Well, it’s been one week since November, better known as “The Month That Critic Loses Every Inch of Sanity,” started, and so far it hasn’t been too bad.
Write-ins (wherein NaNo participants drag our laptops and notebooks to a central location and write for a few hours) have been both beneficial and draining — I get an insane amount of writing done at them, but inevitably I want to do nothing but sleep afterward.
My lovely and talented co-ML, Rebekah, is also updating her NaNo progress on her blog. So, I’m going to
steal borrow her setup for updates.
Since I’m not trying to hit 100k (I don’t even know if this story will be 100k), I don’t have a personal word count goal that is significantly different from the regular daily goal. So, here goes:
Minimum word count for November 8: 13,336/50,000
My current word count: 17,671/50,000
Adventures in NaNoing: It’s been an interesting week. We have a chat room for our region, which means most evenings you can find a small group doing word wars and sprints to boost word count. It’s nice to have a regular group in there to bounce ideas off of and hang out with, even if it’s just virtually.
We’ve also had our first two write-ins, which were VERY well-attended. (As an ML, that makes me happy!) We had 23 at one and 13 at the other, which is about 3-4 more than the most that came last year. And, thanks to the bloodthirstiness of our writers this year, the character graveyard we built is already well-populated.
Of course, the most interesting stuff hasn’t necessarily come from NaNo, but from Oklahoma’s bipolar weather and apparent desire to kill us all. Over the first weekend, we had three earthquakes strong enough to be felt, including one that was a 5.6, which broke a record for us.
(Yes, I know all you California people are scoffing and saying, “Come back when you have a 7.0 at least.” This is Oklahoma, okay? We don’t get earthquakes. We’re just used to the weather trying to kill us, not the planet as well.)
And speaking of weather trying to kill us, Monday had the added benefit of throwing thunderstorms at us left and right. Because tornadoes and flooding were apparently all we lacked to make this the craziest year ever.
Have I written every day? Oh yes, I have. Some days it’s 3,000 words, others (like tonight), it’s about 600.
And I’ve noticed something: this year seems to be a lot less stressful than last year. Perhaps it’s because I’m not desperately trying to wring every spare word out of my brain. I’m not chasing my story to the finish line. It may sound weird, but I’m just kind of enjoying the ride. And that makes me more happy and excited to write every day.
(Also, taking a brain break to watch Flash Gordon tonight was a VERY good idea.)
Very Short Excerpt:
(Yes, you get an excerpt. You’re special. Normally I hide this stuff until it’s been editing two, three, or ten times.)
She tried, and failed, to keep the irritation out of her voice. “Constable, my mother is an inventor. She’s an introvert. She has a very close, very small, circle of friends. None of them have seen her in three days.”
If her temper bothered him, he didn’t show it. The constable just shrugged and flipped to another page in his notebook, scribbling something. “Is there someone else she may have told where she went? Does she have any servants?”
“No, they are all at the house.” Then a thought struck Genevieve, one that hadn’t occurred to her before, and she felt like an utter dolt for forgetting. “Wilson.”
The constable looked at her, perplexed. “Who’s Wilson?”
A clicking noise echoed from one of the rows of automata, and then, “I am Wilson.”