*crazy headbanging and screaming*
Rawwww!
........
Anyways, check out my certificate! (Never fear, detailed post to follow, along with a steady blogging routine again)
November 30, 2011
Finished!!!
I'm done!!! 50,000 words in 30 days, done and did!!
*crazy headbanging and screaming*
Rawwww!
........
*crazy headbanging and screaming*
Rawwww!
........
November 19, 2011
Caught Up!!
I've caught up!! *shouts silently so I don't wake anyone up*
30,139 of 30,00!
Also, a quote to keep you excited:
“Every one is important, not for who they are, but in spite of who they are”
30,139 of 30,00!
Also, a quote to keep you excited:
“Every one is important, not for who they are, but in spite of who they are”
November 18, 2011
Characters; Gotta love 'em
Well tonight I introduced another main character, one who wasn't in my original idea, but will probably play a key role in this second half of the book (Which I have reached! 27,207 done! I should be at 28,333, but that's all right. Catching up slowly!)
He groaned, turning his head to look around the small room he was lying in.
It wasn’t much different from the room he had used to sleep in at Aunt Silphie’s, with a iron frame bed in the center of the room, peeling wallpaper on the walls, an old rusting desk in one corner and a rocking chair in the other. To his left was a small kitchen, with walls lined with cabinets and a few old appliances gleaming in the harsh light of a unshaded lamp.
The girl stood at the stove, stirring something in a metal pot. She was wearing a pair of old worn jeans rolled up at her bare feet, a plain t-shirt, and a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She turned to look at Alen questioningly, the smear of brown crossing her cheek giving her an almost comical look. Alen guessed her to be just a year or so younger than him
“You all right? You look awful.”
Alen smiled in spite of himself at the girl’s bluntness. “I... don’t think I have any b...roken bones.” He touched his jaw gingerly. “T...hough everything hurts like I did.”
The girl smiled sweetly, turning back to stirring her pot. Alen took another glance around the room. Most of the furniture looked to have been painted white at some time, but they were all so worn and flaking it was hard to tell. The only light came from the lamp on the kitchen counter, and a bare lightbulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling above him.
There was an old sewing machine on the desk, duct taped together it looked like, and the stub of a candle melted over an upside down cup on the nightstand next to the bed.
But what caught his eye was the stuffed animals placed all around the room. They lined the edge of the bed, sat in the rocker, were set up in a line in front of the sewing machine, peeked out of cupboards and were strewn about the kitchen counter.
Alen blinked once or twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He wasn’t.
The girl stopped stirring, and shut the stove off, before reaching up on tiptoe to pull two glass bowls from one of the cupboards.
“Move, Chewy,” she said simply, brushing a stuffed bear further down the counter to set the bowls down. Alen watched her bewilderedly as she picked up the pot with a pair of oven mitts and poured its contents into a tall tea kettle. Two spoons were produced from a drawer, and then bowls, spoons and tea kettle were brought to the nightstand at Alen’s right.
The girl set them down gently, brought the rickety chair from the desk over, and proceeded to pour the contents of the tea kettle into the bowls.
“Here you go,” she said simply, handing Alen the bigger one. Alen set the cooling hot pad down on his lap and took the bowl somewhat apprehensively, peering with one eye at the liquid substance.
“Don’t worry, it’s just matzoh ball soup. Though, I don’t have a matzoh balls. So just soup, I guess.”
Alen sniffed the bowl, and found it to smell quite good, so he took a sip. It was hot, but good.
The girl smiled, and began to eat as well, alternating between taking her own spoonfuls and offering some to the one-eared rabbit that sat on the nightstand
“What’s your name?” she asked, after a time.
Alen blinked. Her bluntness was quite abrupt. “A… Alen. I’m Alen.”
“Pleased to meet you, Alen. I’m Mirra.”
Anyways, this takes place right after Alen has a run-in with a gang and gets severely beaten up.
He groaned, turning his head to look around the small room he was lying in.
It wasn’t much different from the room he had used to sleep in at Aunt Silphie’s, with a iron frame bed in the center of the room, peeling wallpaper on the walls, an old rusting desk in one corner and a rocking chair in the other. To his left was a small kitchen, with walls lined with cabinets and a few old appliances gleaming in the harsh light of a unshaded lamp.
The girl stood at the stove, stirring something in a metal pot. She was wearing a pair of old worn jeans rolled up at her bare feet, a plain t-shirt, and a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She turned to look at Alen questioningly, the smear of brown crossing her cheek giving her an almost comical look. Alen guessed her to be just a year or so younger than him
“You all right? You look awful.”
Alen smiled in spite of himself at the girl’s bluntness. “I... don’t think I have any b...roken bones.” He touched his jaw gingerly. “T...hough everything hurts like I did.”
The girl smiled sweetly, turning back to stirring her pot. Alen took another glance around the room. Most of the furniture looked to have been painted white at some time, but they were all so worn and flaking it was hard to tell. The only light came from the lamp on the kitchen counter, and a bare lightbulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling above him.
There was an old sewing machine on the desk, duct taped together it looked like, and the stub of a candle melted over an upside down cup on the nightstand next to the bed.
But what caught his eye was the stuffed animals placed all around the room. They lined the edge of the bed, sat in the rocker, were set up in a line in front of the sewing machine, peeked out of cupboards and were strewn about the kitchen counter.
Alen blinked once or twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He wasn’t.
The girl stopped stirring, and shut the stove off, before reaching up on tiptoe to pull two glass bowls from one of the cupboards.
“Move, Chewy,” she said simply, brushing a stuffed bear further down the counter to set the bowls down. Alen watched her bewilderedly as she picked up the pot with a pair of oven mitts and poured its contents into a tall tea kettle. Two spoons were produced from a drawer, and then bowls, spoons and tea kettle were brought to the nightstand at Alen’s right.
The girl set them down gently, brought the rickety chair from the desk over, and proceeded to pour the contents of the tea kettle into the bowls.
“Here you go,” she said simply, handing Alen the bigger one. Alen set the cooling hot pad down on his lap and took the bowl somewhat apprehensively, peering with one eye at the liquid substance.
“Don’t worry, it’s just matzoh ball soup. Though, I don’t have a matzoh balls. So just soup, I guess.”
Alen sniffed the bowl, and found it to smell quite good, so he took a sip. It was hot, but good.
The girl smiled, and began to eat as well, alternating between taking her own spoonfuls and offering some to the one-eared rabbit that sat on the nightstand
“What’s your name?” she asked, after a time.
Alen blinked. Her bluntness was quite abrupt. “A… Alen. I’m Alen.”
“Pleased to meet you, Alen. I’m Mirra.”
November 13, 2011
An Excerpt
I've reached 19k in The Trust Hole (Only one thousand words behind!), so I thought it was high time to post an excerpt. Enjoy!
As they sat at their table, Watson listed for Alen the actual things that made the men he knew different from what they appeared. The Hole wasn’t just a haven for the out-of-work, it was a refuge for those driven from normal life by their abnormalities. Mendel had been a cook in a French cuisine until it was discovered he had a minor case of dyslexia after one of his desserts sent fifteen guests to the emergency room with food poisoning. The mark on his record had kept him out of a job for three years before Nick found him.
Watson grinned wryly. “If fifteen illegal fighters get sent to the emergency room for food poison, who’s to care? But that’s why the big guy always has someone else in the kitchen with him at all times, to make sure he doesn’t do it again.”
Nick, of course, had his size. It was hard enough to get work these days and being too short to do much than office work did not help. Brian was actually color blind to everything but black and white, which made most jobs out of the question. Blue’s body produced nearly three times as much electricity as a normal human’s, so anything electronic would fry whenever he touched it, or sometimes just got close.
Watson actually laughed out loud when he mentioned this. “Oh, you should’ve been there the first night he showed up. A group of us were watching TV in the break room and he passed by. The whole screen went all static and fuzzy for a few seconds, and when it went back to normal, it had switched channels! None of use knew what was going on, so he kept doing it! He must have passed us a dozen times before Martin caught on that it happened whenever he walked past. We all laughed so hard.”
Alen grinned broadly, then grew serious again. “What’s Martin’s… problem?”
Watson frowned. “Martin has… Martin’s brain operates differently from most people’s, but it’s not a disease like schizophrenia or anything. He takes longer to understand some thing than normal people, but others he picks up without even trying. It’s like some parts of his brain are underdeveloped while the rest got overdeveloped. I mean, he can operate fairly normally in the day-to-day stuff, it’s mostly memory and comprehension that I’m talking about. He can take one look at any weapon and know how to use it like a pro, but he can’t add or subtract anything over twenty to save his life. He’ll remember your face for as long as he lives, but he might forget your name within a few days he’s only met you once. One time he forgot if the earth revolved around the sun or vice versa, and only asked me because he remembered something Brian had said about shadows a month before that didn’t make sense if the sun revolved around the earth!”
Watson shook his head incredulously. “He’s an odd specimen, that’s for sure. Incredibly moody, and his condition makes him not as social as most of the other men here.”
Alen nodded, thinking back on his time with Martin on the road here. A lot of his strange behavior was explained, but there was something beyond that in the tall man as well, a glimmer of emotion that had shone through that afternoon in Alen’s room. He had seemed very normal then.
Watson went on to describe most of the other men in the room, pointing them out as he talked about them. There was Bjorid, the Swedish giant, who stood eight feet tall and spoke hardly five words of english; there was Albert, the slightly insane Pole who could make a weapon out of duck tape, paperclips, and an electrical outlet; Vladmir, the deaf Russian strongman; Tecal, the hypersensitive Cherokee with lightning-quick reflexes (Watson warned Alen never to walk up quietly behind the full-blooded Indian when he was eating, since doing so might end with a fork in your gut, unless he was lucky); Pepe, the Puerto Rican whose whistle was so high it could shatter glass; and Cory, the redneck from Alabama who had never passed third grade but could box like Rocky Balboa.
Altogether it was a curious lot...
Watson grinned wryly. “If fifteen illegal fighters get sent to the emergency room for food poison, who’s to care? But that’s why the big guy always has someone else in the kitchen with him at all times, to make sure he doesn’t do it again.”
Nick, of course, had his size. It was hard enough to get work these days and being too short to do much than office work did not help. Brian was actually color blind to everything but black and white, which made most jobs out of the question. Blue’s body produced nearly three times as much electricity as a normal human’s, so anything electronic would fry whenever he touched it, or sometimes just got close.
Watson actually laughed out loud when he mentioned this. “Oh, you should’ve been there the first night he showed up. A group of us were watching TV in the break room and he passed by. The whole screen went all static and fuzzy for a few seconds, and when it went back to normal, it had switched channels! None of use knew what was going on, so he kept doing it! He must have passed us a dozen times before Martin caught on that it happened whenever he walked past. We all laughed so hard.”
Alen grinned broadly, then grew serious again. “What’s Martin’s… problem?”
Watson frowned. “Martin has… Martin’s brain operates differently from most people’s, but it’s not a disease like schizophrenia or anything. He takes longer to understand some thing than normal people, but others he picks up without even trying. It’s like some parts of his brain are underdeveloped while the rest got overdeveloped. I mean, he can operate fairly normally in the day-to-day stuff, it’s mostly memory and comprehension that I’m talking about. He can take one look at any weapon and know how to use it like a pro, but he can’t add or subtract anything over twenty to save his life. He’ll remember your face for as long as he lives, but he might forget your name within a few days he’s only met you once. One time he forgot if the earth revolved around the sun or vice versa, and only asked me because he remembered something Brian had said about shadows a month before that didn’t make sense if the sun revolved around the earth!”
Watson shook his head incredulously. “He’s an odd specimen, that’s for sure. Incredibly moody, and his condition makes him not as social as most of the other men here.”
Alen nodded, thinking back on his time with Martin on the road here. A lot of his strange behavior was explained, but there was something beyond that in the tall man as well, a glimmer of emotion that had shone through that afternoon in Alen’s room. He had seemed very normal then.
Watson went on to describe most of the other men in the room, pointing them out as he talked about them. There was Bjorid, the Swedish giant, who stood eight feet tall and spoke hardly five words of english; there was Albert, the slightly insane Pole who could make a weapon out of duck tape, paperclips, and an electrical outlet; Vladmir, the deaf Russian strongman; Tecal, the hypersensitive Cherokee with lightning-quick reflexes (Watson warned Alen never to walk up quietly behind the full-blooded Indian when he was eating, since doing so might end with a fork in your gut, unless he was lucky); Pepe, the Puerto Rican whose whistle was so high it could shatter glass; and Cory, the redneck from Alabama who had never passed third grade but could box like Rocky Balboa.
Altogether it was a curious lot...
November 11, 2011
The Plot Thickens...
“Humans enjoying inflicting pain. If they can't do it themselves, they will pay to see it done”
November 9, 2011
Witness The Action!
The dark lingered a second longer, then was obliterated in a flood of warm yellow light. The wall was lit up by hundreds of small spotlights, each shining on a framed poster or giant photograph, all of them advertising the same nightly excitement at “The Hole” that the business card in Martin’s hat had.
But the content of the posters was what caught Alen’s eye; giant robots locked in combat with strange costumed figures, each labeled with such colorful titles as “The Firefly,” “Whiz-bang,” “Crackerjack,” and “Fist.”
He walked slowly down the wall, eyes going from one intense poster to the next. He found the one for “Brother Paul,” a man in a trench coat and fedora leaping up to meet the hulking tower of steel poised over him...
The Story Continues!
The first of many...
“They didn't pay to see you win! They came to see a fight! And I just gave them that!"
November 8, 2011
9,183
Well, I think I've finally gotten into the Nanowrimo groove, writing every night from about 9:30 to 12:00. Early bumps aside, I'm doing quite well, and am steadily catching up to where I would like to be. The newest additions are up on Google docs, so feel free to check it out! And now everyone who I invited can comment, so feel free to do that as well. (Hey, additions are legal editing here!) So basically, if you see something you want expounded on, let me know! :)
Running the engines at full steam,
Farjag
Running the engines at full steam,
Farjag
November 6, 2011
The Trust Hole
Well, my Nanowrimo got a bit of a strange start. Two writing sessions in, I decided that Silver and Sable wasn't the story I needed to be writing. I was hit with an idea unlike any other I had had before, a dystopian, slightly off-kilter modern fantasy starring a young boy named Alen, and set in the dog-eat-dog world of robot vs. freak cage-fighting.
The synopsis: Alen Croxale has had a rough if sheltered childhood, getting dumped on old Aunt Silphie's doorstep when the nearby orphanage closed, living with hand-me-downs for clothes and shotgun fanatics for neighbors. So when a stranger arrives to take him somewhere far away, he is more than willing to go. His destination? A complex of buildings known as the Hole deep in the slums of Molson City. The Hole houses the Most Dangerous Game, a secret, illegal form of amusement not many know about and even fewer speak of. For the Game is haven to the world's bizarre and unwanted, those with traits about them which other people fear and do not understand. Here you can find midgets, giants, ex-circus performers, prison escapees, mad sharpshooters, talking animals, out-of-a-job actors and one-eyed veterans, all looking for one last hope of redemption before they die. And the Game pits them against robots, recyclable fighters whose only programming is to destroy their enemy. Colorful characters abound in the white halls of the Hole, but only a few survive. And what is Alen's purpose there? What is so special and bizarre about the young boy of sixteen? Only time will tell, unless the Game gets him first.
That was on the fourth. I spent the drive to church this morning really delving into what the story would be about, by way of quotes (Which I will post on here as teasers fairly frequently). Now I know where the story is headed, and am really excited (not the right word, but it will have to do) about where it will take me.
So, now I've hit my rubber to the road, am well on my way to catching up to where I need to be, and The Trust Hole is up on Google Docs for your perusal.
The synopsis: Alen Croxale has had a rough if sheltered childhood, getting dumped on old Aunt Silphie's doorstep when the nearby orphanage closed, living with hand-me-downs for clothes and shotgun fanatics for neighbors. So when a stranger arrives to take him somewhere far away, he is more than willing to go. His destination? A complex of buildings known as the Hole deep in the slums of Molson City. The Hole houses the Most Dangerous Game, a secret, illegal form of amusement not many know about and even fewer speak of. For the Game is haven to the world's bizarre and unwanted, those with traits about them which other people fear and do not understand. Here you can find midgets, giants, ex-circus performers, prison escapees, mad sharpshooters, talking animals, out-of-a-job actors and one-eyed veterans, all looking for one last hope of redemption before they die. And the Game pits them against robots, recyclable fighters whose only programming is to destroy their enemy. Colorful characters abound in the white halls of the Hole, but only a few survive. And what is Alen's purpose there? What is so special and bizarre about the young boy of sixteen? Only time will tell, unless the Game gets him first.
That was on the fourth. I spent the drive to church this morning really delving into what the story would be about, by way of quotes (Which I will post on here as teasers fairly frequently). Now I know where the story is headed, and am really excited (not the right word, but it will have to do) about where it will take me.
So, now I've hit my rubber to the road, am well on my way to catching up to where I need to be, and The Trust Hole is up on Google Docs for your perusal.
November 5, 2011
November 4, 2011
Time
Well, I haven't exactly gotten off to the rip-roaring start I was hoping for with Nanowrimo, as I'm sure at least someone has noticed. But it's no fault of my book or writing skills. You see, the night before last I stayed up till 4:00am, working on this.
In case any one is wondering, it's a 3d design project focusing on organization. I designed the 2d image first with certain shapes, and then made the 3d transformation.
So, no time at all for writing on the 2nd. I thought that would be ok, though, since I had written almost 700 words extra on the 1st, so it shouldn't be too hard to catch up. But then last night... I didn't get started till 10:00 (Courtesy of design class) and I was falling asleep at my computer barely 400 words in. So I decided to get some much need rest.
So now I'm a few thousand words behind, but don't worry! I can and will catch up (hopefully by the start of next week). Watch for the next three segments of Silver and Sable when they appear shortly!
November 1, 2011
It has Begun
The first 2,305 words are up! They actually went quicker than I expected, I think I've improved in writing speedily since last year. (Probably due to all the writing I've been doing lately. Doing something a lot usually helps with the speed, don't you think? :P )
So, for this first half chapter, I tried to really focus on setting up the... setting. I tried to give a brief look into the culture Rogart is from, what the people are like, what he is used to. This is important, because fairly soon we won't be seeing it anymore, so there has to be a solid groundwork for Rogart to pull from later on. I also wanted to show some of Rogart's relationship with Chain, the man he is apprenticed to. This also will disappear shortly, but it plays a key role in the end of the book, so there has to be something to go on. Until next time,
A fairly excited,
Farjag
P.S. If anyone wants to follow along as I write, shoot me an email!
So, for this first half chapter, I tried to really focus on setting up the... setting. I tried to give a brief look into the culture Rogart is from, what the people are like, what he is used to. This is important, because fairly soon we won't be seeing it anymore, so there has to be a solid groundwork for Rogart to pull from later on. I also wanted to show some of Rogart's relationship with Chain, the man he is apprenticed to. This also will disappear shortly, but it plays a key role in the end of the book, so there has to be something to go on. Until next time,
A fairly excited,
Farjag
P.S. If anyone wants to follow along as I write, shoot me an email!
NaNoWrimo!
The long awaited day is here! Tonight I shall begin my second annual 50,000 words in 30 days marathon! I shall be living and breathing Silver and Sable for the entire month of November, so blog posts will probably decrease, however what I've written each night will go up on google docs, (hopefully) so if you're interested in following along as I write, email me!
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