NaNoWriMo 2012

La Petit Mort

So, how's taking up the challenge this year? I'm already a day behind, but slowly catching up.

Victor Frost

Nope. More important things to do.

Nukerjsr

I'm gonna try and finish the story I tried writing for NaNoWriMo two years ago.

open_sketchbook

I don't plan on aiming for the full 50,000, but I want to write a tie-in novella for Hardboiled, probably to include as a Kickstarter reward. Just a short pulpy little detective story thing.

Luke Burrage

I've done it four years now, I think. This time I'm super busy with other projects and just don't have time. I'm at a point with my writing that I don't need NaNoWriMo to get shit done. Or so I tell myself.

P_TOG

I'm going to tell myself that I'm going to do it, then forget about it and not do it.

Here I go!

canine224

I'm going to tell myself that I'm going to do it, then forget about it and not do it.

Here I go!

Geo

I'm gonna wait for the script analogue of the nanowrimo: Script Frenzy; to begin instead.

http://www.scriptfrenzy.org/

theknoxinator

I have to bow out this year again. For the last couple years my company has been making it a habit of piling on the stress right at the end of the year, so I'm going to be too busy and creatively drained because of work to do it.

P_TOG

Wait, I think I'm actually going to do this.


Maybe.

WindUpBird

Started a novel, no outline, no notes. Here's the opening:

The tattooed words on his inner left wrist were bisected by a clean line of sutures. A serotonin wireframe on his right wrist was likewise bisected, the scar ruining a sleeve piece composed of various neurotransmitter molecular structures. Thomas Claig would be very pissed off indeed about the damage to his tattoos, but he was presently too concerned with the hypovolemic coma that followed his suicide attempt. A bag of O- blood was dripping slowly down a transfusion line, and a small ventilator was pushing and pulling enriched air in and out of Tom's lungs. There was the steady beat of the heartrate monitor by the bed, and the nearly-imperceptible tick-tick-tick of blood falling into the drip chamber before rushing down through the cannula into Tom's icy hands. A nurse walked into the room to check vitals, turning the lights on, and twin suns burst through Tom's eyelids and the coma and his brain thought, "Light."

The heartrate monitor is screaming now and Tom is gasping. Some eager, reactivated part of his brain starts thinking about all the things he remembers that remind him of gasping: bluegills on the pier of Sanctuary with his dad when he was five, the trout he killed for Kate when they hiked the PCT, the way his dog Tawny looked when she yawned. He keeps thinking about the bluegill and he is flopping about in the bed like the fish on Sanctuary's pier, his dad saying, "Back in the water with it!" Tom is suddenly viscerally aware of the fact that he can see things, like that light is actually entering his eyeballs and he is perceiving the presence of objects beyond him. The nurse is struggling to hold him down and a code alarm is blaring. She is the prettiest woman on earth, Tom thinks. He can't perceive anything beyond the totality of the young woman holding down his arms: it's all raven hair and crystalline brown irises and the look of someone 100% devoted to the task at hand. She is sweaty from the effort she is exerting, and she is screaming something Tom cannot hear. Tom realizes that she has breasts and he hasn't seen breasts for a long time. Her nametag is covered in unreadable symbols. A shadowy figure approaches the bed behind her and it is filling a syringe with a milky white fluid, pushing it into the cannula, flooding Tom's system with a feeling that he'll later describe to the nurse as, quote, "an orgasm in outer space." He can't hear his heartbeat in his ears and his vision is fading. The impossibly beautiful nurse is panting and relaxing, rearranging his sheets and pillows. Tom moans an impotent sound and is immediately embarrassed as the nurse feels around his groin and adjusts his catheter and fixes his hair.

The nurse is leaning into the remaining pinpoint of his field of vision, her lips are forming a single word: "Breathe."

Tom does as he's told, and soon enough he is gone again.

WindUpBird

Here's some notes I took last night on the story and main character. Pardon the formatting weirdness; this is copypasta from my LibreOffice doc:

"Nate Silver-pioneered poll, survey, and content aggregation along with inference ranking has allowed companies to predict the next consumer trend before it happens; most industry is involved in a constant arms race to predict future consumer data faster and with more accuracy.

Claig's job is to take the data and transform it into a salable product; his algorithms and creative talents for this are what earns him his money. His breakthrough concept was entitled "Space Monk: Wandering Oni," which pitted the eponymous Space Monk, a Ukranian Zen Buddhist monk with psionic powers and kung-fu who travels through space against demons from Japanese myth. The Monk speaks in Ukranian, but the subtitles were Chinese characters. The film spawned five sequels and won four Oscars."