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Nanowrimo Day 21
You know, as writers we say some very strange things. Last night at a write-in, somebody pointed out that I’d just said, “That’s okay, I’ll just kill him.” When I tried to defend that it was a drunk clergyman I was talking about, it only got worse.
But yeah, we’re twenty-one days into Nanowrimo and two thirds of the way through November. Things are bound to come flying out of my mouth that I’ll no doubt either laugh or regret. Sometimes both.
I’m ahead of yesterday’s word count and am ambivalent once more. It’s not sleep deprivation, I don’t think, but simply that I’ve accepted this is my life for the month. I’m about to jump into yet another action scene, but I’m contemplating skipping it. That’s one of the benefits of writing it in Scrivener, I think. I can come back to it later when I have time to choreograph the team fighting together.
Even so, I took some time off to play in Photoshop because once I hit December, I’ll need to switch gears to real life stuff/a project with quistie. If anybody on my f-list knows where there are some quality graphics of Scarlett Johansson wearing wintery clothing (from movies, photoshoots, anything), please, could you let me know? It’s incredibly easy to find Renner in heavy coats and scarves, but I’m finding it a bit more difficult for Johansson.
I’m really excited about what I have already, for what it’s worth. I did something unholy to something on be-compromised. It was incredibly fun.
It occurs to me that this story I’m writing will be the first time I’ve ever completed an entirely (chaptered) story before posting. It’s a couple thousand words longer than The Woman in the Crosshairs already, which I think is my longest one-shot. That’s kind of neat. People will get to read the entire story at the same time.
In personal stuff, I had a dream this morning that Mom and Dad missed their flight from Brussels to London (which is silly, brain, they’re taking a train) and I woke up to find Mom cooking me breakfast, not at all affected by the fact that she was missing out on London. What a weird dream. Dad’s the one that cooks breakfast, not Mom.
Happy Thanksgiving to my American buddies, and I wish you the best of food comas. To my international buddies, I hope your day tomorrow is wonderful, too. And if you fall into a food coma, I hope it’s the best food coma ever.
- Frea
Word Count: 34,043 words
Current Project: Secret Santa Chapter 6
Project on Deck: Secret Santa Chapter 7
But yeah, we’re twenty-one days into Nanowrimo and two thirds of the way through November. Things are bound to come flying out of my mouth that I’ll no doubt either laugh or regret. Sometimes both.
I’m ahead of yesterday’s word count and am ambivalent once more. It’s not sleep deprivation, I don’t think, but simply that I’ve accepted this is my life for the month. I’m about to jump into yet another action scene, but I’m contemplating skipping it. That’s one of the benefits of writing it in Scrivener, I think. I can come back to it later when I have time to choreograph the team fighting together.
Even so, I took some time off to play in Photoshop because once I hit December, I’ll need to switch gears to real life stuff/a project with quistie. If anybody on my f-list knows where there are some quality graphics of Scarlett Johansson wearing wintery clothing (from movies, photoshoots, anything), please, could you let me know? It’s incredibly easy to find Renner in heavy coats and scarves, but I’m finding it a bit more difficult for Johansson.
I’m really excited about what I have already, for what it’s worth. I did something unholy to something on be-compromised. It was incredibly fun.
It occurs to me that this story I’m writing will be the first time I’ve ever completed an entirely (chaptered) story before posting. It’s a couple thousand words longer than The Woman in the Crosshairs already, which I think is my longest one-shot. That’s kind of neat. People will get to read the entire story at the same time.
In personal stuff, I had a dream this morning that Mom and Dad missed their flight from Brussels to London (which is silly, brain, they’re taking a train) and I woke up to find Mom cooking me breakfast, not at all affected by the fact that she was missing out on London. What a weird dream. Dad’s the one that cooks breakfast, not Mom.
Happy Thanksgiving to my American buddies, and I wish you the best of food comas. To my international buddies, I hope your day tomorrow is wonderful, too. And if you fall into a food coma, I hope it’s the best food coma ever.
- Frea
Word Count: 34,043 words
Current Project: Secret Santa Chapter 6
Project on Deck: Secret Santa Chapter 7
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