Peace Corps


I’m participating in (inter)National Novel Writing Month. I’d run across it several times previously, but never at the right time to actually participate. Well, this time, it’s worked out perfectly. The month of November is hereby dedicated to learning Fon and writing my novel.

It’s a lot tougher than I expected. As all of my Darling Readers have noticed, I’m sure, I’m a darn fine writer; however, an excellent command of the English language does not make for a talented developer of plot. Oh, my phrases are well turned, and my dialog is snappy, but I’m having a hell of a time actually pulling my thoughts together into something that resembles a cohesive storyline.

It’s frustrating, to say the least.

Never-the-less, I am determined to eke out 50,000 words of the worst fantasy drivel ever read by the end of November. Even if it kills me to do it. 50,000 words over thirty days is roughly equivalent to 1667 words a day. Remember that while I have a computer at work, I am by no means free to spend hours writing the Worst Fantasy Novel Ever Written. Ever. This means that I’m writing the damn thing by hand.

No, I will not be posting the story online. I’m roughly 4000 words into the thing, and really, it’s crap. Drivel. All sorts of lovely clichés. 4000 words, and you can already guess how it’s going to end. The only problem is figuring out how on earth (or not on earth, as the case may be) I’m going to get there.

Yes, I am writing a fantasy novel. I wanted a genre that would allow a lot of flexibility as far as realism is concerned. I wanted an unbelievable plot. I wanted to be able to write a lot funny dialog. And I wanted a genre that allows a lot of laziness on the part of the author. I narrowed the choices to chick lit and fantasy, both of which are embarrassing to admit enjoying. I wanted to say that I would choose according to which genre would realistically allow me a rain cloud to open up over the head of my heroine and only my heroine, but that still left me with both choices. Ultimately, it came down to whether I would be comfortable confessing to being an author of the genre.

Let’s face it. I could never own up to being a chick lit author.

Anyway, it’s something to do after dark, when I’m pretty much stuck at home wishing the lights worked after 8pm. Wish me luck!

Two posts in one day. Y’all are fucking privileged.раскрутка

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