Time for the yearly ‘I’m still alive and planning something more ridiculous than ever!’ post!
I’m still alive!
I’m planning something more ridiculous than ever!
This year, I plan to write 50,000 words. In Swedish. Wish me luck!
Writing has gone slowly, so posts here have been less than existent. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!
But, how fortuitous that the date I happen to wander my way back to the fold is the very same date as I started this blog, four years ago.
Happy birthday, Elenia! Kaffee und kuchen für alles!*
So, while we sit and munch on our goodies, let me tell you a little about this year’s Nano…
I have spent the past few weeks confused and unsure, not even knowing if I would take part. I haven’t checked the forums since the reboot, I hadn’t the foggiest what I would write. I didn’t want to continue work on one of my wips, as I get too attached to them to recklessly add in another 1667 words every day for a month and besides, keeping track of totals would be too complicated.
And then it came to me…
Well, sort of.
Remember a few of my excited conlanging posts? Those efforts were not made out of the simple joy of conning a lang: they were attached to a story. And I thought ‘why not write this story for Nano?’
It will be difficult, I think. At this point, I don’t have much plot. I’m also not sure the story has more than 20-25,000 words in it, in which case I’ll fall back on plan B and rewrite a story I started ages ago which needs some major thought.
In light of that… why not plot out two novels for this November?
Well, it wouldn’t be a NaNo if I were doing the sensible thing, would it?
*My German hasn’t progressed much since then…
So what happened, Elenia? You were writing words and updating your blog and then wham: only two days before you stop. What’s up with that?
Well, I’d been doing some major thinking, and I realised that The Slow War just really isn’t a November novel. I mean, I felt a lot like Flaubert while writing it, and we all know that Flaubert is the antithesis of a good WriMo.
That being said, I don’t think I’d ever finish this beast outside of a NaNo context. So I’ll save it to April and give myself a goal of 500 words a day. I know, it’s not much but considering I was barely averaging 300 it’s more than enough. It fits the story, too.
So that’s that.
‘Wait, what? Elenia are you… Giving up NaNo? But you’ve NEVER given up NaNo!’
Worry not, dear friends. For a while I thought I would, but the idea of not novelling in November is too foreign to my little mind. So I’ll be writing words, although I’ve still got no aims for the big 50K. I started on another fairy tale retelling last night and got a good 1,200 words in that one night so woohoo!
That being said, I’ve got still more words in my head, ready to be written down. So adieu, good friends, and good novelling speed to you all!
So, I finished day two with a less-than-impressive 1144 words.
My NaNo is a creature which finds its roots in a few aesthetic ideals, with the plot initially doing service as a mere tool – a sort of open-top car through which my lyrical pretensions would drive around and flaunt themselves. In fact, my very first stages of planning left little space for any sort of plot at all.
This has since changed, but the description, the word choice and the sentence structure all remain key to me. I received a comment on a (very short) extract that mentioned the sibilance, and so now I’m trying to add in more. Believe me, there is a reason. Even if I forget it, even if I never explain, even if it is neither good nor noticeable, there is a reason.
I fly back to France today, after a week in London. How are all of you doing?
So, my word count is all kinds of pitiful: I’m only at 751 words. I don’t particularly mind, though.
My NaNo this year is called The Slow War, and it’s – umm – slow. Again, I don’t really mind. I’m taking my time describing absolutely everything that I possibly can. It would be nice to have hit 1,500 by the end of the day, but I don’t know if that’s possible: I’m flying out tomorrow, and so I’m insanely busy.
How are the rest of you doing? Better than me, I hope! 😀
This year I have managed to outdo myself, really I have.
Nano has not felt very real for me this year, and I have a pretty good idea why: I’m not at home. That is to say, I’m not in London. And although I only took the leap into my region last year, I really miss the support and the sense of a community.
This year, I’ll be novelling from France. Which is a country with many good points (a lot of which are wine, others being food with a focus on cheese), but the whole of France is covered by only one region with one ML. It seems that there are no other Wrimos near me, and so I’m doing this one on my own.
I’m eight and a half hours into the first, with only 188 words. I don’t mind though. I’m just happy with what I get at this point.
More from me later – gird your loins for a possible extract!
A ‘Camp WriMo’ post!
That ‘Oops’ is ‘oops I did that thing that I always do when I fall off the WordPress wagon and fall behind the daily WC and oops ‘
I’m severely behind. I’m talking over 10K.
It happened like this: I got a little bit of bad news. And then I stopped writing for a while. Not completely stopped, but stopped enough.
And that’s all there is to say. I don’t know if I’ll be able to catch up – I doubt it – but I’m not scrapping this story.
I also think I owe you about fourteen days worth of favourite lines but oh well. I don’t have one, so you don’t get one. Maybe next time.
Over and out!
Last week I went stationary shopping with a friend of mine. She’s doing Camp Wrimo this year, and she’s going to try and do it by hand. We wondered around the stationers of tottenham court road for a while – that is to say, from Muji to Paperchase and back again – before sitting ourselves in Costa to review her purchases, talk and write a little.
My friend asked me if I’d be doing Camp. No. Why not? The usual excuses – April is the month before my exam semester, I haven’t got ideas… Etc.
But it turned out I do have an idea that needs writing. And exams? Psht, when have I ever taken those into consideration!
The result: I’m probably doing camp wrimo.
I signed up to the site last night and put down my target (45,000 – I want to push myself, but I’m bearing in mind the fact that I really ought to do some revision during the month). I chose a title – subject to change:
Which ain’t great, as titles go, but I like it.
I’ve got a vague idea of the plot, and very detailed plans for my characters – but more on the later.
And of my Wrimo’s doing camp this year?
Post an extract, that is. From my NaNo. Those of you who novelled alongside of me, or who followed me on Twitter through the month probably know that my novel took a turn for the ‘but why a tea ceremony?’ Those of you who had no contact with me at all do not know this.
With that said:
The new addition to the room was a youngish looking boy – about eleven or twelve, Nastasie would have thought, but with the same aged eyes of all the Other Worlder’s. The effect was worse than seeing the expression in Marlen Sowell’s eyes, and Nastasie, for some reason, remembered Adam again.
She knew the boys name before she was introduced to him – the voices in her head cooed in chorus, excited to see the beringletted little thing in front of her. He had clotted cream skin, and brownish eyes, and he was wearing patchy knickerbockers in a kind of aubergine coloured velvet with grubby, thin cream tights and a ruffled, threadbare shirt.
He swept a bow and took Nastasie’s hand and kissed it.
“Madame,” he said, in a voice like soft kid leather, and Nastasie was sure one of the past Forever Children swooned. “A pleasure to meet you. I am-”
“Yusef Lorenson,” Nastasie said. “Yes. I know. Umm. You’re… small.”
Yusef Lorenson smiled. “I may be that, but I am older than you, and I know more than you.” He dropped to one knee, and more inner swooning occurred. “However, that will not stop me from pledging to aid you however and whenever I can. I am wholly yours.”
Nastasie blinked a little, not really sure how she should react to such a declaration. In the end, she settled on a simple: “Okay. Um, thank you. Very much.”
“Yusef Lorenson has pledged himself to be your aid, Nastasie Millington,” Marquise Guerlaine said, from her usual lounging spot on the chaise longue.
“As have I,” Marlen Sowell added, from his seat, which he had taken up once again.
“I thought you were contractually obliged,” Nastasie said, with a frown.
“I am ‘contractually obliged’ to carry out your wishes when you so order me to, and to keep you safe, and to advance your game if and when my card is drawn. Outside of that remit, I may do as I wish, and I wish to help you beyond what it formally required of me.”
“Then why no theatrics?” Nastasie asked, levelling her gaze at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eye that The Black Joker didn’t quite catch.
‘Oh, Yusef Lorenson is the more charming of the two,’ Aurelie said, with a little, irritating giggle.
“I don’t suit subjugation,” was all Marlen Sowell said.
Nastasie merely rolled her eyes. “Well, I think I prefer Yusef,” she said, and the little boy – no, the little man – flushed, with embarrassment or with pride.
“Oh, please don’t Madame. I – really, I am not worthy.”
Nastasie blinked a few times, before shaking her head. “Everyone up here seems to like you,” she said, tapping her cranium and giving him a sort of smile. “So I guess what they say in this matter goes. So, that decided, will you take me home? I want to go home.”
“I see I have been usurped, dearest Marquise,” Nastasie heard Marlen Sowell say, although she was sure she wasn’t supposed to.
“Thank you for accepting me, Madame,” Yusef Lorenson said with another little bob. Nastasie couldn’t help thinking that his constant deference could get annoying very quickly.
He led the way back to the tunnel, and Marlen Sowell, with apparently nothing better to do, followed.
“Please say hi to our dear Samson Morell for me,” he said, when they reached the tunnel entrance. Nastasie frowned, and ignored him. She did not want to envisage or create any connection between Samson and the Other World. Needless to say, she would not be passing on that message, and she was sure that Marlen Sowell knew it. He was just teasing her.
“And please,” he added, as Nastasie was leaving. “Come round again for tea.”
Nastasie looked over her shoulder at him, mouthed ‘what the hell are you talking about?’ shook her head, and carried on.
I told you there would be tea.
P.S.:- That marks the introduction of Yusef Lorenson. If I had teams, I’d be team Yusef. Okay, I’d be Team KA but that doesn’t matter. This is why I don’t have teams.
The extract for today was difficult to choose, but I’ve settled on this one. It’s only short, but enjoy!
In the end, Nastasie had not gone through the crack in the fireplace.
She had instead, sat, and stared at it, and deliberated until her choice was made for her. With the same pained creaking noise, the – were they doors? – had slid back together, with only a draft to show that they’d ever been open, that they even existed.
And then she stood up, and, in a rather wobbly manner, made her way up to bed.
And that was all.