50051 words and the Nanowrimo beast is finished! YYYYYYYYEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!!!!!! If you’re nearly there, don’t give up! God, I’m so happy and so sleep-deprived. Thanks for all the support guys/gals/bloggers/homosapiens! Now I need to sleep before I break down.
…and you haven’t even begun. I’ve gotten a little page up with a novel summary and everything, and I now have a rough idea of my planned NaNo journey. Seeing as my month-long toil will be concentrated on the novel from which all my excerpts originate, I hope it goes smoothly. Relatively. Somewhat. From this sketchy planning and a wide-reading of NaNo tips, I have already concluded:
-I need to follow more writing blogs (feel free to recommend some!)
-I don’t drink coffee, I may need to start.
-I have to finish this challenge now that I’ve let all of you guys know about it along with a few literary-minded friends from school.
-There are not enough hours in a day.
That is all. Also, Bjork is one of the strangest singers I’ve ever listened too. More about that on Friday during my rant. And I wanted to give quick shout-outs to NicoLite for starting and sticking to his own Post-A-Day challenge, and pineappleflavouredpeople for sticking to her Habites challenge for thirty-four days! More inspiration for me to stick to my NaNo one! 😉
And I leave you with an excerpt (my apologies if you are sick of these by now, but unfortunately you shall be inundated with them almost everyday of November if you follow my blog. What’s that? You arrived here through some strange internet search and are not yet following? Clicky-clicky.)
On the days when he remembers that which he does not like to, he speaks to himself. He talks about the weather and the latest corrupt government official (there are many of them.) Sometimes he talks about conkers and spinning tops and the things he used to play with as a child. Sometimes he is a good listener. Sometimes he is not, and at these times he becomes lonely in the solitude of an English home.
Other times the boy comes to speak with him. It is the only time when he sees the boy relaxed because there is no death in his English home, and thus nothing to fear. They talk about everything and nothing but mostly about the things which they fear. Rhododendrons and people, for the boy. Honey and cypress, for the man. Death for them both. And sometimes he can see the boy’s wings, but not always. On rainy days, they have a tendency to disappear.