Writings

Thirty days later, fifty thousand and two hundred words richer.

by ZombieSkittles on November 30, 2011

Winner_180_180_whiteI won.

I fucking won.

It’s taken four attempts over four years, but I finally did it; I won at NaNoWriMo. Today is the 30th, the last day of the challenge, and minutes ago I finished my novel’s first draft. Checking my word count, I found myself at the plump number of 50,200.

I’m so happy about this whole thing. NaNoWriMo is a great exercise of creativity for me, and to find myself actually able to complete it successfully this year, it gives me hope about everything. If I can write fifty thousand words in a month, what’s to stop me doing any number of other amazing things?

The month, in graph form.

Here’s my “graph” for my word count for the month. It shows how many words I managed to do each day. The grey diagonal line represents where my word count SHOULD be each day to keep on target.

statsnano

This is nothing compared to the whole of Adelaide though, which at this current time has roughly eight and a half million words of fiction altogether. Makes my fifty thousand look kind of paltry in comparison.

What do I win?

This is something I’ve been asked a few times when I tell people I’m writing a novel in thirty days. “Why? What do you get out of it?”

Apart from being able to say I wrote a novel? And that I did it in no more than thirty days? To me, that’s enough. However, the kind people of CreateSpace apparently reward winners with five free paperback copies of their novel, which is fantastic.
Additionally Scrivener, a word processor designed for novel writing and screenplays, is rewarded to winners for 50% off the normal price.

Those are awesome incentives, but I’m just happy to have made it through successfully.

What to do now?

Well, it’s over. I’ll be able to resume semi-normal life, and maybe put a bit more time into playing The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.
On a more serious note though, I plan to edit and rewrite the majority of the novel to turn it into something that a person can read without ripping their eyes out in pain and anguish, and see where it goes from there.

I cannot wait to do this again next year.

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NaNoWriMo 2011 Week 2

by ZombieSkittles on November 17, 2011

Things slowed down this past week, to the point that last night, I fell a few hundred words behind quota. I know it’s easily fixed, but I feel bad that I let it happen. It would of been easy to pump out a few paragraphs, but honestly I couldn’t think where to go with the story where it was, and still is. Today I’ll be using time at work to write down a few pages of notes of where the story could go so that tonight I can write the couple of thousand words I owe.

I suspect a major reason behind this drop is the release of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, which I’ve taken to playing, because hell it’s an Elder Scrolls game and they’re fantastic. The worlds are immersive and it’s easy to forget all about things like NaNoWriMo when you’re busy fighting a dragon then absorbing it’s fucking soul.

It’s a great game, but I’m going to have to try to force myself to push it back a bit so I can get these fifty thousand words done by the end of the month.

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NaNoWriMo 2011 Week 1

by ZombieSkittles on November 9, 2011

Rather than do a video, I’ve decided to stick with what I know, and that would be writing a blog post.

So we’re a couple of days into week two and things are going excellent. I’m currently sitting at almost 18,000 words and going strong. This is courtesy of the NaNoWriMo word sprints available on Twitter, who have helped massively.

I really feel confident this year. I’m doing well, and provided I can keep going at this pace, I should hit fifty thousand words early.

As usual, here’s my NaNoWriMo profile, where you can see my progress.

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Flailing at the keyboard.

by ZombieSkittles on October 31, 2011

Participant_180_180_whiteWhelp, in just over six hours this year’s NaNoWriMo begins for me. This marks my fourth year attempting it, and the third year going into it with no semblance of a plan. I have no plot, characters, or even vague ideas. I’m going with hovering my hands over the keyboard and seeing what comes out of it. Will it be good? Probably not. Will it make sense? I sincerely doubt it. Will it be fun? Well shit I hope so.

I bought the official NaNoWriMo handbook on Kindle, No Plot? No Problem! to see if it has any handy tips or good motivational tools. Surprisingly it’s actually interesting to read, and is getting me pumped for the event.

I’m debating whether or not to bother making personal log videos or not. They were really only for me to talk about my progress out loud but I didn’t really make good use of that. We’ll see.

Wish me luck. Also, add me as a writing buddy if you’re participating too.

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NaNoWriMo 2010

by ZombieSkittles on October 29, 2010

Its 3:30 in the morning, I’m visiting my family and can’t sleep, so to pass the time I’m panicing because HOLY FUCK NANOWRIMO STARTS ON MONDAY.

If you don’t know what NaNoWriMo is I suggest you go here to find out, and if you do know what it is I suggest you go there anyway because why not.

I’m a little worried because I’m heading into this year’s event with no actual plan. Chances are I’ll come up with a loose idea for a story on Sunday, only to change my mind a week in. This would still be a better scenario than I competed in the 2008 NaNoWriMo, only to fail when I spilled a full mug of hot coffee on my laptop, frying it. This was how I learned just how valuable backing up your work is. Got to love life lessons.

This year I am definitely competing and really hoping I can make it to 50,000 words. Wish me luck. Also, if you yourself happen to be giving it a go, let me know and I’ll add you as a Writing Buddy.

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Four: George

by ZombieSkittles on December 10, 2009

Chapter One – George

"Why is it so cold?" George exclaimed. It was the middle of summer yet he found himself for the fifth day in a row, walking home in the chilliest of winds from his job at the deli. At twenty seven years old, he wasn’t sure what had brought him to waste the past five years at such a dead-end job; one which didn’t even let him have the day off at Christmas. Instead, he’d always end up working the noon to 8pm shift, serving those people who forgot to buy more tomato sauce prior to their barbeque, or who didn’t foresee the popularity of the one bottle of soft drink they purchased.
He’d just finished such a shift and was making the long trek to the bus stop. Normally, he’d arrive, and end up waiting 30 minutes for the bus that was due an hour previous. Today though, the buses were on time and George was on the bus straight away. This made him uneasy; change wasn’t exactly something a man like him enjoyed, even a positive change like this. Because the buses were running on schedule, he ended up on bus 112, instead of his usual bus which had the faulty display and only ever displayed “Off Duty”. George took a moment to glance around, hoping he wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone, lest he’d have to make awkward conversation with them about how bad public transport is, or how odd the weather had been this week.
Luckily for him, the whole bus was, for the most part, empty. Towards the back was a scruffy middle-aged man, the sort that others avoid sitting next to for fear the alcohol-saturated air around him would suffocate them. George was that sort of person, so he was glad he’d sat down close to the front. The ride, though as bumpy as it could be, was going to be far less annoying without some irritable drunk yelling about how awesome his hometown is, spitting all over George in the process.
The bus was about to reach a traffic light, when suddenly the bus screeched to a halt, throwing George face first into the back of the seat in front of him. Rubbing his jaw and getting back to his feet, George turned to the bus driver, who was sitting straight up, fixated on something on the road. “What just happened?” George asked, shaking a little from the shock of the bus stopping.
”I think I hit that guy!” The bus driver who as George observed, wore a nametag with the name ‘Brian’ stuck on it, opened the bus doors and jumped up to go outside, “I’m sorry guys, but you need to get off the bus while we sort this out.”
”NO!” Came a shout from the back of the bus, and the drunk man crossed his arms stubbornly, staring straight at the front of the bus.
”Fine, stay inside then!” The bus driver sighed and waved his hand apathetically, “I have to check on the guy on the road.”
The drunk man got to his feet, yelled, “NO!” again, and ran outside waving a half opened bottle of vodka wildly. George shook his head, and joined them outside. By now, a small group of people had congregated to help the person on the road; a teenage boy with ginger hair. There was a large graze on his forearm and he appeared dazed, but was busy reassuring everyone he was fine. George knew he couldn’t do anything to help that everyone else wasn’t already, so he walked over to the sidewalk and have a cigarette.
Now, when it came to smoking, George tried to avoid it wherever possible. However, he always carried a pack on him for when he really needed it. Being he just finished an 8 hour Christmas shift at the deli, he really needed it. The barrage of customers he had to cope with inane questions and abuse over the fact that there was no salad dressing left when they clearly needed it right there and then.
Pulling out his lighter, George went to light his cigarette, only to have it knocked out of his hands by the drunken man from the bus. “YOU CAN’T DO ‘AT! DON’T YOU KNOW ‘AT FIRE IS DANGEROUSH? YOU COULD KILL US ALL!” He yelled as loud as he could at George, his gruff voice making pronouncing ‘that’ an impossible task for him. As the yelling continued with references to bushfires, flammable substances and issues from his hometown, George tried to shift, dodging the alcohol that splashed out of the bottle. Despite his best efforts though, most of it ended up on his shirt.
When the drunk finished his ranting, he paused and looked at George, “Wait, did you take my drink?” He demanded, pointing at the now drenched shirt.
”No, you spilled it on me,” George replied monotonously, the strong liquorice smell from the alcohol getting up his nose, “you were waving it around and it got everywhere.”
”NO! You took my drink! YOU BASTARD!” As his face got red with anger, some passers by pulled the drunk away from George and attempted to calm him down, in the end offering him a whole dollar to move on.
”Are you alright man?” One of them asked George with a worried expression on his face.
George was picking up his lighter from the ground which as his bad luck would have it, had ended up in a puddle of the alcohol which George reckoned must be sambuka or some other other strong cleaning fluid. “Yeah, I’m okay man. Just a little shaken, I’ll be good once I’ve had a smoke.”
George wiped the lighter on his shirt, and flicked it alight. Raising it to his lips, he lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. Out of nowhere, just as he was ready to take the lighter away from his lips, he jerked forward, a hit to his back knocking him.
”Hey guy, turns out he’s okay. I’m giving him a lift to his house, bu-” The bus driver didn’t have time to finish, as the hard pat on the back made George slip, and seconds later, he was engulfed in flames. George started jumping up and down screaming, hoping to god someone would help him. He fell to the ground in pain, still screaming as loud as his lung would let him. George could feel people trying to put him out, but the pain was too excruciating and this was little comfort for him; all that mattered was the burning. It hurt beyond recognition, and he wasn’t sure if it would ever stop; that he would never be able to stop screaming. He kept going as he felt his energy draining, until everything faded to  black, and he finally stopped.

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An idea

by ZombieSkittles on November 15, 2009

It’s been awhile since I wrote anything that really belonged in the Writings section, and sadly this still doesn’t count.

I’m writing this because I want to bounce an idea off of you. Yes you; you’re reading this aren’t you? I have an idea of a story to write. I was going to write it for NaNoWriMo, but time hasn’t been on my side for it. So instead I was thinking of writing it slowly, and posting it bit by bit online.
The trick with the story, is in it’s current form (which still needs a little refining), it doesn’t have an ending. As it is right now, the story is a continuous series of shorter stories, all joined by the same thing. As such, it goes indefinitely. I like that idea, and with a little refining I will be making it.

I was wondering, as you’re reading this, what are your thoughts on the matter? I’d like to know.

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NaNoWriMo

by ZombieSkittles on October 4, 2009

It’s almost that time of year again.

nano_09_blk_participant_120x240.pngFor those that don’t know, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. From November 1st to the 30th, the objective is to write a whole 50,000 word novel. No editting or anything like that, just writing.
Why? To get creative juices flowing. And I know a few people who have been planning and writing novels for years, and being a complete asshole I feel the need to belittle their work by doing this.

Last year I attempted it for the first time with a zombie story (of course). I’d worked it out that I’d need to clear roughly 1700 words a day to reach the deadline for the month, and a little extra. I was way ahead by the end of the second week when disaster happened. Scene: I’m at my laptop, fresh cup of coffee next to it, and finishing a DVD. When it finishes I decide to grab another to use as background noise while I type away. My bed is parallel to my desk, and my DVDs on the other side, so I lay across it to reach them. After a couple moments deliberation I settled on a movie, and flipped onto my back. That’s when I heard the ominous shut down noise of the computer and leapt up. The entire cup of coffee had fallen and poured over the laptop, killing it. No more novel, no more work, and a lot of coffee everywhere. It was a terrifying day for me.

After a few days mourning, I sat on a rusty old desktop from probably five years ago, and tried to start another novel. In the few days I had left before the end of NaNoWriMo, I managed to write 11,000 words of utter nothingness. Of course, that novel never got finished. All that’s left of it is the blurb, which I posted to DeviantArt in case anyone ever wants to see it.

This year I plan to actually finish the 50,000 words, and maybe even finish the novel itself. To be able to say I wrote a whole novel is nothing short of fantastic in my mind. As a plus, some years the organizers have a prize for winners. Last year every winner got a single copy of their novel published for personal ownership. Even without the prize though, it’s a fun even to participate in, provided you have the time.

If you’re doing NaNoWriMo as well, add me as a Writing Buddy or something, because I’m awesome.

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Meaningless Crap: The Shit Begins

by ZombieSkittles on August 5, 2009

So I posted my story piece by piece over the past week, and as I typed it up from what I wrote I realized, I was a really bad writer. I swapped from past tense to present tense, flipped on character identities, and couldn’t compile sentences correctly. Thinking about it, I still can’t. But be that as it may I believe I’ve gotten better at writing. I’ll leave that judgement for yourself.
Reading the story as I typed it up, I loved the minor and major references to inside jokes (I did edit a couple out, for example the fat woman and man had the names of real people, but I omitted them in the name of making sense) and while the story was fracture and incomplete I did thoroughly enjoy it.
As for the extremely subtle open ended nature of the end of the story, I’d explained that I did plan to write sequels of the stories, and who knows, I might. But for now, I reckon I’ll leave such sleeping dogs lie.

Here’s the chronological listing of the story’s posts:

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Meaningless Crap: The Shit Begins (Page 5)

by ZombieSkittles on August 5, 2009

Loochaquableycharbingbing lucelpiorkajaflor quack quak quaserfickleshichegurulee quing cheklepil.
Ok, I’m back. For those that didn’t understand what he just said, it was something along the lines of “Dead pies littered the streets of the town who’s name I still can’t remember, but he still hadn’t defeated their leader, the microwave accident.”

Holding his butterfly net defensively, Morton watched as the accident who we will name Lucy, approached.
Ripping out it’s teddy bear, Lucy launched himself at Morton, but Morton quickly dodged. After several failed attacks, Lucy started to become frustrated. He threw his arm back, and with an almighty swing, launched the teddy bear at Morton, but once again Morton moved around it with ease. “Soochyvartion budater!” This is what Morton said, roughly translated “Your attempts are futile, I will end your evil now!”
While he said this, the teddy was still sailing through town, and flew into a restaurant. Not just any restaurant mind you, but the McDonalds Family Restaurant. It flew in there and his something, or someone in this case. It hit a massive guy, who was busy filling up on double quarter pounders, fries and chocolate thick shakes.
Now when he was hit by the bear, he didn’t even notice and just continued stuffing his face. But it had a ricochet effect, sending the back back in the direction of Lucy at 60km/h at an upward angle of 10° and a horizontal angle of 3°. What does this mean? Absolutely nothing except that it hurt when it hit Morton in the back of the head!
With Morton now unconscious it looked as though Lucy would win and that we would be doomed. Stepping over a trolley boy who was having an epileptic seizure, he moved in to the kill. Pulling a series of sharpened swizzle sticks from it’s chest, Lucy dove, weapon pointed down, to deliver the final blow. But something stopped him. It was an empty coke bottle that was possessed by the ghost of Jay Leno. This annoyed Lucy, who was just about to knock it out of the way when he was hit in the guy with a paint ball. Wherever the gut is.
Now a little history on paint growers. Paint growing is a gardening sport. Plant a paint seed, water it, watch it grow, then pick the ripened paintballs. Now the plant can grow up to 1.25 metres high on average, with the record being 1.56 metres (currently held by Mark Whitcomb [he was my maths teacher who gained notoriety among my friends when he found me not doing work and asked me what it was like to watch paint grow, mixing up “grass grow” and “paint dry”. Hilarity]), and the balls are generally 12cm in diameter. So when one is thrown and hits you, it hurts!
So the paintballs rained down into Lucy, as Tom (the paint grower) continued to shoot them at it [anyone notice that I wrote Lucy as both a “he” and an “it” at various times? CONTINUITY PEOPLE.], using a gun made from bark chips, rice bubbles and an assortment of crayons and paddle pop sticks.
Lucy was knocked to the ground, and Morton had gained consciousness again [notice how everything is starting to fall into place? Almost as if the writer were trying to end the story as effortlessly as possible…]. So picking up his butterfly net, he killed Lucy in a way that would never be shown in a children’s picture book [and therefore wouldn’t have to be explained in detail].
Ok I’m sorry, I lied. Lucy did not die from something involving vacuum cleaner attachments and a sausage dog. But hey, it sounded funny.
So the town as saved. Since Jay Leno, Morton, and the marshmallow were foreigners, they didn’t stay for the inevitable party that was held. We were safe once again…

But for how long? [obligatory open ended sentence]

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