NaNoWriMo 2017

And here we are, at the end of NaNoWriMo 2017.

This year, as I stated before, I did something different. I wrote a biography of sorts using the stream-of-consciousness technique.

Most of what was written will go directly to the garbage. However, there's a considerable chunk that turned out to be very interesting. I believe it has the potential to become a story in itself. I am not sure whether it'll be a novel or something shorter, but I like the main character a lot (and no, it's not me).

The tentative title of my work was The Darkest Corners. I think I did justice to that title, fortunately or unfortunately, I am not sure.

I still have to work on a cover. I'm hopeless, I know. My design skills are very basic, I'm afraid.

On a positive note, my word count is 52,182 at the moment with two more days to go. I will keep adding words till November 30. I want to complete the plan I drafted at the beginning of this race. The plan had 30 stops, and that's when I will stop, when the 30 stops are done.

I aimed for 1700 words per day, but I did manage an average of 1,799 words. I think this is very positive, considering I had to stop for a few days.
 
Despite the fact that I didn't write fiction, which is my comfort zone, I enjoyed remembering parts of my life and creating new pieces of this puzzle I have been trying to put together.

And I will do it my way.

Last but not least, thank you for your support. You know who you are. Without your gentle pushing for timed writing, your unconditional support through very difficult struggles, and your grounded comforting presence, I would have never completed this task.

 

 "In my end is my beginning."
T.S.Eliot

Expensive?

Collins Land

"The bicycle ride is too expensive, he said. He wanted it for free. The nerve! He even questioned my ability to make decisions about my own business. Who does he think he is? Never again! I will sell everything and go to the big city." And Ronnie continued to grumble until the client came back and smiled.

"I'll give you one million dollars for the bike business. Accept?"

"Hell, yeah!"

The next day, Ronnie saw on the news that an oil company had found oil in his old property. And Ronnie continued to grumble for the rest of his life.

100 Word Stories

(Prompt: PICK TWO: Shed, Sale, Rancor, Vellum, Slope, Zip, Kale, Bane)

Whiskers

Borgatti

There used to be a place where cats roamed freely. It had lots of hidden corners where the sun shone in late afternoons. And they lingered lazily, stretching their lean furriness.

There used to be a place where the birds chirped a song and water was a magical backdrop.

There used to be a place with butterflies and pelicans, and lions and ferrets, dogs and roosters, chickens and bears.

And I used to go for a walk amongst the strangeness of the mixture of animals and the familiarity of their peacefulness.

There used to be a place I called home.

100 Word Stories

Chasing Your Tail

Somewhere

The whole event became a disaster when a stubborn sponsor decided not to give the organization the agreed amount.

Nine of the models chose to leave while the other five were unsure.

The designer couldn't do the show with five models only.

Everyone was in a frenzy, debating the same issues over and over again when a woman came up from behind and laughed hysterically. She pulled out an automatic and took the money from the sponsor.

"No money. No show. No debate. There, solved. By the way, do you need a free model?" And she struck a pose, smiling.

100 Word Stories

Point

Hazardous

Mark and Ron placed their oil lanterns down and waited for a long time. The horizon was a flat line and the darkness extended as far as the eye could see. A few bright stars twinkled in the cloudy sky.

"Look."

Mark traced an imaginary line from the tip of Ron's finger to its destiny over the water.

"Can you see it?"

Mark squinted his eyes.

"We'll have to go there."

Mark nodded.

By the end of that long night, they'd be richer, but not happier. There was a baby in the wreckage, and they couldn't do anything about it.

100 Word Stories

Traffic

Milk Wood

He put his glasses down. The letter had arrived. He half-expected it to be what it was. He didn't expect it to be that bitter though. What hurt him the most was when she wrote she felt like yelling to the world he was trafficking women into the colony. He was, true, but still... it hurt to see it written down on paper. The lawyer told him she was trouble. But he loved her so much, he didn't have the heart to kill her. He trafficked her to L-028. It cost him a fortune, because they don't like humans there.

100 Word Stories

(Prompt: PICK TWO: Meter, Bash, Yell, Iridescent, Goon, Opulent, Mango, Traffic)

Rock

Salt Water

The idea of going back was unbearable. Summer had been wonderful. Work was a distant place. She had forgotten about David, the pervert, John, the sloth, and Lewis, the hippie who didn't bathe enough. She stared at a few seashells, tokens of moments she would cherish forever. David said she would get bored by herself. He was so wrong. John advised her not to get a sunburn, and Lewis just smiled, stoned. Everyone thought she was too fragile. Perhaps she was, yes. But she decided she wasn't going back. And she held that small rock in her hand and smiled.

100 Word Stories

Hospital

Betelgeuse

He pressed the button and a nurse appeared.

“Hungry.”

She turned around and walked away. He waited. Nothing.

He pressed the button again. Another nurse appeared.

“I'm hungry.”

She turned around and left.

For the third time, he pressed the button, and a third nurse appeared.

“I'm really hungry.”

She tilted her head.

“Haven't you figured it out yet?”

He frowned.

“The code.”

“What code?”

“The one they gave you with your patient card.”

He flipped the card back and forth. In small letters, the code.

“Please?”

And food was provided, abundantly.

100 Word Stories

Mask

Land of Glory

Lean forward and read the words, she thought, one after the other, one after the other, paragraph following paragraph, obediently covering the pages of a blank book. For the others, the pages were blank, and had nothing written on them. Yet, she saw words, one after the other, strings of paragraphs covering the desert of whiteness. She forgot the ban. And the world became warm.

Lean back, she thought, place the mask back on. No one will see how you can travel away. The book went back on the shelf of empty books, and no one knew she could read.

100 Word Stories

NaNoWriMo Prep is in Motion

I have created the novel at the NaNoWriMo website for the 2017 November challenge. 

And hence we begin.

Tentative Title: The Darkest Corners


Excerpt (of the Intro, since we haven't started writing yet):

"A book is a book is a book, and the idea was to write a book. 

However, when I threw the knife in the air and it fell down the stairs (the knife is for dramatic effect, don't alarm yourselves), the idea changed to writing a crime novel. Then I thought, I have done that already. Perhaps I could write a thriller. Done. Some erotica? Done. Well, it's unfinished and I can't look at it right now, for some reason. I'm sick of it. And this went on and on for days until I was asked this question. Why don't you write a sort of auto-biography? 

My brain twirled like that knife (for dramatic effect again). The idea was interesting. I had never written anything like that. It would be easy to do and it wouldn't need much preparation, something vital at this point in time. 

Then I started boycotting the idea. Yes, what's an idea without its archnemesis? Who would be interested in reading such a crazy, boring, piece of garbage? No one, of course. 

Coming to this obvious conclusion was in no way disappointing. Quite the opposite. It gagged my inner-editor, wrapped him up in generous amounts of transparent wrapping film, and kicked his butt into a dark corner of the wardrobe where purses are lost forever, socks get hopelessly divorced and the sun never shines. 

No one would be interested in reading this crap meant that I could write whatever I wanted. I could hammer my fury, my despair, my gut, my soul and my tears on this keyboard and no one would even look at the end result. 

Perfection!"

Cover: None yet.

Word Goal: 50.000

Wordcount per day: Aiming for 1700 words

Panic Period, I mean writing time: 30 days

"I had the sense when I looked back over my life I would actually see a mess of decisions, a few of which I had thought about, some of which I had sort of stumbled on and many that I had no control over whatsoever."

Kazuo Ishiguro

Nobel Prize for Literature 2017

Cook

Milk Wood

“Fresh,” said the farmer, his voice reaching an annoying pitch. “Check the pumpkins, miss. Fresh. Not that plastic-tasting garbage.”

The lady nodded and moved on. Everyone walked away quickly.

Only he knew how difficult it was to grow these darn things. The seeds became purple if he stored them for too long, the water made them blue, and painting each one with a natural food-coloring substance was hard work. Plus, after cooked, his pumpkins made people immortal, surely a bonus.

“Umm... Perhaps I should work on my marketing strategies,” he said, adjusting his voice to the perfect octave.

100 Word Stories

Candlestick and Brush

Roche

Candlestick and Brush sat side by side. They looked quite innocent, I must admit. However, the mess in the kitchen was the proof that they had been busy all night. As I stood there, my index finger pointing at them, their big round eyes staring at me, I couldn't help wondering how they had managed to drag a whole cabbage from inside the fridge onto the counter. When I finished admonishing them, they simply stood up and walked away, as if nothing had happened, their tails swaying in the air. I'm sure they were thinking “the slave will clean it”.

100 Word Stories

(Prompt: PICK TWO: Funk, Double-jointed, Ulcer, Mast, Mahogany, Candlestick, Brush, Sherman)

Alien

Tim's Dreams by Romy Nayar

They didn't like us. The strings hurt on the wrists. The redness would never go away. They played us like puppets. They manipulated us with a smile. Then, they forced us. “You'll see it,” they said. We didn't know what they meant. Then we saw it, the grand scheme of things, and we were just a tiny fleck of nothingness. They took the children. The candles burned till the end, but they didn't know. We had our own strings. The day we pulled them, they fell. And we took off to get our children back. Arrogance can make empires fall.

100 Word Stories

Elspeth

Salt Water

Elspeth was a dreamer. The old iron-wrought bed hung from the sturdiest branches of the old tree in the garden. She would lie under the cover and snuggle against the pillows, reading. She read stories about imaginary places and wonderfully unusual people.

A plank also hung from a branch of the same tree. It had some books on it and also a lamp that didn't light anything, but that wasn't important because Elspeth was a dreamer.

The river flew by, its soft rippling waves flapping against the chores of her small beach.

And she read on.

Elspeth, the dreamer, hanging from a tree.

Ten Days to Go

BWC Village

Ten days to go till the end of today. I'm counting the days, one finger at a time. The neighbors don't know yet. Life will change. I sold the house and told no one. In a way, it's sad. I have been living here for over thirty years. I know everyone. I have seen them get married, have children. I have met the boyfriends and girlfriends of their kids. I have been to the christening of so many babies I lost count. And when they walk by, they wave and stay on, leaning against my fence, chatting a few minutes away before heading off back to their lives.

Now, I have ten days, only ten days to go till the end of today, my today that will never come back.

Tell me

Pixel Dreams

Tell me, is it morning yet? Tell me.

When will we look at the sun and smile?

When will we tread the narrow path of tomorrow and, at least, pretend we have a future?

When will we look at the seagulls and watch them circle the dark sky?

When will we believe? I wonder.

And my soul wanders away in my thoughts, my arms stretched, embracing the world, at least in my mind.

Anyone looking at me would only see me, sitting by the window and staring outside while the rain falls, the wind whispers secrets of the past, and the present is a cat sleeping on my lap.

Gas

Wintersweet

The painting on the wall flickered, alive with the dancing flames of the gas fireplace. The man sat on a chair. His attention was on the geometric face. He had never intended it to come out like that but he thought it was beautiful. He cleaned his hands with a colorful cloth. She hated that. She hated the smell too. She hated when he sat in the living-room in his “rags”, as she called his painting overalls. When she saw the painting, she wanted to burn it. His nails had red underneath, and the painting was still on the wall.

100 Word Stories

Deal

The Tower by Rebecca Bashly

The deal was that you'd never scream at me. The deal was that a smile would be a smile and not a sarcastic sneer thrown at my soul. The deal was that I would live today, dream of tomorrow, regret nothing of the past. And now, I live today, dreading tomorrow and desperately trying to forget what happened. The more they told me to walk away, the more I pretended not to listen. I covered my ears, shut my eyes, sheltered my soul, and one day, in darkness, I decided to leave. May my tombstone read “The deal was broken.”

100 Word Stories

Lost Hope

Salt Water

Letter to Nobody

My eyes roam the land, the short golden grass dancing in the wind as the purple clouds fly away softly, caressing a bright blue sky. A lonely seagull makes its way out to sea while the waves lap gently on the shoreline. I stand against an ancient tree and try not to blink fearful this picture-perfect moment would fade away too soon. I thought the busy, fast-paced life would suddenly gain some sort of meaning. I thought, one day, things would change. They never did. And a picture-perfect lie ends now at a picture-perfect place.

Signed,

Hope

100 Word Stories

(Prompt: PICK TWO: Washing, Hope, Downward, Nix, Lie, Thrive, Joy, Rhapsody)

Drive

Il Nido Cafe and Wine Bar "The Nest"

She couldn't walk but she had a very nice bike. It was parked outside the house and it was covered by flowers, violet, red, blue, and white. And she smiled. The bright colors made her smile. And the bicycle rusted away parked outside the house. Every now and then, she’d look at that bike. She’d close her eyes, and ride it, her legs completely paralyzed, but moving freely in her imagination. Whenever she got home and parked the bicycle outside the house, the flowers would sway back and take hold of her bike, becoming the sole guardians of her dreams.

100 Word Stories