I just declared my NaNo at 50,430. I freely admit that a very large chunk of that is disjointed ideas and descriptions of places and people, and comments on life and general junk that I've been letting off steam with during the last month. Eventually I'll make a large amount of it fit together to slot into the novel. But for now I've hit the total.
Now I have serious editing work to do but not for a couple of weeks at least!
Monday, November 28, 2011
How to insult people... without really trying
Have you ever read Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy? Do you remember Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged, who was overcoming the boredom of immortality by working his way round the universe and insulting people in alphabetical order? (Arthur Dent? Arthus Philip Dent? You're a jerk. A complete asshole).
Well I've just found something that would have helped Wowbagger enormously. On a blog that I (used to) read regularly there is an opportunity to tick one of a set of boxes to give instant feedback on the post. I can only asume that it's for Farcebook or Twatter or one of these social networking things.
What are the choices I can tick? In the order they appear on the page they are:
Gay
Shiny
Meh
Oh dear.
I have to say that I'm appalled at the choice and sincerely hope that my (former) bloggy contact didn't actually choose those options herself. I think someone's trying to be funny. BUT IT ISN'T.
And if you don't know why it isn't funny, I suggest you rethink your standards.
Well I've just found something that would have helped Wowbagger enormously. On a blog that I (used to) read regularly there is an opportunity to tick one of a set of boxes to give instant feedback on the post. I can only asume that it's for Farcebook or Twatter or one of these social networking things.
What are the choices I can tick? In the order they appear on the page they are:
Gay
Shiny
Meh
Oh dear.
I have to say that I'm appalled at the choice and sincerely hope that my (former) bloggy contact didn't actually choose those options herself. I think someone's trying to be funny. BUT IT ISN'T.
And if you don't know why it isn't funny, I suggest you rethink your standards.
Friday, November 25, 2011
FFF55. More NaNo. Meet Bill
Here's another of the cast from the Sea View Hotel.
He dressed casually and his general impression suggested tweed. His outfits gave off a sort of browny-green aura, as if he had been carved from a part of the landscape, and they had the kind of texture that conjured up pictures of moorland and bracken. Sometimes I swear I could hear grouse calling around him.
*********
It's the usual Friday challenge for the G-Man. Go visit him to see more!
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thursday extracts: More Sea Views
My narrator waxed a little lyrical yesterday. I think he might be doing that a lot over the next six days!
Of course they’ve been saying for years that a trip to the seaside does you good. They used to recommend a sea retreat for most things that ailed historic folks. All kinds of people were sent here for the good of their health back in Victorian times – the graveyard’s full of them. You think I’m joking don’t you, but I’m not. Just take a stroll up to the parish church and check out their inscribed list of renowned residents. Writers, musicians, people who were famous just for being famous, seems all very familiar really. These days they end up on a reality TV programme when their careers are dying; back then the less-than-great and not very good were sent away for a coastal sojourn when they were fading.
Some of them took the waters, as they used to say. That meant they draped themselves over plush couches in ornate halls and drank glasses of smelly stuff dripping out of a cracked cliff. They got around to putting a tap on eventually so it appeared more official but however you market the stuff you can’t alter the fact that it’s little better than untreated sewage. You can even try the cure today if you like, the tap’s still working, though no-one makes ludicrous claims about it any more. Those Victorians believed spa water would solve everything from a hangnail to the Black Death but the only thing it actually affects is your digestive system. The quacks and sawbones thought bloodletting and extracting other bodily fluids improved your chances, so they probably believed in beneficial effects of the water. It certainly clears out your system. I tried once. That was quite enough.
They didn’t just drink grimy fluids, though, they bathed in them as well. Doctors told people their ailments would improve if they just lowered themselves up to their waists in ocean water; cold ocean water. Can you imagine suffering from consumption and coughing your lung linings out while you stood shivering in your undies and the tide lapped in around your personal bits? Gives you the creeps if you think too hard, how all those sickly types came for their treatments but never went home. Kill or cure must have proved fatal much more often than it offered a reprieve. I think we probably have the healthiest bunch of historic corpses in any cemetery up and down the country.
Of course they’ve been saying for years that a trip to the seaside does you good. They used to recommend a sea retreat for most things that ailed historic folks. All kinds of people were sent here for the good of their health back in Victorian times – the graveyard’s full of them. You think I’m joking don’t you, but I’m not. Just take a stroll up to the parish church and check out their inscribed list of renowned residents. Writers, musicians, people who were famous just for being famous, seems all very familiar really. These days they end up on a reality TV programme when their careers are dying; back then the less-than-great and not very good were sent away for a coastal sojourn when they were fading.
Some of them took the waters, as they used to say. That meant they draped themselves over plush couches in ornate halls and drank glasses of smelly stuff dripping out of a cracked cliff. They got around to putting a tap on eventually so it appeared more official but however you market the stuff you can’t alter the fact that it’s little better than untreated sewage. You can even try the cure today if you like, the tap’s still working, though no-one makes ludicrous claims about it any more. Those Victorians believed spa water would solve everything from a hangnail to the Black Death but the only thing it actually affects is your digestive system. The quacks and sawbones thought bloodletting and extracting other bodily fluids improved your chances, so they probably believed in beneficial effects of the water. It certainly clears out your system. I tried once. That was quite enough.
They didn’t just drink grimy fluids, though, they bathed in them as well. Doctors told people their ailments would improve if they just lowered themselves up to their waists in ocean water; cold ocean water. Can you imagine suffering from consumption and coughing your lung linings out while you stood shivering in your undies and the tide lapped in around your personal bits? Gives you the creeps if you think too hard, how all those sickly types came for their treatments but never went home. Kill or cure must have proved fatal much more often than it offered a reprieve. I think we probably have the healthiest bunch of historic corpses in any cemetery up and down the country.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Happy happy happy!
I'm proud to say that my first sample (my current NaNo daily attempt - as written, no editing) said it was fit and trim overall, though my verbs could do with toning.
My second sample (an earlier NaNo daily input, which I've edited a bit) came out as lean. Completely lean!
My third sample (written by my boss, who's always trying to correct my writing) came out as needing toning, bordering on flabby.
I'm laughing my socks off.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Sunday 160
Ted Mathews believed he was a big fish in a small pool. The fact that he was actually small fry did not detract from his inflated opinion of his own importance.
Friday, November 18, 2011
FFF55. All aboard. More from my NaNo novel.
OK - you all know what's going on by now so I'm not going to explain.Here's 55 words for the G-Man's weekly challenge, that tell you a little bit more about my novel's narrator, who was sent off to boarding school at an early age.
There were a number who enrolled at the same time, all very young, and dumped on the teachers and domestic staff for a variety of reasons. A few of the lads came from places where their parents genuinely could not look after them, but most of us shared the dubious honour of being simply unwanted.
There were a number who enrolled at the same time, all very young, and dumped on the teachers and domestic staff for a variety of reasons. A few of the lads came from places where their parents genuinely could not look after them, but most of us shared the dubious honour of being simply unwanted.
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