Novel Writing Month (starts Feb 1st)

[Dasquian Belargic]

(This isn't an official SWfans thing, just something a group of posters talked about but...)

You might remember a while back I posted something (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=33277&highlight=writing+month) about trying to write a novel in 30 days. Some of us decided that we would do this, our own private little 'contest' as it were. Well, it starts tomorrow. If you want to join in the goal is this:

Begin Febuary 1st. 50,000 words by midnight March 1st. Just so you know, that's about 1666 words a night. On an original subject. Nothing to do with Star Wars or anything you've written before, for that matter. It's an individual thing - not a group effort. You're writing alone. We're just here to encourage one another :)

If you're going to join in, post here! Post how much you've managed to write so far/wordcounts, snipets of what you've done, whatever. It'll be more fun if we do it as a 'group'. Get your creative juices flowing ;) It can be any genre you want, and wander about as much as you want so far as plot and themes go.

Incase you're having trouble kick-starting your story or finding an idea to continue the story with, here are some handy links. Random Fantasy Plot Generator (http://homepages.slingshot.co.nz/~lustforlike/fantasy_generator.html). It's vague, but at least it's an idea! Dares (http://www.freewebs.com/writer/) to try and incorporate into your story. If you're looking for filler ideas or quick jump-starts, this is excellent. See how many you can fit in. There's hundreds.

***

Some tips from the original Novel Writing Month site
(which I ammended in places - that's why there are some numbers missing):


1. Give yourself LOTS of room to not know where you're going with this.

2. Write autobiographically. Don't be afraid to fictionalize people and scenes from your past.

3. Get a small notebook today and carry it (and a pen) with you everywhere you go. Ideas and inspiration strike at very strange times.

4. Listen to movie soundtracks while writing sentimental scenes.

5. Get out and have fun once your writing for the day is done.

6. Set a word quota for the day and stick to it. No matter how tired or uninspired you feel.

7. Write with a partner or two, and don't let the other go to the bathroom or get water until the agreed-upon word count has been met. Challenge each other. Have prizes and punishments.

8. Let chapters be any length you want. I like to have many, many chapters.

10. Keep a reference novel or two close at hand to see how writers handle dialogue.

11. Don't feel like you have to "tie it all together." Reading is by nature an act of assembly and interpretation. Leave some events unstated and plot moves unelaborated. It gives readers an active role in creating the story. But most importantly, it means less work for you as writer.

12. Try and pace your story so you hit "The End" exactly at 50,000 words. This will probably mean leaving out some scenes and writing others in a slightly truncated form. You can always edit once you're done, if you like it that much.

14. If you're having trouble explaining something realistically, make it up. Invent. Lie. Wing it. Most people won't notice anyway. And you can always go back and add realistic details later.

15. Keep the story about characters, not plot. One of the most magical things about writing a novel is the supernatural way these people you create end up shaping their own stories. Bring your characters to life, then stand back and let them go where they will.

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask.

[Alpha]

I might take you up on this one...:)

[ReaperFett]

I'd try, but I struggle to do 5,000 words when I need to.

[CrimsonDiablo]

i'm in... I may live to regret that

[Alpha]

This could be fun...So, do we post snippets here and there from our story in this thread too if we want?

[Dasquian Belargic]

Originally posted by ReaperFett
I'd try, but I struggle to do 5,000 words when I need to.

Do or do not! There is no try! :spank :mneh


Originally posted by Alpha
This could be fun...So, do we post snippets here and there from our story in this thread too if we want?

If you feel so inclined, yup :) Little teasers and progress reports, so we know you're keeping up the pace :p

[ReaperFett]

Originally posted by Dasquian Belargic
Do or do not! There is no try! :spank :mneh
Do not then I suppose :mneh

[Dasquian Belargic]

:rolleyes You shouldn't take what I say literally. I was just trying to give you some friendly encouragement! Join! :)

[Shawn]

I think I may try this. I sincerely doubt I'll finish, but it won't hurt to give it a shot.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

I'm in. We can't start until tomorrow, right?

Wait, you do realize we've picked the shortest month of the year to do this in, don't you?

[Dasquian Belargic]

Yeah, we don't start until tomorrow.


Begin Febuary 1st. 50,000 words by midnight March 1st.

That's 30 days (isn't it? :uhoh), what they got in the official one :)

[ReaperFett]

29 :)

[Lilaena De'Ville]

oh sorry i don't read entire posts anymore :uhoh


:p

[Alpha]

:) Makes it funny when ya miss lil things like that. ;) :)

[Malick Rain]

I'm in, now I just need an original idea.

Let me get this straight we can't right anything Starwars or about anything we have writen about here? Cause I have an Idea but it evolves one of my characters here but in a difrent setting.

[imported_Terran Starek]

I am surely gonna try, though I offer no garuntees. Should be fun!

Good luck to all who are in. :)

[Ace McCloud]

Sounds like a good idea to me. Though I hardly have time for anything, this is going to suck more out of my day lol. Too bad I have pretty bad writers block right now. Sigh.

[Dae Jinn]

If I wasn't entering anime-drawing contests, I'd join. Good luck to those of you who do try this though :D

[Travis North]

Exactly 50,000 words?

[Alpha]

Nah. I think that's an "At least" kinda thing. :)

[Dasquian Belargic]

Everyone else who's said they're joining - GREAT. By the time you read this, it will be time to start writing :mneh


Originally posted by Malick Rain
I'm in, now I just need an original idea.

Let me get this straight we can't right anything Starwars or about anything we have writen about here? Cause I have an Idea but it evolves one of my characters here but in a difrent setting.

It has to be something totally new. For example, I couldn't write anything about lupines or an arrogant young man with a scar over the bridge of his nose :p


Originally posted by Travis North
Exactly 50,000 words?

That's the goal, but you can go over it if you want.

[Dasquian Belargic]

As of Feb 1st, 14:32: 2275 words (I'll be writing more this evening, probably :D)

snipet:

“As you can see, we have the finest in all kind of flaming weaponry!” the angel proclaimed, as he lead the silent couple to a display cabinet which boasted no less than thirty different implements of destruction, each of them aflame, some even pulsating with holy light.

“For the beginner, we have this exquisite silver poniard, which comes with a century-guarantee against the extinguishing of its flame! If you’re feeling more exotic, we have this double-bladed axe, assured to give you the upper hand in any divine battle. A person favourite of mine is this, the Lance of Light - a new arrival to our shelves. With a simple twist of the shaft, the flame surrounding the point can be extended to at least three feet long! If you buy now, I’ll even throw in this handle cover. It's stylish and so much more. When gripped, the cover senses the user’s mood and adjusts the flame colour to suit your temperament! Feeling vengeful? Let your enemies know, with a roaring red flame of rage!”

The pitch went on for almost ten minutes; flaunting fencing foils, marketing maces, hyping halberds. For a man whose experience with weaponry spanned little beyond swatting flies with rolled up newspapers, it was all rather confusing. Mrs. Smith, on the other hand, seemed to be quite fascinated, though her husband wasn’t quite sure whether it was with the weapons or the man selling them. Finally, Appoloin lulled into statuesque silence.

“Err; well... it just says ‘flaming sword’ here. No one never said nothing about what type of sword.”

[Ace McCloud]

Need...idea... I'm thinking Medieval Fantasy...I used to Roleplay that alot. Meh.

[Dasquian Belargic]

http://homepages.slingshot.co.nz/~lustforlike/fantasy_generator.html

^?

[Ace McCloud]

Na, I like to make up my own thing or it doesnt work to well for me...Thanks though.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Don't take too long, otherwise you'll end up behind :)

[Travis North]

As of right now: 1 word

Snipet:

Nothing

[Wei Wu Wei]

I'll hop on this train. It'll give me something to do at work tonight when I'm bored cause everyone of the patrons at my work will be watching the Superbowl.

[Kelt Simoson]

im in, but behind

[CrimsonDiablo]

Started on mine :D - will post a snippet tommorow probs,

heres a good link for coming up with Fantasy names in your suck for trying to think of some

Click Here (http://spitfire.ausys.se/johan/names/default.htm)

[Garrett Blade]

I'll use this as an excuse to make a start on Dog City.

[ReaperFett]

Originally posted by Garrett Blade
I'll use this as an excuse to make a start on Dog City.
CALL A CHARACTER LEGAL BEAGLE!


...sorry :)

[Shawn]

Not posting excerpts of mine, sorry. I prefer that everything is read in context. You're a fast writer, Dasq. I just sat down and only managed 500 words. :)

[Elena Van Derveld]

I got carried away. I had an idea and couldn't stop myself :)

[Kelt Simoson]

my snipit, just to get a taiste, yes i am using the land of Morrowind and i hope im forgiven for that but i already had the story planned before i saw that it had to be fully original, but my story is original and its ppl, im simply using the land and its history as a base.

snipit


Our Morrowind story, like any good Vvardenfell tale, begins with a stranger shrouded in mystery......and ends with a cataclysmic battle, that age old battle of life and death!

"There have been many tales spread across the Island of Vvardenfell and its surrounding landships, but never one quite like the Naverine, the savour of Vvardenfell the one whome banished the lord of Red Moutian; Dagoth Ur, its inhabitants, the deadly Blight deacease and the members of the Sixth House, however this tale begins much the same as the Naverine Profacies with a stranger, shrouded in mystery, a outlander whome everyone thought of as a puddle of dirt, a wet behind the ears whelp, our story my friends starts with a man named Jon De'van'sal and his departure off a imperial prison ship...The Naverine i hear you ask? no, im affraid not...but shall we continue?...well so it begins!..."

"You would never have guessed this, but of course the man was a prisoner" The Mage laughed with the gathered folk, his pipe firmly between his lips. " And he still lives today so many say in the West Gash of this very island, some say he travels under cloak and dagger, covered in a dirty old hooded cloak carrying nothing but a sathchell and his sword. Others say he walks the West Gash between Red Mountian and the Rendoran towns of Maar Gan and Ald-Ruhn protecting those from the still wandering creatures of the Mountian. Many Imperials swear blindly, my friends, that he is buried within the Greater catacombs of Ebonheart, the Imperials Capital on Vvardenfell, his grave unmarked. Noone can really be sure"

The Mage continued telling the introduction to the tale, eatch and everyone of the gathering thrilled by the perfect voice the Mage seemed to have when telling the tale, a voice, the tone and its words had to be just right to cpature such an audience, it seemed the Mage had that perfect voice.

[Selinica Miriya]

This looks like my kinda thing. I've had story ideas kicking about in my head for a loooooong time. I think I just might kick into gear for this. As for the 50,000 word thing...that shouldn't be too much of a problem. I write long enough letters to my friends as is. 6-8 page letters (both sides of the paper!!) is the norm for me. So far so good, kudos, to all you that have made your good start.

cheers!

[Alpha]

I'm off to a slow start...I gotta go into overdrive. :)

[imported_Terran Starek]

Yeah, struggling to find a good humorous topic. Working at it, though.

And I ain't quitting, Jenny!! I'm gonna give you a run for yo money! :D

[Alpha]

Now keep in mind that this is a VERY rough draft...lol. My first, oh...about 1100 words.


Prologue:

Smoke…

Brand awakes with a start. Sniffing, he smells the smoke again. The teenaged boy jumps to his feet, running up the hill he had so recently been napping on. Coming over the rise, his eyes widen in horror. His little village was in flames. He could see shapes moving in the flames, and even some of his townsmen running for their lives.

Balling a fist, he screams out, running down the hill, towards his village. He had to find his family!

Tripping on a root, Brand hits the ground, and just lets himself roll the rest of the way down. He hadn’t counted on hitting the tree stump, though. Rolling onto his back, Brand closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. That’s when he smells something worse then the smoke…Cracking his eyes, Brand whimpers.

An athatch towers over him, the arm growing out the creature’s chest sporting a giant club, while the other two arms—in the more traditional places—each clutched a sword almost as big as Brand, and probably as heavy.

The young man rolls out of the way out the incoming club-strike, the large weapon hitting the ground with a thud. Giving a quizzical grunt, it rears back, readying for a strike with its two blades.

Getting to his feet, the spry Brand runs away from the Giant. Now he knew what happened to the village…

Spying a body of a local militia member, Brand, in desperation, grabs the sword from the unresisting hands. With strength wrought of terror, Brand jumps away from the athtatch’s next attack, before swinging the weapon, severing the tendons of its left arm, the jewel-studded blade dropping to the ground.

Jumping backwards, Brand barely avoids the swing of the remaining blade. Fumbling in his belt pouches, he grasps a small vial, throwing it with all his strength at the giant. Hitting the thing squarely in the nose, the vial shatters, the goo inside flying free, and covering the athtatch’s face, igniting at the contact of the air.

The giant screams at the pain, dropping his weapons to try and scrape the stuff off, which only spreads the flames to his arms and shoulders. In mere seconds, the potent Alchemist’s fire does its job, almost completely destroying the head of the monster, and badly eating away at the leather clothing and skin underneath on the arms.

Breathing heavily, Brand falls to his knees, catching his breath. Looking back at the remains of the giant, and then to the burning husk of his village. Closing his eyes to try and stop the flood of stinging tears, Brand makes a small whimpering noise, curling into a ball.

His family, his friends…All gone. All taken by the fire.

“But…” Brand says, his voice ragged, “The fire wasn’t the only cause.” Shooting the remains of the athtatch a evil glare, Brand continues. “There has to be a way to stop this…Somehow…”




Chapter 1:

-seven years later-

Brand looks around in confusion. This was turning out all wrong. Somehow, there it was…No guards. Nothing. Everything in the warrior screamed out that this was a trap. Ignoring his, perhaps, smarter self, Brand reaches for the Rod of Temporal Reversal. In a bright flash of light, a being appears.

She was both beautiful and horrible, weak, and strong. She was everything, and yet she was also nothing. As solid as an anvil, yet as light as air. Brand realizes he is looking at an Avatar, just in time. He takes a knee, bowing to her.

“WHAT BUSINESS DO YOU HAVE IN MY DOMAIN?” she asks, he voice one that resembled a volcano exploding…only not quite that pleasant.

Brand ignores the oddness of the voice. The Sorcerer replies. “Forgive my intrusion, noble and might Wee Jas. I merely came to ask if I could perhaps borrow your little trinket there…”

Wee Jas is taken aback by the candidness of Brand. Obviously, she had not ever had mortals get straight to the point before. “YOU INTRIGUE ME, MORTAL. I JUST MIGHT LET YOU USE IT…FOR A CATCH…”

“Name your price.”

“I WANT TO KNOW EXACTLY HOW YOU CAME TO BE HERE…”

Brand takes a deep breath before beginning. “The quest to get here started about a year ago…”

-one year before-

“Oh, c’mon! You said you had some worthwhile information!”

The shop-clerk nods his head. “And that is worthwhile information, my boy…”

“No it’s not! I’ve known abourt that device for a long time now. I need to know where it is…”

“It’s just a legend. No one knows where it is.”

Brand—or Firebrand, as he’s known now—growls, and snaps a finger. “Give me my money back, then.”

The clerk shakes his head. “Nope. No refunds. It’s written down.”

“Where?”

He points to a tiny sign near the weapons rack.

Brand looks incredulously at the clerk. “How in the Nine Hells do you expect someone to read that?”

“doesn’t matter. All that matters is it’s there.”

Brand, losing his patience, brings the jewel-encrusted greatsword off of his back, and points it at the clerk. “Now, unless you can explain to me why I have to let you keep my money for that useless bit of information, your shop will begin to resemble firewood…”

The clerk nervously begins to tremble, breaking out into a cold sweat. “Let’s not be hasty…Maybe I could interest you in…a nice weapon? We have some of the finest blades in all the Territories.”

Brand simply raises an eyebrow, his eyes flicking from the large weapon he is carrying to the clerk, and back.

“Ok, maybe not…How about this?” The clerk asks, going underneath the counter to pull out a small rod, with blue and silver markings engraved in it.

Brand looks at it quizzically, lowering his giant weapon. “What is it?”

“A rod of wonder. Very rare…”

“Actually, they’re not…” Brand begins, before stopping, and thinking. “All right. You can keep my gold.” Taking the rod, Brand shoves it into his pack, and turns to leave.

He almost walks straight into a small formation of Knights from the local king.

The leader takes off his helmet, shaking loose a mane of blonde—almost white, it was so light—hair. “Are you the Sorcerer known as Firebrand?”

Running his right hand through his chaotic mop of black hair, Brand nods. “I am he. What of it?”

“We have reason to believe you were involved in a recent skirmish with our forces. Our lord would like to have a word with you…”

“Of course.” Brand says with a smile.


Yes, I know I'm going a bit slow...

[Ace McCloud]

procrastinating....

[Rhea Kaylen]

Well, I'm late. And life is hectic about now. But this might motivate me. So maybe I'll take a whack at it. Just don't expect 50,000 words by the 1st of March. The first of October, maybe, but March?

Now, poll: should the subject matter be World War III, post-World War III, or fantasy?

Best of luck to everyone!
ISJ

[Dasquian Belargic]

Feb 2nd, 21:30, 3438 words.

snipet:

The lounge was soon rather full. The Smiths sat themselves down on the sofa and in between them a figure in a winged helm and robe was perched. Afriel and Gilgham joined them, just tipping the balance of angels to mortals. In comparison with Afriel, the newest arrival looked large and strong. He would have made a good distance runner, as Mrs. Smith often told him, while offering him a plate of chocolate biscuits.

“No thank you, Mrs. Smith. I’m here on official business,” he explained in a thick Yorkshire accent, smiling groggily as Mrs. Smith retreated back to her seat. There was something about the words official business that struck a chord Mr. Smith and Afriel in particular. The former bristled while the latter looked somewhat crestfallen, and began to force the book in his hands – The Fifth Commandment For Beginners – into his robes. Manners alone were stopping him from simply leaving then and there. In the absence of any question at the nature of his business, Ongkanon simply ploughed on.

“Yes, well… as you know, the academic year begins on Monday, so He’s been sending a couple of us on the rounds to give the new starters an, er, briefing.”

“My,” Mrs. Smith exclaimed, “That must take you an awfully long time!”
Ongkanon hestitated, “Not really, no.”
“Silly me, you can fly!”
“Only as fast as I can walk. Perhaps slower.”
“They have chariots, dear,” Mr. Smith interjected.
“I lost my license in the sixteenth century.”


***

Alpha: :D coming along well.

Kelt: Already told you what I think - so long as I dont have to know anything about Morrowind to read it...


Originally posted by Rhea Kaylen
Well, I'm late. And life is hectic about now. But this might motivate me. So maybe I'll take a whack at it. Just don't expect 50,000 words by the 1st of March. The first of October, maybe, but March?

Now, poll: should the subject matter be World War III, post-World War III, or fantasy?

Best of luck to everyone!
ISJ

Why not try putting it all in? If you can't decide on one, throw 'em all in the pot. It'll give you more idea for what to write about and open the path to a lot more plot lines.

[Zeke]

I'm far behind already, but if I can clear up my homework enough, I will make an attempt at this. I dreamed up a pretty good idea during class today, when I SHOULD have been doing said homework, but meh. It'll all work out.

[Falcon Gyndar]

Started during lunch. Did about a page and a half off the top of my head of something I've never had any idea for before, while eating chicken Mr. Noodles with chopsticks and being oblivious to the world around me by cranking up one of the cds my best friend sent me and slipping on earphones. So far so good. I just might post a snippet tonight.

[Ace McCloud]

this is gonna own me. I have an idea, just....cant seem to get around to it. I might just grab a laptop and do it all at school instead of paying attention in class. Hmmm...yep good idea.

[Vhiran Crescent]

Yup, finally got an idea. I probalby wont start for a while, but once I get going, I really get going.

[Kelt Simoson]

It stirred irritibly, the heap of mud ground cloth finaly moved and it moved to such suprise the Imperial stepped backwards hastily and the other four humans gasped as they peeked around the cabin door. To see the Imperials like this was to the trained eye quite comical, Imperials had a reputation of being bold and hardly of folk, these humans seemed scared out of their wits to be shareing accomidation with a Dunmer, a Dark Elf, they seemed even more terrified in the fact it was hiding itself like a deformed monster waiting to strike.

After a moment or two of rufferling it drew back the massive gaping hood to reveal itself finaly. The once shouded figure actually looked nothing like a monster at all, infact the Dark Elf was extremely handsome for a Dunmer and would suit any female Dunmer suiter to the ground.

Of course his midnight blue complexion shone brightly in the candlight along with the three or four gold rings he had peirced in eatch sharp pointed ear. His deep red eyes scanned the interior of the ship cabin and then eventually he looked to the advanced imperial who had summoned him from the darkness of the sheets.

His apperence could almost be described as ' pretty ' his high cheek bones and femaninely narrow jaw line presented him looking like a female dark elf and it took a few glances to actually determin he was actually male. His thin lips eventually parted ways as be spoke in a mild toned voice with a native Dunmer accent, a strait and understandible tone with somewhat of a slight growel in his voice.

"I am Jon, just Jon...most that know me and my crimes call me Nix after the Nix hound and its cold ways" The Dunmer said looking dead into the eyes of the human.

The Imperial gulped.

"Jon will do fine..." he added feeling for his jet black combed hair which was now in a high poney tale plated and braided neatly and proper.

"T-They say we are nearing Vvardenfell, i simply wished to inform you my Dun-Dunmer friend"

The Dark Elf nodded in thank you and stood. He was of average size for a Dunmer around about six feet but he was thin rather than stocky and sported a thin frame but suprisingly enough he had well rounded muscels which were exposed due to his shirtless body. The dirty old sheet fell to the floor and was promptly kicked under the bench and discarded even though it provided such warmth and comfort to its wearer for the journey. The imperial prisoners gave weak smiles towards the Dunmer as he pulled on a mud stained shirt and fastned the hooks used as buttons. Prisoners were presented with the outcasts of cloths. Once he had finished he past the four Imperials suspiciouly, eatch was looking at him wide eyed and smiling nervously, Jon simply raised and brow and exited the cabin into the mian galley to see what all the fuss was about.

[Sanis Prent]

I could do this if I didn't have school. But with that constraint, I'm afraid I won't be able to do anything.

[Ryla Relvinian]

Friggin eh. I'll do it. :D

My plan, for the final of my class this term.... Dante's Inferno -> Romance Novel. No, it's not Dante/Virgil, so don't even ask.

(Edit: On a totally unrelated note, I am facinated by Yorkshire accents. Just thought you'd like to know, Jen.)

[ReaperFett]

I wouldn't say Jenny is a Yorkshire person, she's Geordie :)

Noone at SWF is in Yorkshire, although I think some have moved from there.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Originally posted by ReaperFett
I wouldn't say Jenny is a Yorkshire person, she's Geordie :)

I think Ryla was referring to the man with a Yorkshire accent in my last snipet ;)

[CrimsonDiablo]

Tuesday 03/02/04 - 8:49 AM

4,218 words :D

I'll post a snippet in a short while, I have to decide on what bit to snip first!

[Dasquian Belargic]

I found a great site for inspiration and advice:

http://hollylisle.com/

She's a published author who's done the NaNaWriMo since it started. I've found it pretty helpful :)

[ReaperFett]

Originally posted by Dasquian Belargic
I think Ryla was referring to the man with a Yorkshire accent in my last snipet ;)
...I knew that.



;)


I have a great little book about writing, I'll do a thread some time soon.

[Rhea Kaylen]

Question to anyone who knows:

Does "50,000 words by March 1st" mean that we have to write a *complete* novel, start to finish, before the first? That is, does it have to end by the time I hit 50,000 words? Or does anything count if I reach that limit?

Thanks much.

ISJ

[Dasquian Belargic]

The goal is to write 50,000 by the deadline, but if you want to go beyond that amount, that's alright. The main thing is to try and tie up all plot and storylines before the time is up.

[Rhea Kaylen]

So, basically, write a whole novel before March 1st?

You guys never ask much, do you?

JK ;)

Thanks, Dasquian.

ISJ

[Dasquian Belargic]

What can I say? I'm demanding :)

Feb 3, 21:03, 4964 words.

snippet:

Only recently, The (last) Devil had been killed. Word spread like hellfire and within no time, the offices were flame with gossip about how it had occurred this time. Now things were becoming modernized, the blame was more likely to be laid upon a VCR than a good old-fashion biblical duel to the death. In spite of their efforts to catch up with ‘the times’, the denizens of Hell were still lagging behind.

“A toaster?”
“Yeah.”
“Like what you burn bread with?”
“Lightly toast, is the phrase.”
“You’re telling me Beelzebub, lord of the flies, destroyer of worlds, bane of all humankind, was killed by a common household appliance?”
“No. Not a common one. This was the Toaster Of The Damned.”
The demon looked unimpressed.
“Toaster Of The Damned? And what’s that when it’s at home?”
The second demon hesitated, waving his pitchfork about vaguely.
“Well, it’s in the sixth circle, isn’t it? They throw all the heretics in, in the morning and put it on the highest setting,” he explained, as if a Toaster Of The Damned would have been likely to have any other mode than long and excruciatingly painful, “Five minutes later and Beelzebub’s your uncle – all you need’s some jam and marmalade and you’re sorted.”

[Lilaena De'Ville]

>_< 729 words.


Gathering her excitement and translating it into body movement, the female launched herself into space, arrowing out over the water, and quickly tucking her lithe body into a dive. Hands over her head, pointing through the rushing air towards the waves, the young fe'iln drew in a mighty breath of air as her beaded braids slapped her in the face. For a spilt second she was weightless, soaring through the winds, and then with a silent splash she was gone from sight.

s'Arna opened her eyes, the protective second eyelid blinking shut to keep the brilliant green orbs safe from contamination. Her slim body continued towards the ocean floor, but not at the same pace she'd enjoyed in the air. Webbed fingers spread wide as she pushed her body further, down into the depths, far below the havok of the waves.

[Dasquian Belargic]

You only need 4269 to catch up ^_^;

[Lilaena De'Ville]

*writes two more sentances* ^_^; I'm on my waaaay

[Dasquian Belargic]

-waves a little 'GO LD!' flag- :)

[Lilaena De'Ville]

:lol thanks!

[ReaperFett]

Ah, but how long are the sentences? For all we know that's 3000 words ;)

[Wei Wu Wei]

I'm behind. :(

[Lilaena De'Ville]

1,645 words now...from my lunch break. :p


Toern snarled in rage, revealing sharp teeth, and tossed the smaller fe’iln over the edge. She collected herself enough to prepare her lungs, hyperventilating them on the way down, and then filling them to capacity just before her body sliced through the waves. Through the translucent second eyelid, she saw that the fo’eln had followed her descent. s’Arna kicked frantically at him, trying to out swim him, but he was too fast. Wrapping his arms and legs around hers, and pinning her to his chest, Toern allowed his body weight to drag them down into the depths, down to the oyster beds.

She wriggled against his grasp, but it was useless. With his gills, he could remain under the surface indefinitely. However good the fe’iln lungs were, they were not that good. He meant to drown her.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Wahey, you doubled :D

Come on Wei. I can wave a little flag with your name on, if that'll help :)

[Lilaena De'Ville]

:( keep waving one for me :(

[Garrett Blade]

Feb 3rd, 10:35pm - 1026 words

*snip*


Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Winston struggles to find the willpower to get out of bed and get ready for work. Today was supposed to be his day off. But now he had the voluntary displeasure of working a 9-5 shift at the blood bank. Were it up to him, he wouldn’t work at all. He’d be…well…not here. Not in Dog City. It was Hell. Living in a city where the average working day involves fighting for your life trying to get a seat on the bus, unless of course you’re brave enough to try the subway, but I won’t go into that right now. Then, once you get to work it seems like you’re the only one doing any work while the rest of your colleagues get away with murder, your boss is an ungrateful, unappreciative bastard and you’ve got no prospects and no hopes except for somebody to walk in and kill your boss so that you can go home early and enjoy the evening before it’s all back to normal the next day when they’ve hired a replacement boss to make your life hell once more. It was worse outside of your work routine too. The backstreets were teeming with dogs. Some of them even ventured out into the street lighting to attack unfortunate souls on their way to a club or some other small luxury in a world of depression. Even the designated ‘safe zones’ weren’t safe anymore, what with dogs getting braver and more aggressive. One could only wonder what horrors existed in the wilds that fed upon the monsters sighted in the city. And the occasional invaders that came from the tunnel to the east of the city. Winston had only heard of them on the news. Bloody fighting. Screaming. Explosions. Death. The security forces would always assemble at the tunnel opening but few returned once the fighting was over. News broadcasts were always censored by the government but rumours suggested the invaders were pigs. But even if you could get away from all of this, where would you go? What else was there? What life apart from the one in Dog City could you live?

That was the very question Winston asked himself day after day, year after year. He’d been asking himself that question while he was in the shower, and while he got dressed, and even while he ate his breakfast. But he could never answer it. So instead, he just carried on. He kept to himself and he plodded on, working at the bank, socialising down the pub with his few friends and that was it. Nothing special. People who tried anything special always went missing. That idea always appealed to him – going missing. But he never had the guts to try it. So he decided that today, like every other day apart from his days off – which today should have been – he would go to work. Sooner than take the bus, Winston walked to work, so he always set of two hours early. The streets were always empty at this time of the day. Most people were still in bed. But it was probably the safest time of the day since the collectors were out working – keeping the dogs busy.


I really want to finish this, but its so hard to write the damn thing. I know what I want to do. I'm just having a hard time finding a way to do it. Does that make sense?

[Dasquian Belargic]

Originally posted by Lilaena De'Ville
:( keep waving one for me :(

I'm going to need lots of hands :uhoh

[ReaperFett]

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[Alpha]

:lol Nice flags there.

Jen~Toaster of the damned? I love it! :D

[Ace McCloud]

Well I started a few minutes ago. I'm having a hard time though. I did decide to go with Medieval fantasy. I've only started the long prologue of getting things out there, establishing the setting and the characters and such. I had to make it the prologue because of the way the writing style turned out. It'll change once I get into the chapters. I guess, maybe not.

Anyhow, 550 words! WOO! Here's a snipet for you:


It was a beautiful, snowy day in Antillies of Harrington. The wide cobblestone streets were banked and piled up with snow almost knee deep. The white snow had been falling for the past few days here and the children of the city were enjoying their new stress free playground. As deep and as hard as it was to get around, nobody really minded the snow, except for maybe a few old businessmen.
One certain individual was thoroughly enjoying himself. Cradan Thiraham had been relieved of his guard duties for the entire week. He had just signed up for the Royal Antillies Guard only a month ago and was still as green as ever. His work effort was poor, his desire to learn was almost non-existent, but his carefree attitude kept him out of trouble. Cradan viewed, as most people did in this city, the Royal Guard as a time killer. A chance to get away, relax, and get paid for it. But his lazy attitude would cost him big time in the near future.

Cradan hastily made his way along the snowy streets. The old and strong stone buildings towering above his head made him feel protected and carefree as they always had – today was no different. He could already feel the warmth of the tavern up ahead. The walkway around the entrance had long been cleared out by hundreds of cold men and women seeking some refuge. Today they were serving hot chocolate at half price, and boy did they make good hot chocolate. Pushing the old, over used doors of the tavern out of the way, he could already smell the alluring aroma of the desired drink. Stepping inside, the heat was like a brick wall as fireplaces and furnaces lined the walls to keep all the patrons warm. It was packed today. The loud noise of everyone trying to talk over everyone was like music to his ears. Growing up as the son of a local tavern keeper, the noise of the place always made him feel at home. However loud it was, it was always comforting to him. And now, 23 years of age, nothing had changed.

“Pops,” Cradan exclaimed over the loud crowd noise, as he nudged his way through the crowd. It was good to his fathers business doing well. But then again, it always had been.

“Ah, Cradan my boy, how are ya?” Soumar had a large, deep voice, that very well suited his big build. Now growing old with gray hair, Soumar stood a firm 6 feet tall. His body, most easily put, was round, with a large stomach tucked into his oversized pants. A strong man, built with large, muscularly arms, always enjoyed his job. He loved working for a living and earning his money the proud way, much unlike his son. Soumar had always wanted Cradan to join the family business with him, and take over the popular tavern after he was finished. But Cradan simply had other plans, and no intentions of working.

[Zeke]

So far I have two paragraphs that don't really feel like they're going anywhere. :| This sucks. I was rockin' the ideas yesterday, but today, nothin's comin'. Grand total of 171 words, but it's only the 3rd...Maybe I can pull it off anyway. Maybe.

[Wei Wu Wei]

Yeah, same here. I got ideas, just not any time. But I'm working on it.

[CrimsonDiablo]

Ok heres a small snippet from my Fantasy Novel :D 5,717 words so far...


Back at the Palace Athosi, now clothed in a pair of black trousers and a white ruffled shirt, was kneeling down with his hands thrust behind him in the middle of the courtyard, King Atheon, Danya the Monk (who was standing a little too close for the King’s liking), and a various assortment of guards and aides stood several feet behind him waiting, at first there was nothing, then… VRRRWOOOSHHHHHHHH, a huge noise erupted from nowhere and a monstrous gust of wind occurred, most of the party in the courtyard ducked down and grabbed their hats, the King however simply chuckled to himself as he heard a woman’s voice calling for “Tibbles” and saw a small grey shape fly upward towards the sky. The cat no doubt got a front row seat of the heavens opening, in was quite a sight, the clouds parted and a million beams of light shot out, the largest beam of light shone down upon Athosi and covered over his body, little twinkling bits were all that could be seen. Up in Ambrosia Felini cupped her hands and put on the deepest voice she could muster,
“ATHOSI, YOU HAVE BEEN SENT TO THE EARTH TO GUIDE THE OCINIANS IN COMBAT, FIGHT WELL AND with honour” Felini’s voice couldn’t take it, “I mean, WITH HONOUR!”, the clouds reassembled themselves quickly and once again everything was normal, Danya had an astonished look on his face, this was most probably to do with the fact that he had never seen something quite like it in his 70 years of being a monk, and may also of had something to do with the fact that the beam of light had burned Athosi’s shirt off (Felini added that effect herself and was rather proud of it).

[Dasquian Belargic]

:D:thumbup You know I like it, Chris.

[Garrett Blade]

A pathetic 1171 words. Not worth posting a snippet since I haven't done much more since the other day.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Just for an idea - if you were spreading the writing even between each of the 30 days, you should have 6664 words by no. I haven't done any more since last night.

[Rhea Kaylen]

I have nothing like 6664 words, I am ashamed to say. But I do have 2290 words, and a teaser (I won't be posting novel bits at any length, just hints).

Synopsis: post-apocalyptic Earth and what remains of her civilization trying to get by. Centers on 18-year-old Draco (no relation to the Malfoy family) and his adoptive "family"--a group of wandering law-keepers.

Genre: Fantasy. NOT Sci-fi.

"Well, then," he said, gently laying a benedictory hand on the boy's head. Some of the residual ache in the child's skull seemed to fade. The man began to speak.

"As the air I breathe and the dirt I trod are witnesses to this day, I now adopt to my heart and my people my kin-son, named for the Stars of the Dragon...Draco."

It gets interesting. I promise.

Slainte!
ISJ

[Lilaena De'Ville]

I have about 3600 words. ^_^;

[Dasquian Belargic]

You're catching up =D

[Alpha]

Currently 3432...I'm not sleeping tonight. :)

[Wei Wu Wei]

I've got roughly 5 pages! And the way things are right now, I can only advance my story when I'm at work! YAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

[Zeke]

I'm STUCK. |I I may just throw in the towel on this; I'm getting behind on it and my Guilty Gear obsession is returning. =\

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Actually I'm at 3607 words. ^_^;

snippet:

She took a moment to adjust to the lighting in the store, and then stomped over to him. “Where is he?”

West was taken aback by the question, and then realized she was looking for his father. They have trouble with our names, his father had told him. The fe’iln prefer to refer to us by pronouns only. It was odd, but then nothing about this female was normal. “Ah, my father is inland – upriver. I am watching the trade post in his stead.”

She pondered that for a moment, putting her head to the side, almost like a bird. West felt awkward, and stuck his hand out. “I’m West.”

The fe’iln drew back, and studied his hand, then took it in both of hers, and sniffed it. “And I am s’Arna.” She released him, and put out her hand in a similar matter, as though expecting him to complete this strange ritual that he had started. West paused, and then took the small hand between his and inhaled cautiously. She smelled exotic, like salty sand and sunlight. She pulled her hand from his, and tossed the shark leather bag onto the counter.

Btw, if you can type 50 WPM, it should only take you 16.67 straight hours to pound out 50,000 words. :mneh

[Ceres Duvall]

I've been working on something for a long time. I'm restarting back on it. Hopefully this time I'll keep to it. I'm also going to turn it into a comic book.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Begin Febuary 1st. 50,000 words by midnight March 1st. Just so you know, that's about 1666 words a night. On an original subject. Nothing to do with Star Wars or anything you've written before, for that matter. It's an individual thing - not a group effort. You're writing alone. We're just here to encourage one another

[Dasquian Belargic]

Yeah. What the lady said. It's meant to be a fresh start :)

[Jared Mriad]

This might have a helluva large number of grammer, spelling, etc mistakes, but I've been writing it in a program that doesn't detect anything of the such.

14,700-something odd words so far.

This is from the first chapter.


The Set, Act One.
Slaves cried in misery, a steady rising pulse followed by a period of slow silence before rising up in a hellish chorus. The pen bars, floor, and walls were all aged white paint, the tiled floor rusty from water dripping from the roof, years-old florecent lights lumininating the walkways in a flickering, dead light. Every few feet, a being hung from manacles clamped to the walls, also rusty with age. Their bodies, withered and thin from age, bore many whelps, cuts, lacerations, and infectious boils yet never even the softest-wounded ones stood silent.
Females or Males: they were all clad of plainest and most ascetic burlap robes, cheap and easy to produce for the pathetic beings. The "Cages" were built inside an unused subway platform, metal grates pulled over the subway tracks that held those who could not work efficently to be used, women and children clung to the grates from underneight, pleading in their garbled language to be freed. The Cages's gardians; hulking bi-pedal sentinent monstrosities dragging along thier handless, buldging fleshy arms, bodies covered in slave's blood and intrails from those who tried to flee. Just if as destiny, one female slave lost it's nerve, squeezing through the bars only one such as her shape could. Howls of needed assistance echoed as she liberated herself, watching the darkness for the gardians.
It bolted, stummbling as another of it's kind reached out to grab her. Even as it scrambled for purchase, one long, slender spike shot out from the inky darkness and impaled it through the neck. Horrified, but far from dead - the dying never died in this place - it clawed at the bone spike as the Guardian stepped spasmatically into the light, it held it's prize on one buldging arm, the spike issued from it's 'palm'. It's head twisted side to side, multitude of insect-like, decayed flesh colored eyes set around a vertical slit of a mouth, as if examining the squirming wrench before the bone spear retracted back into it's arm. The slave dropped to her knees, covering her leaking throat and weezing breaths. Blood bubbled out over her stubby fingers, raspy coughing as it tried to inhale breath.
Almost fantasically, another bone-spear peirced into the light, slicing through bone and flesh and pinning the slave to the grates. Fearful, teary eyes peered up at the slave from under the grate, hands lifted up in agony-filled pity. The second assault withdrawed as well, another beast crawling from the darkness. The first issused a rusty crow call, the second answered in a much different pitched caw, shuddering. They exchanged their own verbal language as the slave curled into a ball, crying and garbling as it bled. Normally, one of it's race would be long-dead from the first assault. But here... nothing died at first.
No - Here was Hell.
It cried softly, rubbing away it's tears with bloody hands. Eventually the two monstrosities finished their conversation and eyed the female at their feet. They decended upon it then, vertical mouths opening to rows of meat-shredding teeth, tearing at the screaming female slave. Blood and flesh poured upon the horrified onlookers below, drenching the closest few in the crimson life-fluid. The Guardians were messy consumers, not giving extra thought to clean themselve's or carefully mauling. Full, uncontrollable feeding-frenzy. The slave screetched in only hell-matched pain and misery as her flesh tore apart: The first beast tore away her breasts, digging into the chest cavity as it dove for more, breaking apart it's ribcage and gorging upon her lungs, the second tore at her stomach, pulling flesh up around it's head as it withdrew from the slave's abdomen, spilling it's intestines out from the slave's body. The slave jerked with pain-laced spasms, her hands, legs, fingers all pistioning with convulsions.
She lay still eventually, once her body had been excavated of warmth, her broken ribcage shattered, collapsed into the carcass of the once-breathing creature. The guardians had retreated back into the darkness, and the others wailed their greif. Attacking the bars in their fury, rattling the echo to and fro through the dismal underworld. We never issued their purpose, though. Yes... these creatures were slaves, slaves for the blood-thirsty kind. For the Vampires.
But would the vorious beasts delight in their captives, would they be feasting upon the living husks of the captivees?
Questions that backed no answers, not one of the captured ones knew of the answer, nor did the immortal dead resting in the castle above, horrid gargoyles perched upon fallen turret and fevered stone, scanning the abyssmal day for as far as the eye could spy. The extravagantly dressed undead sleep their, waking upon the third toll of the castle's large clock-tower - nightfall. Fleeting out of the castle with the mearest of sound, reapers were they, reapers of the last remnant of humanity upon the wastelands. If one did not find it's prey, had the living prayed and fled grasp, then they would feed upon the subway dwellers. The questions answer held in limbo - in chance, fate, and productivity.

[Ceres Duvall]

Blah I'm going to finish this one. :P I need to before it drives me nuts. So that next year I can write a sequel. And it's original, my own planet and religion even government. LOTR, hold onto your socks... As soon as this thing's done, I'm gonna try to publish it.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

4469 words.

^_^; it's hard to just write and not let myself go back and change things :p That wastes time, y'know. :)

[Ace McCloud]

Wastes time lol. Im only on 1000 words so far. But once I get to a certain event I should fly through it. I have all next week off too, so that should help =).

[Dasquian Belargic]

Originally posted by Lilaena De'Ville
4469 words.

^_^; it's hard to just write and not let myself go back and change things :p That wastes time, y'know. :)

I know what you mean. Once I'm all done I'm going to go back and have an edit-fest.

[Rhea Kaylen]

quote:
Begin Febuary 1st. 50,000 words by midnight March 1st. Just so you know, that's about 1666 words a night. On an original subject. Nothing to do with Star Wars or anything you've written before, for that matter. It's an individual thing - not a group effort. You're writing alone. We're just here to encourage one another

Then I'd better just back out now while I can, as I guess I didn't really read the instructions well the first time -_-;; My "novel" isn't a new idea; it's an old one from two or three years ago.

And I'm not entirely sure I have the mental stamina to do this!

So good luck to everybody who does. I may keep working (at a considerably slower pace) on what I have so far.

Thanks, and slainte to all!
ISJ

[Dasquian Belargic]

5,641 words. I'm pretty far behind! :uhoh

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Remember - only 17 straight hours of typing! I need a day off to devote to this. :p

[Dasquian Belargic]

How's everyone doing? :)

[Daiquiri Van-Derveld]

How many are you up to now, Jenny? (stop playing with the new disc-thingy :mneh)

[Dasquian Belargic]

My count hasn't risen much. I had work to do for college and then, yes, my mini-disk player came ^_^;

[Ace McCloud]

I don't think I can finish it. I don't have the motivation I did earlier. I'm just a little too busy and haven't written anything since the first day. I know I could catch up easily as I have the rest of the week off but meh. Wrestling is coming to a close next week and I just don't think I can pull all this off. Meh, o well. Maybe next time.

[Jordana Montegue]

*wishes she read this earlier :( * Aww man, I'd love to join in on this. I know exactly what I'd write about too. Psh >.<

[Dasquian Belargic]

You can still join. You'd just have a lot of catching up to do.

[Jordana Montegue]

Hmmm. I might begin over the weekend. Not sure if I have the extra free time or not with other commitments

[Jared Mriad]

Up to 34,211 words now.

<Snippet>


The Wolves: Chapter IX
"Ung.."
The klaxon roared in my ear, rudely jerking me from slumber. I heard gunfire bouncing down the halls, mankind shouts mingled with animalistic roars of the Infantry. I opened an eye to a bright floresent glare, sitting up stiffly. My back flared in pain, the inky darkness breifly returning, but I fought it back.
"Yo?" I shouted, rubbing the sleep from my eye. I turned my head torward the door, hoping to see a medic but instead saw a screamer. Here I was, in the medical bay, without a weapon, wounded, and physically exhausted, against a bloodthirsty, energized, monster. I cursed loudly and jumped off the cot, stumbling, and watching the beast as it hissed and neared closer. It looked like a smaller Delta and had the ability of flight.
"Come on, you little <smallfont color={hovercolor}>-Censored-</smallfont>er..." I growled, bringing up my fists. There wouldn't be a chance for me unarmed. I backed away until I bumped against a cart. I prodded behind my back at the things on it. My fingertips brushed against the handle of the kukri. Hot damn, God had something for me! I wipped the sheath off and brandished the long-bladed knife-hatchet. The screamer crouched and hissed with malice. I waved the kukri and threw my hands out to the side, "What <smallfont color={hovercolor}>-Censored-</smallfont>er? Y' scared? Here's some fresh, easy food fer ya. Come and get it! Huh!?"
It started to slowly crawl forward, then leapt. I hit my knees and stabbed the kukri into the monster's gut.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Geez. Well done, Jared! I think you're the only one who's going to hit quota.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

I haven't progressed beyond what I posted - too much other stuff going on this month. >_<

[Jacob Nives]

I know how you feel. I've had far too many distractions :(