I'm just gonna leave this here:



Validated with THREE MINUTES TO SPARE BITCHES! *confetti*

It wasn't a competition against anyone but myself, but believe me when I say, that's all I really needed. x_x

I am my own worst critic. Ugh.

The story isn't done, but the goal is. I'll wrap up the first draft tomorrow and then? Then I'm going to let myself play WoW until my eyes bleed.

The last week or so of NaNo has been an endless game of Fall Behind, Catch Up.

I'm caught up again after writing nearly 7k today. I am REALLY happy with Azazel's scene/chapter. I REALLY like how he turned out.



FOR NOW.

Though what I'm really wondering is whether or not I can finish this story in just over 8k words. I may end up running just a wee bit over. Again.

Made it past the halfway point today. Caught up now.

Gonna go pass out before I turn Andy's snark back on. Can't snark like this. Can't type anymore. I have typo-ed every word in the previous sentence and this one at least once. Too much backspacing.

Yeah. Bed now.

And the Devil makes his grand entrance. Only it's not as grand as I would've liked it to be, but then I'm too tired to do it any real justice. On the rebound, I'll spruce it up.

This icon is appropriate.

Pig's Decoy Scene is done.

Phil's character continues to develop in interesting ways. Old people make awesome characters.

We're on Chapter Nine and have broken 20k. I'm surprised I've lasted this long.

o_O

Also: Firefighter is Srs Bns Yo. Mimiron is a jerk. A dead jerk now, but still a jerk.

You know things are going to go well for the evening's writing session when you start off chapter eight with the following sentence:

There were a few certainties in Joseph’s world these days, but one of the things he was very sure of was that Phil scared the hell out of him.

Yeah.

I'm just gonna take that and run. This should be fun.

We also have this:

Before she’d left, Sam had told him that Phil was a half-angel. Joseph was very quickly reorganizing his mental image of an angel to accommodate this new information. It wasn’t going very well.

Ah. There are my little darlings. There they are~

So I go and pound out the last 300 words to get myself totally caught up to 15k before I head to bed. I plug the grand total into the NaNo site, all "Woot! Go me!" and then I made the mistake of looking at the stats.

LOL 2DAY IZ WEDNESDAY U SHUD B @ 16.6k!!!!!!!

No, NaNo. Fuck you, NaNo. I am going to bed, NaNo.

You have to understand, I fought tooth and nail for those God damned words. On the upside, I have ALLLLL DAAAAAY to write tomorrow because the kiddo will be at school and the husband will be in Escy to teach and I have the day off~

Avoiding writing and brightening one's day, this rant about writing sex scenes still makes me ROFL years after first stumbling upon it.

It's definitely worth a read. Again.

When you said "Kill your darlings," I know what you meant. The question I pose now is:

What if you have no darlings?

Because right now? I want to go print this whole thing off and light it on fire.

FIRE I SAY!

In case anyone was wondering: My writers block isn't, really. It's more of a quality block. Things are happening and it's going from Point A to Point B, but it's like puking words onto the screen, at this point. I'm not sure about counting what I've written in the "official" count yet. I should, by the rules, but.

...Eh. Catch it on the rebound, or somethin'.

Also, I was looking at my wedding pictures earlier, because I'd stumbled across the scrapbook feature on LJ and remembered it existed, and that I had put pictures in it at some point. I found the pictures of the giant shitkicker boots that my mother painted ivory to match the dress. She put pearls on them.

I wore shitkickers at my wedding.

...That brightened my day considerably.

Between getting home from work late, being dead tired from said work, child and husband wanting ATTENTION NAO and/or TV time (which is really distracting, by the way), I somehow managed to get 1800 some words written.

When you think about it, 1667 words per day really isn't that difficult. In fact, it's really easy. It's making those words worth reading that's the hard part.

I've taken to naming my "Chapters" because having a title gives me an idea of where I want to go with that particular scene/set of scenes. Thus far my chapter names include:

1. Blood On The Alter


2. Pig In A Blanket


3. She Danced To Silence


4. The Beds Are Burning

And #5 is as yet untitled, which is not good because that little bit of direction that is so helpful is not there. I'm thinking I should probably fix this.

Tomorrow.

Look ma! I'm up to thiiiiiiiiissss many words!

This is taking forever to write. See Jen's Problem Solving Skills in Action:

Problem: The characters have no central hub/person they can rely on to get stuff done and as a result, nothing gets done and they have no where to go when they need to Talk Shop!

Solution: Scrap everything and invent Andy.

Problem: Things are too neat and moving sloooooooooooowly.

Solution: Stab Andy!

Problem: There is now a monster running loose in Andy's apartment that wants to eat the Totally Normal Human Priest With No Special Powers Whatsoever.

Solution: Phil's Holy Flamethrower.

Problem: It tickles.

Solution: Andy isn't dead, so Hell Fire + Holy Fire = maybe some ouchies? At least enough to confuse it so it runs off.

Problem: It stabbed Andy.

Solution: Forthcoming, but I think it might involve Hawaii.

...

I shall name the shark Bob. Bob is my friend!

At the very least, I got this out of tonight's ramblings:

The bed was on fire. It was a massive, roaring, bonfire. On the bed. It didn’t seem to be consuming anything, just burning. He couldn’t see Sam anywhere. His eyes widened and he took a step back. The heat was glaring and overwhelming and Joseph stumbled against the door frame. “Andy...”

"Yes?" Joseph was unsurprised to find that Andy was already standing next to him, hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Your bed is on fire," the priest said weakly.

"I see that."

"Shouldn’t we...?" Joseph stopped. Several things occurred to him at once. Did Andy have a fire extinguisher? Would that even work? Where was Sam? Why was Andy so calm? "Doesn’t that bother you?" he blurted, staring at Andy’s impassive expression.

"Not really," Andy said and then smiled in a bemused sort of way. "Should it?"

"I... Your bed is on fire," Joseph repeated, in the sort of slow, deliberate tone of voice one used when talking to children or the very old. He put emphasis on every word, just in case Andy had a problem understanding him.

Apparently, Joseph was wrong and Andy not only spoke English, but had excellent comprehension skills. "So you said." He craned his neck to look past Joseph’s shoulder. He smiled again, but it wasn’t really a smile. It was a tried, and somewhat evil smirk. "I prefer to think of it as having a very hot woman sleeping in my bed." Pause. "That was a joke, Father."

Still on track...