Today is December 1.
That means NaNoWriMo is now over.
Over the past month, I’ve written some updates on my progress during this annual November challenge to write 50,000 words. Mostly anecdotal stuff, nothing special. More like pouring out some thoughts on my current state. Let me now take some time getting into the meat of what that month was like for me.Read More »
When I first came up with outline to the first act, I pictured this scene to be two dudes partying until the sun comes up. They already both know that they’re going on a drug deal in the morning before the wedding, and simply party hard enough to sleep in and set off a chain of really bad events for them.
As you might have guessed, the title for this story is “The Honeymoon”, with the first act named “Wedding Crasher”.
The first scene is the hardest of them all. Here, I have one shot at establishing the mood for the rest of the narrative. I have to decide whether I want to present the story in first-person or not, past or present tense, average word count, and so on.
I already know that the scene begins with the car crash (the element to Nathan’s and Sarah’s Relationship). I also know that half the scenes later down the road will play out before said crash, using that moment in the narrative as both start and finish line for the story. That means that whatever I mention about the circumstances that lead here, I need to make sure to keep the plot straight for later scenes. Starting in the middle is fun and exciting, but it can easily screw up the timeline if I don’t pay attention.
Writing a book is the first step to finishing a book. Writing begins with words, proves a concept and allows for a story to emerge from chaos.Read More »
Stepping through the squeaking door, he brought a brisk chill from the frostbitten calgarian arctic air into the foyer. So brisk indeed, it chilled his co-worker, the older man with salt-pepper-hair and beard behind the front desk, to the very bones.
“Brrr,” say said collectively, as if bringing truth to the cold, thus proving that it is, in fact, freezing as fuck out there.
The young man closed the door behind him and swiped his employee card at the front desk. The computer screen confirmed his arrival with a simple “IN”.
For a quick minute, they chatted. This and that. All and none. And, of course, the cold.
Then the young man said, “Wish I could have stayed at home. Work on my novel, instead of driving through minus-fourty windchill to come to work.”
The older man chuckled through his grey-black beard. “Ah, we’ve got a writer-folk here,” he said, bringing up the needed equipment for the young man.
“Yeah. I’m a writer.”
Scanning-in the small devices needed for the job, the old man smiled. Not the kind of smile that approves and appreciates, no. The kind that makes you want to punch him the face. The nasty kind. “So, what have you published, huh?”
He said, “Nothing. Yet.”
Louder, clicking on his computer, the old desk-clerk laughed again. “Then you’re not a writer.”
Then I 
untraum 