Day Two of Nanowrimo

Hello there. I know I've been terribly lazy posting here, but I didn't really have anything to say up until now! And so, without further ado, here is a sample of what I've written so far for my 2010 Nanowrimo.



Dante’s hand was trembling. Sighing with frustration, he shoved it in his pocket and made his way down the snowy sidewalk to his apartment building. The sky was a stony grey and the streets were speckled with tiny pinpoints of light; stars, reflected from The World. Dante stepped off the sidewalk and crushed one with his heavy winter boot. It flickered. For an instant, it appeared as if it just might go out. The light grew back, stronger than it was before. No, of course it wouldn’t die. Nothing here would.
Dante’s doorman smiled a pointy-toothed smile at Dante as he stomped the snow off his boots and entered the warmth of the building. It didn’t matter how high the heat was, though; Dante’s skin was still cold to the touch. It made him feel like a living corpse. He walked up the three flights of stairs that led to his apartment, 412A, and tried to remember what it felt like to be warm. He couldn’t remember. It hadn’t been all that long ago really; only about three months since his last birthday. Three months of constant winter, inside his body and out.
The floor containing apartment 412A was empty. The single flickering light bulb that illuminated the narrow, carpeted hall would never be changed. It would remain there, flickering, for all time. The delicate web created by a long-gone spider was interwoven around the light’s thick glass covering. Dante sometimes wondered whether The World’s inhabitant of 412A had a dim light that flickered and an old spider’s web on the ceiling too.
Even though Dante had lived in 412A for the past five years, he didn’t consider it his home. It was only his dwelling, a place where he could rest at night and take refuge from the cruel world outside.
Dante kicked his boots off and placed them directly over the heating vent so they would be dry before his early morning outing. He opened the refrigerator in the corner and found nothing. It didn’t matter anyway. He shrugged off his jacket and slipped into his bad. He pulled the covers up to his chin, even though they would never make him warm. Dante wondered if he would ever be warm again. He hoped death was warm. A restless sleep overcame him and he dreamt of sunny days.
The next morning at precisely five o’clock, both inhabitants of 412A awoke to the incessant ringing of their respective alarm clocks. The man who lived in the World rolled out of his warm bed silently, trying not to disturb his wife. She slept on a he curled his meticulously groomed mustache, straightened his pinstripe tie, and placed his silver rimmed glasses upon the brim of his large, lumpy nose. He gave the dog a quick pat before heading out the door at exactly six-thirty a.m. He was a watch salesman and valued punctuality above all other things.
Dante did not value much of anything, must less punctuality. When his alarm clock went off, he hit the snooze button, but it was already too late. His dream wouldn’t come back, no matter how hard he tried.
His coat was sprawled across the chair where he had left it the night before. Dante shrugged into it, pulled his boots on, and didn’t bother locking the door behind him. The blinking light in the hall was still blinking. The doorman was still grinning. Everything was the same.
Dante walked down the frozen streets. He preferred traveling on foot to driving, especially in the winter. He enjoyed seeing his breath in frigid streets. It reminded him that he was still breathing.
The building he arrived at was strangely circular. The entire outer wall was made of spotless glass. It made Dante feel like a trapped animal; no corners to hide in. No way out. There was a woman at the check-in desk with black hair and a soft expression. She handed Dante a sign-in sheet which he filled out and handed back to her. The waiting room looked too sterile. The walls were white with little golden flecks that shined when the florescent light hit them in just the right way. “The doctor will be right with you,” said the woman at the desk. Dante nodded and took the seat farthest away from the wall of window panes. He slouched in his hard plastic chair and pulled his black fedora hat down over his face as far as it would go.
The room was almost empty; the only other living beings inside it were a young woman wrapped tightly in a dirty shawl and a man who had three small children with him. The man was completely flustered; the children kept trying to press their faces to the windows to look out at the cold, bleak morning. Dante wondered why they weren’t in school. He glanced down at the magazines left on the table for waiting patients to look at. The cover of the first one boasted a nearly-naked woman whose ribs protruded from her magenta dress. Her hair floated out around her and her face was plastered with a blindingly white smile. “Have better sex!” and “Stars Without Makeup- Pictures Inside!” the cover blared in capital letters that took up nearly the entire page. Dante grunted in disgust and placed the magazine face down on the table. An ad for a diet operation stared up at him.
“Sir?” The nurse had apparently been calling his name. He got up and followed her inside the heavy oaken doors and back into the small office. “The doctor will be here in a moment. “Sure.” Dante noted her tiny waist as she walked out of the room. He imagined the doctor who employed her cutting into her soft abdominal flesh with a scalpel and tightly securing the plastic band that would make her feel full before she had a bite of food. He imagined the nurse getting smaller and smaller until she didn’t exist at all anymore.
He stared at the walls. They were filled with posters of the inside of the body and pictures of smiling families. The worst part was noticing how real they looked. Dante knew that most people walking down the street actually did look like the people in the photographs. Constantly smiling, glowing skin, and always very, very thin.
The door opened and a bald-headed doctor with thick glasses walked in. “Hello.” “Hello,” repeated Dante. He wondered when people stopped talking. Dante took off his coat and pulled his shirt over his head. The doctor whipped out a stethoscope from some mysterious place and placed the circular end on Dante’s chest. “This might feel a bit cold,” the doctor said. Dante could tell he had said it hundreds, if not thousands of times before. The doctor listened for a few seconds, grunted, and then spirited the stethoscope away again. “So,” he began, “how long has it been since we last saw one another?” He looked down at the chart in his hands. “Two weeks.” “Ah, right. Well then, sir, any luck finding her yet?” “No, not yet. I’ve been going to the Searching Pond every day.” He shrugged, “Maybe she doesn’t even exist. Maybe she’s dead.” The doctor put his hand on Dante’s shoulder. Dante fought the urge to flinch. “She’s out there somewhere, son. Keep looking. I’m sure you’ll find her.” “Yes.” “Just keep doing your best. In the meantime, the symptoms you have will remain manageable, but I’m not sure how long that will last.” Dante wanted to laugh. How could he call the torture he was going through manageable? But he kept silent. The doctor wheeled his chair over to a cabinet and withdrew a syringe wrapped in sterile plastic. He retrieved a small vial from the pocket of his white coat and unwrapped the needle with one hand. It glistened almost six inches long in the florescent light.



So, if anyone bothers to read all this, you should totally tell me what you think. If it makes any since, first of all, because I'm pretty sure it's just incoherant ramblings.

Stress!

Wow, I just realized how long its been since I posted! My school's musical, Children of Eden, had its last showing today. Hopefully my stress levels will go down a bit over the next few days now. (I wasn't actually IN the musical, but I did tech stuff, and I had to be there for many hours every day this week)

Fourteen days till Nano. That's scary sounding, especially since I haven't really planned too much. I have an amazing first scene, but no main characters or even a basic plot. :/ Eh, oh well. I'm a world famous procrasinator, and there's still TWO whole weeks left for me to do it in!

Glitch!

So apparently something is up with blogger where it won't let people comment on random blogs. Mine just happens to be one of those blogs, of course, so I guess I'll just wait the issue out. If I have to relocated TTJIM2N (The Terrifying Journey Into My 2010 Nanowrimo), I will, but it's not something I particularly would like to do.

Anyway, if you have any comments that you would like me to see, you can send them to me on twitter at twitter.com/thewrimo.

The Beginning of the End

It's October. I can't believe it's already freaking October first. I am beyond ready for it to be November in some ways, but in others it terrifies me! I only have the barest trace of a plot bouncing around in my noggin. It's almost dangerous to think about it too much because if I do, I would feel inclined to begin writing and then what would I write for Nano? Perhaps I should do a Hunger Games fanfiction this week, just to get myself a bit warmed up. That wouldn't be a bad idea at all, actually...

Anyway, there are a few changes at the Nanowrimo site. First of all, everything is wiped clean. The word count, donation bar, forums, everything. This is slightly frightening, but it feels good like when you finally clean your room after three months of having to smell rotting food under the bed. Not that that's ever happened to me of course... Another thing is the Great Nanowrimo Book Drive. There isn't too much information up about that right now, but it looks pretty fantastic. Literacy for people who don't have books is always a good thing! Another addition is the Reference Desk. This used to be called something else, but my brain doesn't feel like telling me what it is right now. So yeah. Yet another forum addition is the adoption society. Adopt A ______ boards are always popular during Nano, so it's good that they have a home now. I have the feeling I'll be visiting there quite a lot for ideas. Twin boards Nanowrimo University: Instructors and Nanowrimo University: Students are new too.

There are four new shirts in the store as well as a pen that says Nanowrimo, an amazing tote bag, autographed copies of No Plot, No Problem! and I believe a new poster with the Nanoland design on it will be available soon. OLL has a blog which is mentioned on the home page. It isn't exactly brand new, just new-ish. The last new thing that really stood out was a new section next to Donations and More From OLL: Nano Near You. This is going to be really helpful for a large amount of people who didn't know about the regional support- I mean writing groups in their area.

I'm really excited because I'm planning to go to my region's KICK-OFF PARTY!! on the 29th. It's a while away, but I'm really looking forward to it already!

This is the beginning of the end, and I can't wait.

Fahrenheit 451

Right now in English class, we're reading the classic Fahrenheit 451. Now, I picked up a free used copy of this book a few years ago but sadly barely read the first three lines without dismissing it completely. When Mr. H said what book we would be reading, I was not looking forward to it at all. Only after got my copy did I notice that it was written by Ray Bradbury. I read his short story "A Sound of Thunder" a few years ago and enjoyed it very much.

I am currently about 1/3 of the way through the book and I can't believe what I've been missing out on for all of this time! Mr Bradbury managed to pinpoint exactly what's wrong with society fifty years before it even happened. Everyone is talking. We talk about celebrities, talk about politics, talk about what's for dinner. People are talking today more than they ever have, but what are we actually /saying/? Absolutely nothing. Hardly anyone is up for a good old debate anymore. They would much rather talk about the things that come easily to them.

Also, the book points out how people gradually became too sensitive. We can't portray New Yorkers as having a dirty mouth on tv, no no, because that might offend someone. Can't offend anyone!

Anyway, I'm not sure if any of this made sense, but I just felt the need to put it out there.

Nanowrimo 2010 in a little over a month!

You're Not A Writer

I'm going to get straight to the point here. No crap. I have a friend who is also a writer. She writes these little 'novels' that are actually only about 5-7k words. She's my age (15) and really takes pride in her work. She tells everyone and gets people to read what she wrote. I always read her stuff and tell her what I thought about it (although what I tell her is thouroughly filtered so I don't hurt her feelings).

This is all fine and dandy. The only issue is that when I ask her if she wants to read a small bit of my own writing, she kind of laughs and brushes me off. The first time this happened, I was okay with it. But I've asked her several times since about several different pieces and she does the same thing every time. She doesn't take me seriously! A fellow explorer of this craziness called writing doesn't take one of her own seriously! It's driving me insane!

One thing I haven't mentioned yet; her writing isn't good. No, I'm not just jealous or letting the fact that she doesn't consider me a writer get to me. It just isn't good. Every single thing is a cliche and is a different version of Twilight. She doesn't even think she needs to edit. I understand that some people are really fantastic and don't need to edit, but she isn't one of those people. I like to consider myself a fairly decent writer, and I know that if I didn't edit everything would be a disaster.

Anyway, it's starting to really rub me the wrong way every time she has the nerve to ask me to read one of her pieces when she won't return the favor! I don't want to crush her dreams of being a professional writer by telling her that her writing isn't that good but it's becoming quite tempting! What should I do?

Last One Breathing Wins Their Wildest Dreams

This is a short paragraph describing my new idea for a short story/novella.

What Would You Do?

The dark of night. You and eleven other reality show contestants are dropped off on a remote island where your every move will be broadcast live. Only one will leave it. Each one of you will receive an envelope at midnight. Inside will be a single piece of paper. If your paper is marked with a red dot and a name underneath it, you will be the hunter. If your paper contains a black dot, you may be one of the hunted. It is a secret. At dawn, the hunter begins. All he or she needs to do is kill the person whose name is written on their paper by the next morning. It’s simple. If they fail, the roles will be reversed. Last one breathing wins their wildest dreams.


Yeah, it's a bit macabre but I'm really excited to start working on it!

This is the first part of a short story that I am writing using writeordie.drwicked.com. It's a website that literally forces you to keep writing no matter what. I wrote this in a little less than a half an hour, so there will be spelling/grammer mistakes. It is a sort of re-telling of the classic tale of Cinderella. I will probably be posting the last part of it either tomorrow or possibly later tonight.





Everyone is masked. The sequined decorations carefully attached to them sparkle in the light of the chandelier hung straight above them. Figures twirl around to the violin's shrill melody with startling elegance. Lady's dresses trail behind them as they mingle about, playfully trying to guess which one of the masked gentlemen belong to them. A banquet table full of rich food stands right by the window which overlooks the lake. Couples laugh and eat and wish this night would never end.

He is here somewhere. I know he is. My soul mate, my master, my own personal demon. His face lurks under one of these handcrafted masks. I walk around carefully, holding my dress up so that it does not drag on the floor. I want to be able to sneak it back into Madge's closet tomorrow in perfect condition so that she won't suspect a thing about it's nighttime adventure. I have to find him before he finds me. It's the only way I can get out of here alive. I have to find him and do what I hoped I would never have to. He was forcing my hand, though. For a moment, I let myself slip back into that old daydream. That far off daydream of a different future, of a future that would never be able to come true because of what he had done to me.

Why did this have to be? I thought for the third or fourth time that night about why exactly I was doing this. I was not a murderer. I couldn't kill the one person I truly loved! But ever since I discovered his true form, the way he really was when no one else was watching, I decided that I couldn't let myself be alone with him again.

I remember it well. It was right after the king's ball, one very much like this one, when he had chased me down to my step sister's home.

"Are you certain that there's no one else in the household who could possibly have been at the ball last night?" My love's voice was soft with worry. I watched him from my hiding place in the broom closed. I cracked the door and peered out. My oldest stepsister, Millie, scoffed and said, "Of course not, your highness! It's only Madge and I who live here. We were both at the ball last night! Isn't that a coincidence!" "Yes, I suppose." "You should try the slipper on the both of us!" My love bent down and tried to jam the class slipper on Millie's ugly, fat foot that was so swollen from her pinching shoes that she had been dancing in at the ball the night before. "It won't fit." My love's advisor, Herbert, shook his head and both of them headed for the door. "Wait!" I had shouted, emerging from my secret hiding place. "I was there! I was at the ball last night. I was the one who you danced with." My love's eyes shimmered as he stared into my own. He knew. I sat down on the chair in the corner of the parlor and allowed him to slip the glass onto my own petite foot. It fit perfectly.

My sisters gasped with horror. "That's a lie!" Millie screeched. My love stood up. "It is not a lie. I have paid a visit to every single female in the entire kingdom and Cinderella is the only one who has been able to fir into the slipper. I shall be taking her as my bride now." Millie's mouth opened and closed rapidly like a fish who has just been flopped on the dock. "Do you have anything that you wish to bring with you?" I fingered the locket tucked into my petticoat. "No, nothing."
Our wedding day had been utterly perfect. Perfect weather, perfect guests, perfect food, perfect everything. Even my first kiss had been perfect. I thought I would finally her my happily ever after during the wedding, but that wasn't to be. That night, right after the wedding ceremony had ended, was when it all started going downhill. My love and I had just finished making love in our soft, lush bed. We were both covered in a light sheen of sweat. I slipped on an airy nightgown and stepped out onto the balcony where the night breeze would cool me off. My love followed close behind me. He put his hands on my waist protectively. "I love you," He whispered. "I know," I answered absently, paying more attention to the clear night sky than to him. "I'll never leave you," he said. "I know," I repeated. "Do you love me?" he asked. I thought about this carefully to myself. Everything had happened so quickly. Only two days before I had been a lowly maid, scrubbing the stains out of my step sisters' dresses and sweeping the cinders from the fireplace without complaint. He has saved me from a terrible life, hadn't he? Wasn't I grateful? Wasn't being grateful the same thing as being in love?
"What a silly question to ask on our wedding night, my love! Of course I love you."

He appeared to be satisfied at my answer and kissed my suddenly trembling lips lightly before returning back to bed. I crept up to the edge of the balcony and peered down at the grassy lawn below me below following my love to bed. We made love until he was exhausted and fell asleep right next to me.
The next morning, which dawned bright and early, brought a hearty breakfast and some new. "I'm going to go to the Duke's estate for a meeting, Ella. Do you want to come with me?" I didn't and I told him so. His brow furrowed and he frowned slightly. "I wish you would accompany me, Ella." "That's alright, my love. I'll just stay here and wander about in the gardens if you don't mind. It's too nice of a day to stay indoors." "Of course." He continued with his breakfast and left only moments later. I could hear the clop of the carriage pull out. Then, I went upstairs and dressed for the day. I tied a scarf around my hair to keep it from getting wind blown and set off to explore the grassy lawn I had only ever seen from my balcony the night before.
By the time I was ready to get out the door, however, I found myself with a splitting headache that seemed to be coming from my very core. My teeth chattered and my head pounded in time with my heart. Suddenly, everything went black and I awoke on the ground with a gardener standing above me, worried expression on his face. He led me to bed only after I assured him that a little rest was all I really needed to be alright. I lie there, unable to even move without a stabbing pain going through my entire body. I shook with chill though it was the middle of summer and humid within the palace. My eyes strained to stay open and I feared I was going to die. I didn't die.
For some reason, my love came back from his meeting just one hour later. The instant his carriage pulled into the palace driveway, my chills stopped and my headache was dulled to an annoying ache. When he came up the stairs leading to our bedroom, I could sit up. And when he finally opened the door to the room and sat on our bed, I felt as well as I had during breakfast.

This is just an excerpt from the NaNoWriMo website's FAQ. It basically sums up why I want to do this.

"NaNoWriMo is all about the magical power of deadlines. Give someone a goal and a goal-minded community and miracles are bound to happen. Pies will be eaten at amazing rates. Alfalfa will be harvested like never before. And novels will be written in a month.

Part of the reason we organize NaNoWriMo is just to get a book written. We love the fringe benefits accrued to novelists. For one month out of the year, we can stew and storm, and make a huge mess of our apartments and drink lots of coffee at odd hours. And we can do all of these things loudly, in front of people. As satisfying as it is to reach deep within yourself and pull out an unexpectedly passable work of art, it is equally (if not more) satisfying to be able to dramatize the process at social gatherings.

But that artsy drama window is woefully short. The other reason we do NaNoWriMo is because the glow from making big, messy art, and watching others make big, messy art, lasts for a long, long time. The act of sustained creation does bizarre, wonderful things to you. It changes the way you read. And changes, a little bit, your sense of self. We like that."

Welcome to the future home of the first draft of my 2010 Nanowrimo! If you don't know what that is, head on over to their website (www.nanowrimo.com) and check it out! Basically, I'm going to be posting my daily 1667 plus words of a fictional story here every night. If the urge strikes you, feel free to read this pile of drivel and PLEASE feel free to leave a comment with a critique or suggestion!

This is my second year doing Nanowrimo and my first year blogging it. I'm hoping that this will give me a boost of motivation!

I'm not sure what my story is going to be about yet. I have a few ideas, but I'm keeping them a secret so you'll just have to wait until November 1st to find out! :)