Sunday, October 31, 2010

Slap Me Silly! We're 15 Hours Away!

Hello All Hallow's Eve hooligans!

Tis I, the invader of your creative mind. Here at In My Write Mind, and around other countless blogs, the countdown for November 1 is ticking away at mere hours. Throughout November, should time and sleep permit, I'll be posting every few days (short posts, and likely every monday), to keep my progress known outside of my author page.

The epic fail of NaNo is so finely drawn against succeeding for me for one reason: I work five days (Wednesday through Sunday) with the strangest hours at times, but luckily, two local write-in sessions here in Orlando fall on my only two days off. Score for me!

Fifteen hours away and I still have to shed off a final outline for my progress.

See you all very soon!

Have a safe and Merry Halloween, and sleep during the day! For come November 1, the zombie apocalypse of aspiring writers and novelists will be upon us once more.

Peace and Writing Love,


Thursday, October 28, 2010

Flyby Extras and Updates

So much work still needs to be done to prep before November 1. However, the biggest new decision I've made in the last few days was to switch my project. On October 25, I finished my manuscript, Bond of Darkness, and had planned to switch tracks for the month. I felt as if I needed to write something new. So I've been brewing the thought on a companion novel for a while and saw that as my solution.

Since then, I felt I was going to be sentencing myself to certain failure come the end of the month. I then made the bold decision to make my new project the second manuscript of the series, The Shattered Darkness. This way, I felt I was getting something doubly as productive complete, or attempting to, at least. I have to now pound out a new chapter outline for the project/manuscript (or essentially re-write what I had put on paper), and guide myself into the new story for the month.

Here is the cover art I slapped together with Photoshop.



(Thanks for teaching me this emoticon, Brenda.)

In other news, with the finishing of Bond of Darkness, I also slapped together an epilogue which was never in the original planning. Unlike prologues (which have that nasty cursed tendency to info. dump all over my face), the epilogue is a satisfactory way to bring additional ends of any story to a cliffhanger or close. In my case, I created a secondary protagonist who was featured five times through the manuscript. The epilogue is my way of cliffhanging her story. No one quite knows what any of this means, but I'm posting it just for fun. Reading for leisure. Double Horrah!

* * *

Epilogue — The Pearls of Mithrus

Howls of nocturnal creatures sang over the walls of Exaltus. Clouds over the northern plain stirred unsavorily as they prepared to deluge. The swift, undeviating rain came and thrashed the bridges in the city. Lush weeds and ancient tree roots dug up from the earth and spread across the ground.

Eris sat alone inside the Registrar. Candle light flickered dimly and she pulled roll after roll of parchment aside. Her research of the last two days amounted to untidy piles that loosely hung off the tables, threatening to tumble into an incomprehensible mess. 
“May I remove these for you, dear?” The keeper arrived at the table side and hefted her collection into his arms. He leaned over her, staring but she did not offer him a look. “You need more light, darling. You’ll ruin your beautiful eyes.”
“Please, no,” she said at last, “but you can put those out.” She pointed to a thick root tangling across the ceiling. A cobwebbed fixture bearing three lit candles hung above her, while two additional candles sat before the collection of parchment. “I need less light.”
“Why ever would you need to read in less light?”
“I’m not asking for an interrogation,” she said, avoiding the niceties the keeper had expected. “You can re-file those if you’d like, but less light.”
“As you wish, dear.” The keeper pulled a snuffer from under a second, more organized pile, and put out the three wicks. He slipped into an aisle, mumbling.
Smoke wafted to her nose and she leaned closer to the roll spread in front of her. She lifted the candles and placed them carefully on top of the parchment. A slow drip of wax plopped from stick. She cupped her hands around each small tongue to dull the light further and whispered two words before snatching the flames entirely. She slapped her hands onto the roll and a primrose shade spread from her palms.
Eris slid her hands over the roll, the primrose outlining into the words with additional ink-like strokes. The pale lines darkened to true ink form, new words arranging themselves.
It read: And He Who Watches holds above all those uniformity to which there is no greater choice. She skimmed along the passages, having read the words of the Remembrance Scriptures many times over, save for the anything after verse forty-seven. In a damaged portion, those few passages had been lost. At an earlier time, when she had just been memorizing the verses, she thought nothing of it. After Valence had left their city, something about the missing portions arose in her mind. 
The hearts of the devil takes disparate designs, for designs of those wretched in essence and soul will be lost without reclamation. Son Un of the First Generation, black eyes of coal, loosed the greater devil of creation into the world, but tarried in his credence of command over it.
Her incantation colored the lost words, slowly pulling age and destruction from the parchment. The missing passages glowed and Eris read on. 
Heretofore, the First Generation compelled no protection, for their artistry of the gods was ample safeguard of their practices. Bound of nameless magics, born of death shamans and warlocks cloaked away, oppressed for their fraught trials of the dark, Son Un witnessed a capacity in the greater devil that could bring him saving. Of a King’s Blade, told they to Un, of banished brother god’s blood, told they, and of crystal fury to bind all power, told they.
She slid away from the table, darkness falling over her table as the primrose words vanished to blank parchment. What he was seeking eluded her to this point, and did still, but one fact remained. He had taken her pearls, her dearest keepsake. She wanted them back, whether such power of this Seentirulian Son Un was hers to keep or not. 

Until NaNoWriMo!

Peace and Writing Love,


P.S. Buddy me: sirfrodo13

Monday, October 25, 2010

Never-ending Scene Blogfest

Thanks for hosting this blogfest, Brenda. A superb idea! Here are the rules from Brenda's page as well as the link back to the PARTICIPANTS.

"Here's how it works. On your blog site, write a new scene or post a scene from your current project that is no more than 500 words, which has a rocking cliffhanger (pun intended). It can be any genre. Just leave us hanging, craving more, and cursing your name for making us want to turn a page that isn't there. Easy peasy, right? Right."

In other fantastic news besides this blogfest occurring today, I also finished my manuscript, Bond of Darkness, last evening on the bus ride into work. I know, right? It has been through three drafts and a project of nearly five years now. Pasted below is the cliffhanger from the last chapter of Bond of Darkness.

November then kicks off NaNoWriMo 2010, and I will tentatively start the second manuscript in Children of the Universe, The Shattered Darkness, on December 1st.

* * *

Last words from Chapter 32 -- With and Without

Quick Run Down: In the previous chapter, a member of Valence's group, Melana, was killed protecting him. They were in the Domain of the Evoctor, called Granus Uria, claiming a piece of his spirit called a Vessel, to return and use in the war against the Darkness. During the event, Valence gives birth to a creation known as a Demi, a black-skinned creature that looks just like him. The Demi's name is Mefist.

(DISCLAIMER: I did go over the 500 word mark, but it was necessary for the whole build-up.)

“We should move away from this rain,” Valence said. “The ground on the plains here will become especially unstable.”
Gerad moved next to him. “Do we go around the wastelands?”
Valence breathed a white stream. “I’m taking her to my people. They’ll be able to protect her body.”
“Valence, you can’t,” Kyona said. “She must be given back to the Elves. They will want her buried properly.”
“I will not give her away when I know I have a chance to protecting her from rising against us.”
“That’s my decision, Kyona,” he said, stern assurance against her and eyes deadlocked. “Besides, you cannot come with me.”
There was silence for only a moment before Gerad stepped directly in front of him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means the Lunata will not let you near our city. I don’t need protection in this area. This is my home ground. After I give her to my people, I’m getting away from this place for a while.”
“Away where?” Oroyu asked.
Valence did not answer.
“I see then.” The hermit separated himself from Valence and stood a few paces from a path leading to the plains. “You want us to go on without you? For the Vessels?”
“Not just for the Vessels,” Gerad added, “is that right? Part of it is to get them away from you. Wherever you’re going.”
Valence chased the suggestion and its consequences. “You defended me from Grenier’s rightful accusations, and I ask for it now. Taking this next step will put Mithrus’ fix on you and it will bring me answers.”
“It’s not fair to ask that of us,” Kyona said.
“It’s not about what is fair. It’s about taking the chance when the odds are against you. Right now, we’re losing this war when it has yet to have started. If they were able to get so close to us, we must chance this parting.”
“How can you be sure?” Kyona stroked Melana’s arm. “She was a girl. You can remember her in more ways than walking into the unknown.”
"I know. It'll all turn out."
"Where will we find you once you have found your answers?” Oroyu asked, turning back to him. He pulled out his sais, twirled them around his hands like an artful fighter, and slid them between Valence's waist and belt. "You'll need these."
Valence had no sword, for it had disappeared somewhere in the domain after their departure. “I will find you,” he said. “Until then, do not think or ask about me to anyone.”
A swift crack of lightning pulled them on separate sides of the paths leading to the plains. He would walk the wastelands, scavengers in his shadow as he moved for Lunbaris, and they would find an alternate route to the next Vessel. His feet sunk into the mud and he slopped through puddles in his sharp descent. The rain beating against his clothes and the relentless rolling thunder calmed his walk, and he found himself looking at Melana less as he took care in every step.
It was under the rain and thunder that he remembered what the Archon told him the many years ago during their first meeting. He had been sitting on a bedside, Ismer squatting before him and illustrating pictures in the air with his finger. The account of his incident at Thenar arose and he told the old man what had become of Irien. Of the man who had taken him captive and tortured the boy into fighting him. Ismer had explained to him the gift of Demi creation, also.
He thought Mefist had pushed the thought to him, but he had known it all along.
“'The change will come one day when you least expect it. I feel something odd in you, misplaced maybe, but I see you being one such Lunata who will have a relationship with a Demi. He will be yours only, all control and thought it has, an extension of who you will grow to become. But you must embrace that power, not fear it. You are a special boy and what you do will affect those closest to you.'" 

Ismer had paused at one point then, unblinking with a smile. The Archon had seen into him that day, so far into his future and what devastation he would bring into the world. 

"'It is you who will become a god if you learn to harness the powers you were born with. Tame this unnatural gift, control it and let it be your guide. Only then can you truly achieve a power greater than any coveted by man or beast.'”
This is what he needed to find. Unsure if that power lied dormant inside him or in the pairing with Mefist, it was a vast search that was to begin. The misty rain swallowed him and a snap of lightning rippled in the clouds, thunder behind him. The truths that had been hidden from him would come in time, but he never looked back.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Leucrota Press - Industry Leaders Series 2

Welcome back for the second installment of my industry leaders series. This week will feature the editor of Leucrota Press, Danielle Kaheaku. Leucrota is a small press located in California, whose primary clientele list includes novels and stories of speculative fiction. That's a big person word for fantasy, science fiction & horror.

I thank all of Leucrota Press for opening up for this interview. We hope to hear from them in the future.

Forgive the formatting. I don't know what happened.


JWP - Yours Truly
DK - Danielle Kaheaku

JWP: For the record, please state your name, title within Leucrota and what your primary objective is each day you go to work.
DK: My name is Danielle Kaheaku. I'm the Publisher and Editor in Chief of Leucrota Press. I oversee the company and handle crises when they arise. Obviously, my primary objective is to sell our books. I also have final say over what our next projects are going to be.

JWP: Speaking for Leucrota as a whole, what really draws you toward clients? I am aware you accept unsolicited work, but what sells in your eyes?

DK: Well, all of our stories must have powerful character-driven plots with original settings and articulate social systems. If the characters don't interest us, then it probably means the story won't either. A good, or even a great setting, can't make up for lackluster, boring, or one-note characters. Also we don't want projects that are playing it safe, or giving us a plot or setting by the numbers. People need things to be new or have enough of a twist to make them think that they haven't all seen it before.

JWP: How many novels or short stories does Leucrota publish annually, and do you have a high and low season for receiving submissions?

DK: We publish 4-6 novels a year. We try to make sure that we don't just focus on one genre at a time, though it all depends on the submissions we get. We used to publish an annual anthology of short stories, but we discontinued that. Now we have our imprint "Arkham Tales." It is a quarterly e-zine devoted to "weird" fiction: supernatural suspense and adventure stories informed by (though not imitative of) the pulp fiction of the early 20th century. We do have set submission periods, so it's very important for authors to submit only within those periods and to follow our guidelines in order to stay in line to be read.

JWP: Once Leucrota takes me on as a client, what can I expect from them? Are the editors of Leucrota like agents, and they will remain in contact when able, or do you only work on a project-to-project basis?

DK: Our editors are always reachable by email and we're also on Skype a lot. Once Leucrota takes you on as a client, you will go through several rounds of content edits with your editor. They'll read through the manuscript, looking for character inconsistencies, plot holes, stuff like that. Once we feel that the characters and plot are taken care of, we move on to the copy edit stage. By this time we like to have either an associate editor or an intern read through the manuscript for grammar, spelling, and punctuation. It helps to have a fresh set of eyes reading the manuscript. After however many rounds that process takes, with the author also going through it after each round, we go into the final edits. Everything is looked over with a fine-tooth comb. The author always has the final say before we send the manuscript to layout. We prepare galleys and edit those. Once everything is done, ARCs are sent out to advance readers for reviews. It's a thorough and fairly intimate process because for a lot of it, the author works one on one with the same editor throughout the thing. We do keep in contact with all of our authors, helping set up signings, organizing reviews, and giving advice on future projects. We also love getting updates from our authors.

JWP: Do you see more new writers submit or seasoned writers with a track record? I assume there is an even balance, but what do your numbers really look like if you are able to disclose it?

DK: Writers with all levels of experience submit to us. Some submissions will be from a writer who already has other novel or short story sales under their belt. Sometimes it's from someone submitting a manuscript to a publisher for the first time. As far as who we publish, we publish new writers and seasoned ones. One of our authors, Shaun Jeffrey, had already made professional novel sales when he submitted to us. But we have others like Barry K. Nelson who was brand new. And then of course we have authors in between. It's all about the story. If we like the story, we don't care so much about the author's past publishing history.

JWP: Finally, becoming published is the dream of every writer. We as writers know that 95% of us, or greater, will not be published. Do you have any advice on what specifically to avoid on our roads to querying? 

DK: You have to have thick skin. Rejection will happen. There is no writer out there who has never been rejected. The trick is to not let it get to you. You have to absolutely make sure you follow a publisher's submission guidelines. If they ask for a query letter and three chapters, send them that. Don't send them the entire manuscript. You may be sure that they'll love it so much they're automatically going to want to read the whole thing, but let the publisher find that out for themselves after reading the requested sample chapters. Also making sure you come across as professional in your query/cover letters is a must. You are trying to enter into a business relationship with the publisher, so treat it like a business meeting. Keep those things in mind and they will definitely help you avoid being automatically sent to the rejection pile. And bribes never hurt... Just kidding.

I hope this interview has helped some of my cohorts in understanding the industry from another viewpoint, as is the task of this series. Please leave your comments for discussion.

Peace and Writing Love,


Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Animal Writes Blogfest

So I signed up super last minute. No big deal, right? Nah. Here's your redirect to the PARTICIPANTS.

My piece comes from the 3rd person account of a tiny demon. He's a supporting character, if even that, in my manuscript, Bond of Darkness. This is the only scene he ever has, but I enjoy it, and hopefully you feel the same.

It's a scene that shows an example of my antagonist's return to power, and what is being done to bring him back.

Word Count: 192 (I know, rather pathetic).

* * *

Er’aln was a tiny demon, his skin shriveled and baggy with age. Four shriveled arms curled along the lines of his shriveled body. In his dank chamber of the Nether Void, he remained locked away, appointed to spearhead their Master’s resurrection process. 

He lagged his crippled leg around the chamber and cursed the useless appendage. He flicked his crimson hooded cloak aside and reached out to test his next formula. A clink and pop exploded behind him and Er’aln masterfully dipped away from his work station. He drew his cloak up to his nose and eyes to shield them from the noxious fumes in the air. The efficiency of his mind was matched only by the ineptitude of the demon mechanics he was forced to associate with. Such poor craftsmanship, he observed, as scrap metal plates hung off his Master’s incubator. Steam poured from its pipes with violent life and the needles on its meters occasionally spiked.

For more than seventeen ages, he had despised and cursed his subservience for having been given this role in the exhumation of their Master. His words were of little value in the baking temperatures of the resurrection chamber. Er’aln, the tiny demon, had finally had enough.

“Master never know of Er’aln,” he grumbled with his four arms hard at work. He approached his work station and poured various dark liquids together. Before he could attend to the next phase of his formula, a clink of a different tone sounded behind him. Again, he dropped his work and rushed to the incubator panel. He twisted and turned a series of knobs. He looked up at two vents that had creaked open and released yet more steam. The regulation of the energy pods jutting from the incubator’s exterior demanded unnerving patience. 

“Master never be told of Er’aln. Er’aln not cared for, so why Er’aln care for them?” Forcing out growls and mumbles under his breath, he tumbled over from a cracked pipe that sprayed fumes at his face. “Stupid machine!” His voice cracked in the heat as he punched the iron pipe with his fist, rupturing it further. Er’aln then realized the burn corroding his face. The burn came slowly, but with intense pain. It seared his checks and the shriveled skin peeled away.

“Fool!” The warlord’s wispy voice rattled the machinery and trembled under Er’aln’s feet. Er’aln glanced with a quivering lip at the incubator. The hefty coiled wires and pipes strung off of the incubator buzzed and swayed and his eyes moved to the glass shield. The smoky barrier shifted into a florid face that barely showed life.

“You’re the mechanic?” Mithrus’ voice emptied from the glass shield and hung in the atmosphere. 

“Answer me!”

“Er’aln.” His grunt was low and he averted his eyes.

“How long...have you been here?”

Er’aln cringed at the voice that wafted around his head. “Seventeen ages,” he said.

The multi-hued smoke crawled from the incubator and slithered through the crack in the pipe. Er’aln swiveled around, clutching his hands together.

“You are relieved,” Mithrus said.

The smoke entangled Er’aln’s body and he squirmed to no avail. It snaked into his orifices—eyes, nose, mouth and ears. The tiny demon squirmed further, ravaging against the gaseous invisible hand around him. Loss of breath came as his innards shrank to leathery bags. He claimed his last sights—that of the unfinished formula sitting on his station—and for a moment wished it had all been different. Er’aln crumpled over lifeless.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Hook, Line & Sinker Blogfest

Today's the day of my blogfest! Hoot and holler! Here's your LINK to the participants.

Below is my entry, starring Valence. He's been around in all the other blogfests. Returning readers get to meet him from the start now. Please use the questions below to judge your thoughts on the piece. These questions are only suggestive guidelines to follow.

  • Who is the character I am relating to?
  • Does he/she have a personality that I crave to read?
  • Is the world around them set up to compliment the character as they are introduced?
  • Are there secondary characters to assist the hook along, with conflict or pace?
  • Lastly: do I love the character? Do I want to read more about him/her?


* * *

Everything around Valence seemed frozen as he looked up to the speckled sky. Something about the night always fascinated him. Perhaps it was the partly heightened sense of seclusion, but he knew it was also the way the cosmos wrapped around the land—just like the daylight—and created a realm perfect for a Lunata. He sat amidst the moon glow and still air, thinking just how different the Lunata were from the myriad land-people of their world.

Can’t sleep?” a dry voice asked Valence.

Valence brushed the comment aside and unbuttoned his shirt. He walked his fingers down to the large incision that was shining red in the moonlight. Sighing, he took up a semi-damp rag and cleaned the blood away in soft pats. Sleeping hadn’t been an option for him in fifteen years.

He dropped his head into his hands, and murmured the words for comfort, “Irien’s death was an accident.”

It was all a misunderstanding, and that was a crime. The Lunata culture thrived on persecuting misunderstandings, even if the odds were in his favor. As much as he tried to assure himself he was wrongly exiled, the nightmare still found him.

Forgetting something etched on the soul is impossible, you know,” the voice said.

The grass ruffled near him, but it was tall and thick, and even he couldn’t see through it with his normal hawk-like vision. He whispered an incantation that sent out a powerful white flash and he scanned the area as the light peeled through it. Within the light, he also summoned an aura trace which propelled outward in a silver ring. His eyes instantly moved to a glow at his right, but it belonged only to the eyes of his mare. As the light died off, replaced by the moonlight, so did the trace.

He groaned in defeat. The ever present voice, however helpful or obscure it chose to be, was also poking around in his head and seeking painful memories. Valence raised his aura shields, creating a dull silver sphere around his camp, and a sharp pain instantly drummed through his skull. Despite his lack of vitality, he would make the shields hold. He removed a flimsy leather journal from his rations pack and flipped to the third page in. 

“Voice spoke twice with no counter-shielding,” he wrote with a dull pencil. “Aura trace comes back negative each time.” After heavily underlining his words, he tossed the journal and pencil aside frustrated. There was nothing more he could do this evening except try to sleep, as painful or impossible as it would be.

In the wake of yet another sleepless night, Valence broke down his camp and surveyed the tall grass one last time, again finding it empty. For all the time the voice had been speaking to him, he never once could make sense of it. He scowled at the voice while tying his packs back onto his saddle. 

Three leagues later, he arrived at the south customs gate of the Human kingdom with its sleek walls overshadowing him. His white hair was now dirty blond thanks to a simple incantation and he tugged his cowl low as he steered his mare under the arch.

“Welcome to Agress. Your papers,” the customs inspector said, hand stretched out.

Two other men, one thin-framed and the other more portly, appeared from the opposite side of the gate. 

Valence offered his traveling papers and merchant license. His mare scraped her hooves excitedly on the flagstones and he slid his hand down her neck, shushing her as the two other inspectors walked up to his side. “Is there a problem?” he asked after noticing the first inspector was examining every detail of the papers. 

“Where are you coming from, stranger?” The inspector flipped through them a fourth time, mulling over all of Valence’s previous destinations and customs checkpoints. “Your customs stamps aren’t up to date.”

Valence sighed and his aura surged while the inspector stared him down pointedly. Silver wisps smoked around his body, invisible to the men, and he invaded the inspector’s mind. The inspector looked up, his eyes fluttering, as Valence made him forget the issue with his papers.

“On second thought,” the inspector said, “you’re free to pass. We’ve simply been looking for a rat-faced swindler who has been dipping into the Advance Guard’s commerce vault. We believe he’s just a common drifter, so we have no true mark on him.”

“That’s a sin against you fine men,” Valence said, knowing they’d never catch the imaginary thief. “I’m certain the Agressian Duties Bureau will apprehend him soon enough. After all, the Advance Guard are the best in the land, don’t we both know.”

“Rightly so, good stranger. By the way, where do you hail from?”

“I’m just a lonely delegate from a tiny island off the southern Seringarden coast, a good three days from civilization.”

“Seringard is half a world away, friend.”

“That it is.”

“And the Villa-Idian depression hasn’t frightened you away yet?

Valence’s mare snorted and whinnied. “Not yet, Inspector,” he said. “Am I free to go? Forgive me, but I forgot to mention I was joining the congregation at the hour past noon.”

“Oh, of course, my friend,” the inspector said. He motioned the portly man to raise the gate, which he did immediately. “Please, my friend, go. You do have my greatest apologies, sir. Should I write a letter for you, in case you’re stopped again?”

“An unnecessary gesture, but appreciated all the same,” Valence said. “You good men need assurance that not all of your misdoings get made known publicly.” He pushed into a trot. “Good day.”

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Blogfest Pregame

It's October 10, the day before my blogfest! Bells and whistles are firing off all around my apartment.

Please be here tomorrow, as early as you wish, and post your entry for the Hook, Line & Sinker Blogfest. Here again is your link to the sign-up sheet. Please, spread that last minute news around the blogiverse. I want more participants. Nom-Nom!

To remind participants:

You are to post 1000 words (a little more won't kill us), from the opening of any manuscript you have written. If that's the prologue, then post it. If that's chapter one, post it. We don't discriminate. If you do find your entry exceeding 1000 words, please leave a nice little reminder in the entry that it is longer than requested. Courtesy goes a long way.

The object of this blogfest is to see if you have established that hook agents and editors curse and hoot about. When you are leaving a comment, please be as constructive as you possibly can. This is a special blogfest and any of the comments left on the entries will only benefit this most crucial part of any writer's manuscript.

Things to ask yourself:

  • Who is the character I am relating to?
  • Does he/she have a personality that I crave to read?
  • Is the world around them set up to compliment the character as they are introduced?
  • Are there secondary characters to assist the hook along, with conflict or pace?
  • Lastly: do I love the character? Do I want to read more about him/her?

I hope we all find our entries successful and I look forward to reading them all! See you tomorrow bright and early!

Peace and Writing Love,


Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Pantsing Through November

So, I think I've fallen on the decision to swallow any doubt my new NaNoWriMo side had brewed, and moved toward the option of simply pantsing my way through November. As wonderful as a lot of the recent blog posts are about planning, with charts and outlines, I think being my first time, I find myself just wanting to experience the thrill of a whole month of writing. While I won't be able to get my daily 1,000 word minimum accomplished every day, I'm going to try.

I suppose that's all that can be said. I want the challenge and think going in blind to this the first time would be a thrill. That goes without saying, if I fail at the end of November, I'll be returning next year with a plan.

I've decided to write a companion novel to my current series. While it will probably extend more than 50,000 on some later date, this is my goal. As most fantasy novels need superior planning skills because you're creating what isn't there, it will be an interesting thirty days to say the least.

In Announcements:

The Hook, Line & Sinker Blogfest is still looking for participants. I have twelve writers signed up and I am looking for a minimum of fifteen. Please continue to spread the word. It all goes down on October 11, 2010.

Until then.

Peace and Writing Love,


Friday, October 1, 2010

In Vein of NaNoWriMo

So I had signed up for NaNoWriMo this year, but I am not exactly sure if I would be able to follow through on the time line that is set up for the month. I would really love to buckle down and kill myself to complete NaNoWriMo, but trying it and knowing that I wouldn't have the time to finish might be worse than not finishing if I had the time to start.

Do any NaNoWriMo Alumni have some advice for a newbie? Any time line or planning ideas? Do you use any method of pre-planning that helps you write straight through the month without being hindered? I'd like you to share your experiences.

Also, please do not forget about my blogfest, which will be going down on October 11th. I have 9 particpants currently, and I would like to snag around 15. Just spread the word around and help me make this possible. It'll be a fun, I promise. Here's the link: Hook, Line & Sinker Blogfest. You can find the badge there, too.

For those who have forgotten, here's the theme of the blogfest:

1) Post 1000 or fewer words that come right from the first pages of your manuscript. Please don't cheat. Not that any of you fine bloggers would. But the goal is to see if you have a hook and to share it with the other participants. We'd like to see what is selling your character and world right from the beginning.

2) If you go slightly over 1000 words, you will not be penalized. If you do go over, please note the word count for courtesy.

3) On the day of the fest, please visit the entries, comment with advice or praise, and have fun!

Until then, much Peace and Writing Love!