Posts Tagged ‘nanowrimo’

National Novel Writing Month is over for this year, and it's time to look upon my results.

Yeesh.

Monday night I was idly wondering if I was close enough to cheat until I added up how many times I'd have to copy what I'd already written and paste it in again to win, and gave up.

My excuses this year? I was caught up just before my Save Hiatus buddy Adam Levermore showed up to stay for four days so we could attend the STS-129 Shuttle Atlantis launch Tweetup at the Kennedy Space Center, which was an amazing experience.

Plus I had to show him around a few spots in Daytona (OK, one spot) (OK, the speedway) and then I figured it would be rude to ignore him while I wrote even though a) I knew he wouldn't mind and b) at least one evening he was busy ignoring me to write his own stuff. But hey, there was a guest in the house.

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NaNoWriMo 2009 badges are out!

OK, yes, granted it's still a few months till November when National Novel Writing Month attacks, but they couldn't wait and frankly I can use the nudging to get ready. I started strong in my first NaNoWriMos but my performance the last few years has been sad.

Getting psyched already…

Back to funny fantasy. Since I had just gotten into collecting autographs myself, it seemed like a natural thing to give my protagonist my obsession. He was also a sniveling, selfish jerk, but obviously that part was all made up. Ahem. Attempting to liven up his life a little, he clicked on a joke eBay auction only to find it wasn't a joke.

It wasn't a novel, either, but it may be someday. Didn't hit 50k this year, either. I'm slipping. Note the Hiatus references…

The Highest Bidder
by C. A. Bridges

Chapter One – Cons and Pros and Cons

Bought: Kevin Sutton (2); Mark Goddard (1); Erin Gray (2); Playboy Playmate Miss November 2008 Grace Kim (1); George Lowe, voice of Space Ghost (1)

Morton would never have bought the souls in the first place if it hadn't been for the girl with the Captain Crunch box.

As far as Morton Sezlick was concerned, science fiction conventions existed for one reason and one reason only: commerce. You went, you sold, you bought, you moved on. There was a great deal of money to be made if you knew what you were doing, which he did, which was why every minute stuck in this half-mile autograph line that was not moving was driving him crazy with the lingering scent of lost revenue. Almost as maddening as the way the thousands of people currently crowding his space just went around mindlessly having fun all the time in their elaborate costumes of Jedis and Klingons and Browncoats and whatever the hell those big square brown things were with all the teeth. How could anyone enjoy this if they weren't paid to do so?

Despite the best efforts of dedicated fans, convention halls simply were not conducive to the creation of magical science-fantasy worlds. From where Morton stood he could see sad-looking paper-mache emulations of planets and rocket ships, a Mark I Viper made of slightly sagging cardboard, lots of poly-vinyl banners strung from the ceiling, and rows and rows of PVC-and-blue-cloth dividers divvying up the dealers' tables and artist alley booths. It might have helped if the con people could have controlled the environment and only let you you see what they wanted you to see, like a JayCees' haunted house or something, but none of the decorations rose higher than about 10 feet and above that the bland, institutional yellow of the walls stretched for another 20 more before the ductwork and pipes of the ceiling added the capping, fantasy-killing touch. Guests of the con, actors from popular science fiction shows and movies both past and present – the only reason to show up, as far as Morton was concerned – sat against a wall behind a long row of folding tables that were covered in butcher paper so the fans couldn't see the stars' impatient foot-tapping, stashed alcohol, missing underwear, or hidden Blackberrying. Behind each star was a piece of posterboard with their name and credits, in case you weren't sure why you wanted to meet them or couldxn't quite remember where'd you'd seen their face before, especially if it had been covered in makeup and latex tentacles at the time. And you needed to be sure; autograph lines of hundreds of people stretched and curved across the floor, doubling back on themselves to create some sort of intricate, organically changing knot that was broken and reformed repeatedly every time someone dressed as General Grievous or an eight-foot Pac-Man needed to come through. Read the rest of this entry »

This year marks the 10th annual National Novel Writing Month, meaning that somewhere out there are people who have written at least one book every year for a decade.

This event, started by writer Chris Baty, encourages would-be novelists to get over their stalling ways and finally take the
plunge by whipping out a 175-page novel (50,000 words) in 30 days.
Quality is largely optional and, frankly, beside the point.

The secret to success in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) lies in a single motivation: an insanely tight deadline. The event begins at 12:01 a.m. on Nov. 1 and stops at the stroke of midnight Nov. 30. No time for editing or polishing, and writer's block is a luxury you can no longer afford. Their motto: "No Plot? No Problem!"

"When you sort of look at this you think this is really a stupid idea, you know. Everybody's out there just trying to write a bad novel," NaNoWriMo creator and freelance writer Chris Baty said. "Really when you write for quantity instead of quality on the first draft I think you end up getting both. A first draft is where you want to be taking risks and making mistakes."

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This year I cheated a bit, and worked on adapting a story I had tried doing in screenplay form for ScriptFrenzy, the annual screenwriting equivalent of NaNoWriMo. Didn't help – I still rewrote it to death without actually completing it. This is another I'm definitely coming back to, because some of the stuff I didn't get to write still makes me giggle.

"The Stolen Fairy Tale"
by C. A. Bridges

All imaginary figures, living or dead, are purely coincidental. So are the real people. So, very probably, are you.

Prologue

Heather was as prepared as it was possible to be.

In her room full of brightly colored toys and mobiles, gently used furniture and big fluffy comforters, she was huddled on her bed like an arctic explorer getting up the nerve to leave the tent. She was bundled in her warmest clothing and sturdiest boots. Her knit cap was pulled tight over her ears, and her gloves were tied to her coat sleeves. In the dim light from the window only little bits of her were actually visible through the various folds of cloth; she looked like a stuffed turkey designed by L.L. Bean.

By her feet was her school backpack, emptied and carefully repacked with spare clothes, a flashlight, pebbles for leaving trails, her jump rope in case she needed to climb a mountain or tie up a bad guy, and all the beef jerky in the house. Tucked away in various pockets were band aids, ointment, string, a key made of cold iron, and a whistle that she knew for a fact was very loud indeed. Also batteries, her Instamatic camera, and extra film, for later proof. If she could have gotten her dad's car keys she'd have had flares, but she made do with a box of fireplace matches.

And she had bus fare, because you never knew. Read the rest of this entry »

October is zipping along, and that means only one thing: Christmas decorations in Wal-Mart! Also Biketoberfest, Halloween, Breast Cancer Awareness… OK, October means a lot of things. But mostly it means that very soon it’ll be November, time to crank out another novel for National Novel Writing Month, and that means preparation.

Not preparation for the novel itself, of course. That would startle my creativity, which is a timid creature that must be coaxed and wheedled out into the open like a tiny fawn. Sudden movements startle my creativity, causing it to bound back into my mental bushes and hide, cowering, behind my Christina Ricci fantasies. No, I need to prepare my Writing Environment.

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In 2005 I came up with a list of suggested new science fiction TV shows, and one of them was called "Hiatus." No description of the show itself, mind you, just the fact that it was brilliant and well-received and canceled by episode 7. Some friends started contributing details about the nonexistent show, even writing fan fiction about until a general consensus of what it was about began to emerge. I've brought Hiatus about in several different ways; by starting a website to save the show, by creating a webcomic with Adam Levermore about a group of fans who were trying to save the show, by writing the novelization of the nonexistent pilot episode, and by writing a NaNo novel about the show's cancellation. Next: live action!

This was the 2006 entry. This was also the first time I didn't hit the 50k mark, mostly because I started writing a Serenity fan fiction book and switched to this partway through.

Save Hiatus
By C. A. Bridges

chapter one –

Lagging Lukas latches onto Lykewater
Variety, November 1: The newest network has a new face already. In a surprising move MyTV, Geoffrey Lukas' latest offering in a cable box full of stations, has replaced recently retired executive vice president Ed Handleman, the guiding hand behind the network’s breakout hits “Lineman,” “Drama Queen,” “Someone’s Watching Maria,” and “Hiatus,” with new golden boy Brendon Lykewater, a producer from the MyTV regional affiliate My65 in Orlando, Fl. Lykewater, 27, nearly doubled the affiliate’s ratings through bold, innovative programming and viewer outreach programs and clearly Lukas is hoping he can do the same at the main office. We're watching, Brendon! Here's hoping America is, too.

Brendon Lykewater looked out over his new domain, and saw that it was good.

The only visible light in the room was a dimly glowing fixture directly over the door, which had the effect of slightly blinding the unprepared visitor and making the rest of the office seem even darker. This was aided by dark furnishings, indirect lighting, an air conditioner set to 68 degrees, and a polished black oak desk at the far end of the room that reflected the dim light in an altogether unsettling manner. The mind filled in drifting mists and pits to snag the unwary. Brandon stepped inside and relished the feel of the thick carpet as his eyes adjusted to the shadows. The room fairly stank of power, coiled and ready to strike. Also, Windex, but that would fade.

His new administrative assistant Christine, a tall, cool blonde number that he was carefully not staring at, held the heavy oak door open for him. She also radiated power but it was a very different sort, the kind that makes men and some women walk into lampposts. "I think you'll find it meets your needs," she said. Her voice was low and smoky and had not a hint of sexual innuendo in it whatsoever, which was, oddly,  incredibly sexy. "The light control and thermostat are controlled at your desk, sir."

"Good," Brendon said. "Humans have an atavistic fear of the dark, Christine. They know, with ancient senses they've forgotten they possess, that predators lurk within. It's only fair to warn them that their senses are correct." He liked that line. It had taken him a week of practice with his PDA, recording it and playing it back until he got the ominous timbre in his voice just right. He didn't look to see if his new right hand was properly nervous; looking would have ruined the effect. Besides, he was busy taking it all in. Read the rest of this entry »

On this night, October 31st, All Hallow's Eve, as the wind shrieks through the trees outside my window and the dogs huddle under the couch, barking at suspicious noises buried in the night, I find myself facing the most terrifying, scarifying, soul-wrenching sight known to man: a blank page.

In one hour National Novel Writing Month begins, and I've done nothing to prepare other than saying "hey, I think I'll do it again this year."

Like the other 75,000 people who have taken on this self-inflicted madness this year, I will be attempting to write a 50,000 word in 30 days. Not necessarily good words, mind you, we know our limits. But I will be trying for some sort of narrative order. While we are forbidden by the entirely voluntary rules of NaNoWriMo to begin before midnight tonight, we can make notes, decide on plots, write outlines, create characters, and otherwise prepare ourselves for the month-long ordeal.

Except this year I didn't. Not a word. I know vaguely what the idea will be, but I haven't named my heroes or chosen a locale or even really thought much about the ending. Or the middle. Or that tricky part at the beginning. Critics might call me "unprepared" or "lazy." I prefer to think of myself as "keeping it pure."

Also, "lazy."

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The 24 Hour Comic is upon us, you might want to start cracking your knuckles now.

Haven't heard of it? The 24 Hour Comic was started by comic writer/artist/philosopher Scott McCloud as a challenge to fellow comics creator Steve Bissette back in 1990. Bissette responded with his own, Dave (Cerebus) Sim and Neil Gaiman both took swings at it, and it spread. Since then thousands of comics creators, amateur and professional alike, have produced their own adrenalin-soaked works of art and organized 24 Hour Comic days.

The rules are fiendishly complex: You must write, draw, ink, and letter a complete 24 page comic in 24 hours. That's pretty much it, really. No plotting or notes beforehand, no doodles, no help from others. If you're making a webcomic, do at least 100 panels and get 'em online within 24 hours.

ACME Comics in Longwood will be open till midnight tomorrow night so you can go gawk at the local creators just creating away. Or stay at home and warm up your own pencils.

It's said that there's an unwritten novel in the back of everyone's head (or, possibly, lower). And coming up is your chance to get it out where it can terrify passersby. National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), where entrants agree to pound out 50,000 words in thirty days, starts November 1st but registration at the Web site kicked off today. They're expecting over 75,000 people to sign up this year. That's a lot of terrible writing, but it's also a great deal of fun.

(I was in there first thing this morning, so people around me, beware. That's all I'm sayin'.)