Thank You, Thank You, Thank You

nano_08_winner_viking_120x238.jpg

Another year of NanoWrimo, and another victory. This time I’m over the 50,000 word boundary with a couple of days to spare, and didn’t feel like I had to push too hard. In other words, I think I’m getting the habit now, which was kind of the point to doing this in the first place. It takes a month to develop a habit, reports claim, and if that’s the case then I’m just about there. It certainly felt odd on the couple of days when I didn’t get any writing done this month.

So, I’m a “winner.” I have “won” a thick chunk of barely comprehensible stream of consciousness that will form the foundation for something that will eventually become a novel. The point to Nano is to get the donkey work of the first draft out of the way in a supportive and nurturing atmosphere. I roll with the Oxfordshire Nanos, who are word count maniacs. There are guys on the forums who will spit out 200,000 word first drafts in a month. That’s 4000 words a day, maths fans. I managed three and a half one Sunday, and then my hands broke. Between us we’ve written over two million words in November. No more than one per cent of these are swears.

The trick now is simply to keep writing. I’m about a third of the way through the story, and my main characters are on the South China Sea, being menaced by pirates. It would be ungentlemanly for me to leave them there.
However, I can ease back the pace a bit, which means more time to spend on X&HT with you, my Readership, and a chance to get you caught up on Satan’s Schoolgirls. Update Sunday will restart tomorrow, with some nastiness and gore. I know you’d expect nothing else from me.

Out Of Context Theatre

…in which your Orfur posts extracts from his NaNovel that may not appear in said work as they appear when taken…

(deep breath, stentorian 1930’s Saturday Morning Serial announcer voice)

OUT OF CONTEEEEEEEEEEXT.

“Don’t ask me yet, for I don’t know myself,” was all that he would say, which was mightily annoying after the tenth repetition.

“Not even a little slap?” Molly asked plaintively.

“Later,” Sam promised. “We’ll find a quiet carriage on the train to France. He won’t be heard.”

Look out for more little squirts from Rob’s mighty brainhose, all of which have been taken…

OUT OF CONTEEEEEEEEEEXT.