Passed the 10 percent mark ...
Nov. 5th, 2010 09:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteOf course that means 90 percent more to go.
I've got 6,700 some odd words on my NaNoWriMo novel so far for the first five days. The experience has been interesting. For the most part, I wouldn't say that it's particularly great writing, but every day, I'm finding something interesting within the words that I like, and would be interesting to play with on a second pass through or edit. That's one of the hard things, avoiding that desire to go back and fiddle with what I've already written, but of course the point to this exercise -- at least to me -- is to push past that part of my brain and see what happens if I just keep moving forward.
And so far, that's been interesting. There have been plot points and character nuances and story telling tricks that I've discovered that I wouldn't have necessarily planned on, but present themselves as opportunities in the writing process here.
When I first started, I thought that what plot I had wasn't much to support an actual novel, but the more I play with it, the more I like it.
And, for the heck of it, here's the first few paragraphs.
About twenty miles out of Williston, Nick took the right hand turn onto a hard packed dirt driveway. It was right where the guy at the coffee shop had said it would be, set close to the lake's edge at the base of a hill. Nick would have coasted right by it, if he hadn't been looking.
"Only place you're going to find for eighty miles," the guy had warned.
Nick led the bike between the ruts and stones at a slow pace, feeling the handlebars joggle beneath his hands. He heard the high pitched creaking of something in the trailer behind him, rubbing against something plastic.
He'd gotten used to the multitude of sounds from the bike, from the trailer, and from himself over the past three weeks. Creaks and groans and pops and clicks. When he'd set out in Seattle he'd dreamed of silence. Even at night, though, he heard the sound of his own heart beating in his chest, the wind through the grass and leaves, the rustle of some unseen insect.
There were a couple of old cars in the gravel parking lot along with a pickup, its bed filled with tool boxes and cardboard along with a couple of fishing poles hanging out of the back end.
The shop had pale blue siding that almost blended in with the muddled browns and blues of the lake, and a gray asphalt roof. A red neon sign advertised fresh bait. The sign in the door didn't bother listing the store's hours, just stated it was open. A flag hung above the door, and moved loosely in the weak breeze off the water.
I've got 6,700 some odd words on my NaNoWriMo novel so far for the first five days. The experience has been interesting. For the most part, I wouldn't say that it's particularly great writing, but every day, I'm finding something interesting within the words that I like, and would be interesting to play with on a second pass through or edit. That's one of the hard things, avoiding that desire to go back and fiddle with what I've already written, but of course the point to this exercise -- at least to me -- is to push past that part of my brain and see what happens if I just keep moving forward.
And so far, that's been interesting. There have been plot points and character nuances and story telling tricks that I've discovered that I wouldn't have necessarily planned on, but present themselves as opportunities in the writing process here.
When I first started, I thought that what plot I had wasn't much to support an actual novel, but the more I play with it, the more I like it.
And, for the heck of it, here's the first few paragraphs.
About twenty miles out of Williston, Nick took the right hand turn onto a hard packed dirt driveway. It was right where the guy at the coffee shop had said it would be, set close to the lake's edge at the base of a hill. Nick would have coasted right by it, if he hadn't been looking.
"Only place you're going to find for eighty miles," the guy had warned.
Nick led the bike between the ruts and stones at a slow pace, feeling the handlebars joggle beneath his hands. He heard the high pitched creaking of something in the trailer behind him, rubbing against something plastic.
He'd gotten used to the multitude of sounds from the bike, from the trailer, and from himself over the past three weeks. Creaks and groans and pops and clicks. When he'd set out in Seattle he'd dreamed of silence. Even at night, though, he heard the sound of his own heart beating in his chest, the wind through the grass and leaves, the rustle of some unseen insect.
There were a couple of old cars in the gravel parking lot along with a pickup, its bed filled with tool boxes and cardboard along with a couple of fishing poles hanging out of the back end.
The shop had pale blue siding that almost blended in with the muddled browns and blues of the lake, and a gray asphalt roof. A red neon sign advertised fresh bait. The sign in the door didn't bother listing the store's hours, just stated it was open. A flag hung above the door, and moved loosely in the weak breeze off the water.