NaNoWriMo 2010
For better or for worse I have decided to try writing a 50,000 word novel in the month of November yet again. It seems every three years I give it a shot. The odds are squarely stacked against me this year. I’m teaching Sunday School, hosting a bi-weekly boardgame night, fathering a wonderful daughter in the throes of The Terrible Twos, and my football team are ranked number one in the nation. To top it off I only started last night with a germ of an idea, so I’m plotting the novel and writing and already a day behind. I can use some help: encouragement. If you are reading this do me a favor and keep reading, all month. Leave a comment at least once a week, or email me, or do the social network thing on Twitter, Google Buzz, or Facebook, and please, pass this along.
I have a few goals this time around:
- See if I can reach 50,000 by the end of the month.
- Establish the discipline of writing daily.
- Discover if I can write a story with a loose outline.
In an effort to help me out, and to help you, I am going to write this story publicly. I will be posting the full contents of my daily writing here for all the world to read. Bear in mind this is a rough draft, and I’m trying to prevent myself from ever hitting DELETE.
So, without further ado the first 1,300 words:
Chapter One
Sparks erupted off the brick wall just overhead, sending charred bits of brick raining down on Joe’s head. Joe ducked and quelled the urge to scream, running pell-mell down the wide alley. Behind him the impossible figure of a 11 foot tall lanky giant was chasing after him, hurling curses, epithets, and something far more deadly: spells. Up head a brick arch in the wall of the building gave Joe promise of shelter, or at the very least cover from the fiery darts whizzing over his had and passed his ears. As Joe came within a few steps of the arch a brief moment of terror overwhelmed him: the arch was little more than an alcove. Once upon a time a door or another alley might have stood there, but now it was a bricked in false hope for Joe.
Momentarily distracted Joe didn’t notice the Coca-Cola bottle rolling toward him. Joe’s foot landed squarely on the bottle, and for a brief moment he was perfectly balanced, until his inertia carried him forward. With the grace found among toddlers Joe collapsed and folded in upon himself and the ground rushed up to embrace him like a jilted lover. The bottle sped along its course, it’s velocity greatly increased, bounding down the alley on a collision course with the giant. A startled, bruised, battered, and dinged Joe lifted his head off the pavement in time to see the giant notice the Coca-Cola bottle. With an abrupt change of attitude the lanky giant gleefully cackled out loud at the sight of the bottle coming his way.
“Ha ha! Saints be praised!” he exclaimed, and without breaking stride reached down with his lumbering arm, and caught up the bottle into his hand. To Joe’s astonishment the giant pivoted on one foot and dashed out of the alley.
A voice boomed out above Joe, “Well kid?” A rather burly looking man in crisp new blue jeans, starched red collared shirt, and black combat boots towered over Joe, hands on his hips. Joe looked up, and carefully pushed himself up off the pavement.
“Well what?” Joe answered back.
“Well, for starters you could thank me, kid.”
“Thank you?”
“You’re welcome.”
Offended by the presumption that Joe was thankful he forcefully said, “Thank you for what?”
“For saving your bacon, kid. I thought that was obvious.”
“My name’s Joe, and I don’t recall anyone stepping in to lend me a hand. That … thing got distracted and left me alone.”
The man looked down at Joe, giving him a hard stare. “And just how do you think he got distracted, Joe?” he asked, adding a slight emphasis on Joe’s name.
Joe stared back for a moment of silence. “Look bub, are you trying to take credit for that giant, or whatever it was, getting distracted by a Coke bottle?”
The man grinned. “You’re catching on kid.”
“It was just a random Coke bottle,” Joe protested.
“Random? Far from it kid. Ask yourself, when was the last time you saw a genuine Coca-Cola bottle just rattling around these streets?”
“I dunno. I see garbage all the time in all kinds of places.”
The man scowled at Joe, “Not in my city you don’t kid. Everyone knows that. Look, I tossed that bottle down the alley precisely because it would distract Bob there,” the man nodded his head in the direction the giant went. “He’s got a thing for old glass bottles. He’s a bit obsessed that way. So much the better for you.”
“You know that monstrosity that was chasing me?” Joe fired back incredulously.
“Yeah. He’s not a bad guy, so long as you don’t get on his bad side. Which brings me to my second point: what did you do to piss him off, kid?”
“Will you stop calling me kid?”
“Only when you grow up. Now tell me, what did you do to make Bob angry enough to reveal himself in public?”
Joe gave the man a quizzical look. “What are you talking about? How many people do you know that can look into a second story window without the aid of a ladder? In what way was a gigantic man running down the street not going to attract attention?”
“Exactly my point kid,” the man gave Joe a hard stare. “Well?”
Joe squared his shoulders and looked hard into the other man’s eyes. “I don’t know,” Joe practically shouted.
The man didn’t so much as blink. “You’ll have to do better than that. Why don’t you try starting with how you found him in the first place. Bob isn’t exactly the social type, if you know what I mean.”
“I told you, I don’t know. One minute I’m walking down the street, admiring the architecture. I turn the corner and the first thing I see is some hulking monstrosity running straight at me yelling my name as if I’d killed his cat or something.”
“Do you honestly expect me to believe that Bob would be waiting for you to waltz around a corner and then unprovokedly attack you?”
“No, I expect you to believe I was cha-chaing around the corner,” Joe fired back snarkily.
The man’s face flashed with a brief expression of anger. Before Joe could register the look he was hoisted out of the air and bodily slammed into the nearest brick wall. “Listen kid. I’ve been patient and considerate but I’ve had about as much guff as I’m going to take from you. You are going to tell me exactly what transpired that got Salem’s most reclusive giant to show himself in public in a manner that would draw too much unwanted attention to himself, or I will exercise my authority to have you forcibly removed from this city and all others like it. Do I make myself clear?” The man didn’t so much as relax his grip on Joe’s shirt but his voice was calm, cool, forceful, and authoritative.
Confusion slid over Joe’s face. “Wait. Salem? What are you talking about? This isn’t Salem.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Kid, that has got to be the dumbest excuse I have heard this decade.” The man tensed his arms.
“Wait! I’m serious. This can’t be Salem. I’ve never even been to Salem. Why would I want to? Listen, I don’t know who you are or where you think you are but I live here and this is Springfield.”
“Springfield huh? You sure about that, kid?”
“Yeah. Lived here for about a year now. Who forgets where they live?”
The man slowly lowered Joe down to the ground. “Look around you kid. Does this alley look at all familiar to you?”
Joe looked around the alley clearly puzzled. He looked up at the buildings, then frantically looked down the alley to his right. Panic stricken he snapped his head back to his left peering out of the mouth of the alley which he had just run down and into storefronts. “I … don’t get it,” he stammered. “H-how?” and then he noticed the licenses plates; squinting he read the plate. “Oregon? What the hell is going on?” he shouted into the man’s face.
“Calm down kid.”
“You calm down. How the hell did I end up in Oregon?”
“I can explain, but you need to calm down. Look, you’ll be alright.”
“Right. You try walking down the street of your home town, get chased by a giant hell-bent on killing you, for no reason whatsoever, and then find out you are in a completely different State with no idea how you got there nor how you are going to get back home. How in the world can you say this will be alright?”
“Listen, kid, we’ll get you back home. What you experienced is a little thing called The Springfield Effect. It’s hard to explain, and this is hardly the place. Come with me to a place we can talk. There’s a coffee house just outside this alley, right over there,” he pointed out the mouth of the alley to a nondescript building.