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JaNoWriMo!Be
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JaNoWriMo!Be
JaNoWriMo!
Because (a) I'm a masochistic fool with no respect for my sanity, or (b) because it's FUN, or (c) because it provides motivation to actually work on Broken Dreams.
Whatever floats your boat, I don't mind.
Anyone else joining me?
submitted by TNÖ, age 15, Deep Space
(January 2, 2009 - 1:43 am)
(January 2, 2009 - 1:43 am)
Sorry, TNO but I'm not going to do JaNoWriMo. I would do horrible!!!!:D:D:D:D:D
But I support those of you whoare great writers and can focus long enough to do it!!! =:)
Hope you do well!!!!!!!!!! :D:D:D:D
(January 2, 2009 - 11:55 am)
Focus? Me? Ah ha ha ha ha!
The, er, only times I get anything done writing-wise are when I write on my iPod because you can only have 1 app open at a time on that brilliant little device. Whereas on a computer I'm always here, MB, or the JaNo forum. *grin*
(January 3, 2009 - 2:02 pm)
Here's an exerpt from Chapter 1:
He saw an open doorway in front of it, and dove in without thinking.
It was a kitchen, and a dark, grungy kitchen at that. There was a window, though it hardly qualified as a window as it was so grimy that it hardly let the light in at all, and besides it was so small that it wouldn’t have made much of a difference in the darkness of the kitchen even if it had been clean. The counters, too, were filth covered, and sticky, too, from the look of them. On the far side of the room stood a tiny, rusty oven that looked as if it might fall over at any second.
The cook -- a young girl, deathly pale with wine-red hair and bony wrists -- stood at a small table in the centre of the room, pounding a lump of grey dough. She didn’t look up as the boy fell into the room, but hissed, “Quick, behind the oven. They’ll be in here in a trice…"
(January 3, 2009 - 3:12 pm)
Creepy...
(January 3, 2009 - 8:26 pm)
Heh... When I say I'm writing "steampunk", I really mean the sort of near-gothic, surrealistic Victorian London with one too many chimneys with black smoke pouring out. Not actual Victorian London. :)
(January 4, 2009 - 12:54 am)
The first line is a bit confusing. What's it?
(January 3, 2009 - 9:17 pm)
Er... Heehee... *shame* I meant "him".
(January 4, 2009 - 12:52 am)
Um, what is this JaNoWriMo you speak of?
(January 3, 2009 - 9:18 pm)
JAnuary NOvel WRIting MOnth. It's like National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) only in... January.
If you're not familiar with NaNo it's in November and you write 50,000 words. In thirty days.
(January 4, 2009 - 1:11 am)
My 9-year-old cousin did NaNoWriMo. His book his "hilare" (as he would say) and his resolution for 2009 is to get it published....I think he will..........
(January 16, 2009 - 10:57 am)
Oh my great aunt Helen, I just introduced a talking skeleton. *is ashamed*
(January 3, 2009 - 9:44 pm)
And then proceeded to write this scene. *shakes head sadly*
The skeleton touched the brim of its hat in a jaunty sort of salute. “G’d evening,” it said, teeth clattering together as it spoke. Its voice sounded like the whistling of the wind through bare, frozen branches.
“Er…” said the boy, unsure of how to react. He decided that the best method was to assume that he was dreaming and accept everything as it came along. “Hello.”
The skeleton tapped its fingers together. Each movement resulted in a cacophony of cracks and pops as individual bones clacked against each other. The boy stared in fascination.
After a moment the skeleton said, “Name’s Mot.”
“Mot?” asked the boy skeptically.
“Mot Caulfield,” elaborated the skeleton.
“Alright…” said the boy, determined to take it all in stride without hesitation. It was a dream, after all. It had to be. “Why are you here?” he asked, more for purposes of continuing the conversation than any real interest in the whims of his imagination.
“To deliver a message, of course,” said Mot with a distinct air of cheeriness.
“A message?”
The skeleton nodded, its neckbones popping loudly. “Respect the magpie.”
Despite his resolution not to be confused, the boy was thrown by this. “What?” he asked incredulously.
The skeleton spread his hands. “Unique in its ability to recognize itself where others cannot, respect the magpie.”
“That’s the message?” asked the boy, now rather annoyed.
The skeleton touched the brim of its hat again. “Don’t kill the messenger.”
“I can’t,” said the boy reasonably. “It’s already dead.”
“He, my dear boy,” said the skeleton. “He is already dead.”
The boy shrugged. “If you like.”
“I do, thank you,” said the skeleton. It- he- delicately retrieved an ornate silver pocket watch from where it had been dangling from his ribcage. He flicked it opened and heaved a sigh. “And now, I’m afraid, I must leave.” The skeleton clicked the watch shut and let it drop. It bounced against his spine. “I have other matters to attend to.”
He left, pausing to look back just before the door closed. “Don’t forget- Respect the magpie.”
“Whatever that means,” grumbled the boy, laying back down. What a strange dream…
As he drifted into dreamlessness, he thought he heard a faint chuckle accompanied by the clatter of dry bones.
(January 4, 2009 - 1:14 am)
Oooh... :) Creepy... :) I'm trying to write a story, but I usually write one line and then stare at the page and... Run away.
*cough cough cough* So anyway. No, I don't think I'll be done in time...
Okay, this is really random, but why is it that no one ever uses Cricket Reader's Recommend??? Ugg. My spellcheck isn't woking... :|
(January 5, 2009 - 1:18 pm)
I forgot about it! I suppose I'll go look at it now! :D:D:D
(January 5, 2009 - 5:27 pm)
I wil,l too!:):):)
(January 5, 2009 - 6:40 pm)