The author blog of C. J. Ivory

Tinkerer with words. Dresser-Upper. Adorer of Steampunk and VictoriaNoir fiction. Occasional Lawgineer.
Showing posts with label Nanowrimo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nanowrimo. Show all posts

November 3, 2011

Ten Percent Mark!

Today was Day 3 of NanoWriMo. Now my math skills aren't the best, but I figure:

Day 3 = 10% of the way through November = 10% of the way through 50k words = 5,000 words

And blow me down, I've scraped in at 5,666!

Yes, I did consider writing one more word so it wouldn't end in "666," but then I reflected that my scene involved:
  • A man being strangled to death;
  • references to avenging angels;
  • a black poodle called Iblis
So I figured that it probably was a fitting word count.

And now all that demonic bahaviour has worked up an appetite. I'm off to eat chocolate, the snack of Nano-champions.

Oh, umm, do I have favouritse bit of scribble today? Probably this:


He heard a sound, like the unfurling of a canvas sail from overhead. There was a slap as a line landed just yards from his feet. A second later a sudden winding noise and there alighted before him a young woman, dressed in men’s trousers and vest.
They gazed at one another for a moment, surprised. She was pink of cheek, as if from the exertion, and her lips were parted. Freddie could see a sheen of sweat on her top lip.
“Who the hell...?” He glanced at the man standing across from them. “What the divvil’s going on here?”
The fellow puffed on his pipe and seemed unfazed. He gave a small nod to the young woman.
She blinked at Freddie. Her right hand fumbled at her belt, releasing her from the line she’d sailed down on. Her gaze slid to the man – her master, Freddie thought, and for some reason the thought made his insides liquid.
“Come on,” the palsied fellow sighed.
“Wait. I...” Freddie experienced a moment of dreadful clarity, and realised that there were some things that were worth more than thirty guineas. He stepped backwards, darted one more look at the girl, and turned on heel.

Unfortunately, Freddie turned out not to be much of a sprinter!

PS Ten internet points to anyone who can knows where the black poodle reference comes from. I'll give you a clue: that particular furry character was suggested by my German husband.

November 1, 2011

And... they're off!

First day of NaNoWriMo - check!

I was aiming to break the 1,666 mark - gently does it. I managed 1842 before I got to the end of my creative tether. My novel is set in 1857, so I probably should have held out for another 15 words just for the symbolism, but my love of symbolism is no match for my inherent laziness.

My favourite snippet from today's mad typing spree:

She pressed her lips together. It was so like Abbott. He prided himself on being a professional, yet he had a sense of recklessness, a taste for risk. It put Ella in mind of a child, a boy on the back of a makeshift hobbyhorse, hurtling his way down a staircase. How his mother must have caught her breath to see little Abbot skipping down the stair risers, one simple stubbed toe away from falling, one misstep from tumbling and breaking his neck.

September 20, 2011

If you only read one blogpost today...

(besides mine, of course)

...this should be the one: File Under: Blinding Silver Linings

And then count your blessings...
And THEN sign up for NaNoWriMo 2011!

** Quote of the day: "I should warn you: that’s one of those Wikipedia pages that links to seven zillion other cool Wikipedia pages and suddenly it’s 45 minutes later and you have no idea how you ended up reading about the Royal Family of Luxembourg." ** 
~ thanks for the "so true" moment, Sarah Mackey!

December 18, 2010

“Mummy, why is that lady muttering to herself?”

Gentle Reader,


November 2010 was my second year of Nanowrimo madness. 
For the uninitiated, Nanowrimo is short for National Novel Writing Month, or “Thirty days and nights of literary abandon” as the organisers call it. The idea is simple: over the 30 days of November, Wrimos (that’s the participants) write a novel of 50,000 words. If you are one of those rare creatures who work steadily, that’s 1666 words each day, every day. If, like me, you’re more of a short-bursts-of-madness person, you’ll probably churn out no words whatsoever for the first week, and then average 2500 words for the rest of the month in a desperate attempt to cross the finish line.

You may be thinking, wait – isn’t this a form of masochism? And wouldn’t any novel you write in a month be fifty thousand words of utter bollocks?

The answer to both these questions is Yes. 

Yes; it’s an addictive kind of masochism, which has people like me coming back year after year.