the same scene, or so I am told, and I fear that is one of my weaknesses. As I was writing last night I realized I most probably have mixed my tenses as I have been attempting to close my first chapter (I almost pity my readers, for my first chapter will probably be around 8,000 words). I know that I will need to carefully re-read my story, when I am done, and fix this little mess I am leaving for myself. I could try to catch it as I write, but I think I’d rather get my word count done than spend time making sure my grammar and my structure are sound. No one said I need to have a finished ready-to-publish “novel” by the end of November, just 50,000 words. :)
One last thing, I managed to come up with a “side” quest help fill in that early hole I was facing. Since I did not reach it yet and I have begun to fill it in I am quite happy!
I am surprised. Despite the inevitable distractions of meeting new people and conversing with them I not only managed to reach my word count goal for the day, I exceeded it by 400 some words! I was able to write 1,000 words in the 90 minutes I was at the meeting (I had to come late) and by bedtime tonight I had exceeded my goal with ease. In fact, were it not for the fact that I want to get a good night’s sleep I would write some more. I can actually be even happier at my position tonight, because I spent at least 10 minutes looking for some names (I renamed my protagonist to Jory from Jayce). There was a point while I was looking and hunting for names that I began to panic about wasting my time, but now I see I was fine.
Tonight I had to return to what I wrote last night and add a crucial point, something I was missing: I described my protagonist. I gave a description of nearly every other character but my main one! This afforded me the opportunity to use the revisioning technology in my writing software, and so far it seems to work great (I have not tried to go back and look at my first version yet, so I don’t know how well or useful it will be). I hate revising what I wrote, because I usually like the structure of what I leave behind and I often have to rework entire paragraphs to fit in the desired (or needed) piece, and often that means I have to touch some phrase that I liked as it stood. Hopefully I will be able to manage through this as I know I will need to edit this before I let it see the light of day.
On that note, I did not write in the same quality as I did last night. I’m not sure why. It might have something to do with the mental distraction of being in a room full of other people who might at any moment ask me a question or offer a comment. Regardless I know I did not write great dialog tonight, but that’s okay, my only goal is to reach 50,000 words. I’ll make it “good” literature later.
I am not one for experimenting and making an already difficult task harder, but I came across an idea at work that I think I would like to employ in my novel, and one I hope will not be too difficult. I have read many books that weave two or more simultaneous treads together, alternating from one to the other. I would like to add that to my novel, so I can better develop the devious conflict the story will need. The question I will need to work out is how to add it without distracting the reader, and to know how much to reveal about the “evil machinations” to the reader while not revealing it to the characters. One thing I enjoy as a reader is discovering things along with the characters. I’m always … disappointed when I know something the characters don’t (this does not include foreshadowing).
I will work with the material some, and pass it around my head while I work and carry on about my life. I might even take my lunch breaks at work to develop this idea. I definitely think it is something that will help move the plot and help move the reader to side with our heroes, but I want to make sure I keep a careful balance and not reveal too much so as to make my story boring (okay, so I guess I not only want to reach 50,000 words but I also want a half-way interesting story to read).
I could not let myself go to sleep so close to my goal, so I managed to punch out 400 more words and actually hit my 2,000 word mark! It was a good feeling, but not great; great would have been three or four thousand words. I was too tired last night to properly think through my first attempt, my first leg of my month-long journey, but this morning I hope to capture the few things that ran through my head.
I was surprised to find I took me ninety minutes to get the first 1,000 words, but only forty-five minutes for the second 1,000 words. In the first hour I only managed 600 words! The start was much harder than I thought, and at first I wanted to attribute it to my general fatigue. I was tired enough to go to bed when I got home … 4 hours early! As I was plodding along (that is the word for it, plodding) I began to realize I have a hard task in front of me regarding the first chapter. My outline and my desire forces me to establish quite a few details. Plans I have for the middle of the book have their genesis in the first scenes, thus I found myself carefully considering the mood, the setting, and the message I was communicating. It was no wonder things were going slow.
Regarding my outline, I completed the first two points, and may have covered enough of the third to consider it done. I had no expectations regarding the amount of words I would consume for each point, but if I only manage 1,000 words per point, I will not make it, as I do not have 50 points. Either I will need to add points or I will need to elaborate more on each point (without burdening the reader of course).
I in no way felt like writing last night, yet I knew I had no option; I did not want to start today 1,700 words behind. This caused me to force myself into putting something down, even if I don’t like it (actually, I didn’t do that, instead I edited phrases as I went). The advantage here is I managed to get 2,000 words done, even when I did not feel like writing. I count this an accomplishment, for when I do feel like writing I will hopefully increase my productivity, and when I do not feel like writing I know I can still produce something (and in the case of yesterday’s work I don’t feel like I need to much revision).
Tonight is my local kick-off party, and while I will be two hours late I still hope to go. Hopefully I will meet some friendly people and still be able to hammer out a couple thousand words. I am not the only author to write in the fantasy genre in my region, so it might be even more fun. Here’s hoping I keep on track. I had a decent start, now I need to continue it for 29 more days.
I did not get as much done tonight as I had hoped. So far I managed to come close to 1,600 words, a mere 400 words short of my goal. I may still manage to squeak out those remaining 400 words (‘tis a measly paragraph) but I must now begin to think about bed. I have been fighting off sleep since my drive home (which has been scarring me!). On top of that I have been feeling slightly under the weather, so I hope to sleep much and recover my health before I really lose it.
In honor of my molasses-like start, here is an excerpt, the first few paragraphs to my tale:
Outside the wind blew a gentle breeze. The leaves swirled up off the cobblestones, flags fluttered, and signs creaked. Inside the air was calm, but far from still. Laughter, song, dance, and many conversations swirled about like so many leaves. Men were slapping each other on the back, laughing heartily, sharing in some jest. Boys sat listening with gleaming eyes as their heroes recounted tails of glory and bravery. Girls scurried about whispering, giggling, and pointing; sly glances in direction or another would be followed by quick bursts of hushed chatter and a flushed face. Serving girls would mix among the giggles, catching a whisper here, delivering a message there, and always bustling about, just out of reach of a stray hand. The mood was lively, but calm.
The Inn of the Lost Hero boasted many sights to behold. There was the great lance of the fabled Sir Crystalmire, said to have slain four mighty dragons in one thrust. There was the first crown of the Lost Tribe of Grendalmyr, of which some still whispered its rightful heir will one day reclaim, and with it bring about a revolution that would leave no kingdom untouched. People often remarked of the two towering suits of armor which greeted them upon entering. One had three arms, the other two heads, both stood nearly fifteen feet high; it was said the armor belonged to the two brothers-in-arms who founded this city some 4,000 years ago. The bar itself was a curiosity, for it was a giant ring dominating the center of the entire ground floor, encircling the kitchen and offices of the innkeeper, made of a material hotly debated over many a drink. Some swore it was nothing more than a carving, others insisted it was the corpse of the legendary Firewrym, which turned to stone upon death, but retained its terrible heat deep in its body; as the Inn had no visible means of maintaining its pleasant heat this view prevailed. One thing they all held in common, they all stood in awe of the beginning, or end, of the ring; there a head of grizzled visage, a vision out of some nightmare, snapped at its own tail. Of all of these wonders Jayce no longer took notice, having discovered the true, and secret, attraction of the Inn of the Lost Hero.
Perched upon a stool back against the wall Jayce gazed at the simple beauty and charm of his obsession. She moved with a dancer’s grace and ease, balancing trays full of pitchers and tankards, and never had Jayce seen her spill a drop. Her voice rang melodious in his ears, what little of it he could hear from his perch; her curls of gold bounced and flew about her head glittering with a mesmerizing sheen; when she laughed a sparkle lit up her eyes that never failed to make Jayce forget about breathing. Many times Jayce wished he could afford a better seat. “If only I could but speak with her,” he would think. “My charm, my wit, my … knowledge would win her. I am sure of it! If only I could afford to sit at one of her tables.”
Her name was Meagan, only daughter of the owner and proprietor of the inn. She was quite remarked by many of the men in the city, both for her beauty and charm, as well as for her position and inevitable inheritance. As a girl she was bubbly and friendly, eager to help in the inn, learning all she could. She was quickly the darling of all the patrons. As she grew so did her adroitness; she proved herself to her father and was soon given charge over the maids. When the war broke out she had moved up, taking charge of the serving girls, and now she oversaw the entire kitchen. Somewhere during the war she had blossomed into womanhood and the kindly men who once thought of her as if she were a niece began to see qualities that made them both proud and jealous. All of the young bachelors and a few of the married old men harbored dreams and fancies of making her wife.