NaNoWriMo again dudes

[Dylan]

Just a few hours till NaNoWriMo begins. I'm so excited about this!

[Psykeout]

Just a few hours till NaNoWriMo begins. I'm so excited about this!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

[dalonewolf25]

Did you just had the "A" and "H" buttons down?

[Psykeout]

Did you just had the "A" and "H" buttons down?

[sarcasm]no, i pushed the 2 and ~ buttons and it gave me A and H[/sarcasm]
>_>

[Jimmy Jazz]

Ohsosnarky!

Anyway, why don't we sign up on Nanowrimo.org and add eachother?

my account is Right here.

This way when we log in to put in our word count we can check up on each other.

[Psykeout]

nanowrimo is down! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA....AAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
*IS FREAKING OUT!!!*

also, i didnt know what to write, then i decided to make a story with my fursona in it, and i was veeeeeerrryyy tempted to make a maximum ride fanfic out of it. i resisted. :3

[Dylan]

My account is right here

and I already have part of my story done...It isn't the best, but I'm trying.

If one person were to ask, "Do you believe in miracles?" The person will briefly think upon his life, thinking if any miracles happened in his or her life. If so, he or she would happily nod his or her head and say he or she believed, knowing that his or her life is not in the gutter like other unfortunate beings. On the other hand, if no miracles have happened in said life, the person would be frustrated and say there are no such thing as miracles because his or her life was a wreck, and nothing has ever gone right in his or her life, followed by him or her going on for twenty minutes arguing there are no such things, because he or she is miserable and tend to repeat themselves over and over before they get bored and decide to go lay down and pout about how their life has gone down the earlier mentioned gutter. However, this has little to do with our story other than the fact that if you believe in miracles, because I can say for myself. "I sure don't."

Our story begins in Texas, somewhere around the Austin area, where our main character is having his behind handed to him by (Oh how shall I say it?) Hooligans. "H-H-Hey! t-t-that's mine" A hand came from the side of his body, pushing him to the floor to where a rather large 12th grader stood over him. "Heh, I don't think so...I think it has my name on it" In his hand he held up a graphing calculator. The boy on the floor looked up at the chunky boy "u-uh, n-n-no there isn't." He kept shuddering like a machine gun, almost like a AK47 or something. "Oh, I think you're wrong little man." Taking a permanent marker he started to write on the back of the calculator and laughed. "Look! it says right here! F. R. A. K. Frank!" The big guy obviously wasn't smart, but he somehow managed to slip into 12th grade, which perplexed some of the teachers on how he was advanced so far without learning how to read or write, and shall forever be a mystery to any of us. The bell rang and the little guy on the ground slowly nodded his head. "okay! okay! you were right! It's yours." slowly crawling away from under Frank's feet and away from the other bullies that watched Frank at work. Suddenly a foot came down in front of him. "whoa whoa whoa, buddy, I need to know if you are considering telling any teachers about this little...mishap." The big guy grabbed the collar of the wimpy kid's shirt and held him to his feet. By now the kid was too frighted to say anything and knew to keep his mouth shut, he knew what was coming next. "I can't let you tell on us, so I'm gonna show you what happens if you do." Frank stressed as he pulled a pencil from the kid's backpack. There was a snap in his hand, he opened his palms and the pieces of the pencil fell to the floor. (Oh did i forget to mention he is as strong as well as dumb?) "And that is what is gonna happen to you if snitch on us...GOT IT WIMP!" The little guy nodded his head, not that he needed to be told that. Frank smiled and dropped the kid to the floor before the group disbanded to get to class. Yes, I know what you are thinking, what could possibly be more exciting that watching a small wimpy nerd getting bullied by someone at least 3 times his size? No idea, but this small skinny kid is going to be our main character for our story and you should get used to it before you are expecting someone more heroic, handsome or witty. Oh, and remember about those miracles we were talking
about earlier? Either this story is going be about one big miracle, or a bunch of "almost" miracles that happen to look like a miracle. (where were we?) The kid dusted off his shirt, since laying on the floor tends to get things slightly dusty. "well, this day looks promising." which is an odd thing to say when you have something taken by you by force and humiliated in front of the people you hate, it was possibly a attempt to make his life a bit more cheery since his life was so miserable and possibly going down the drain, however what he didn't know is that this day was probably going to be more promising then any other day in his entire life.

[Psykeout]

is nanowrimo working for anyone?

[Dylan]

is nanowrimo working for anyone?

It gets quite slow since they are on a low budget currently.

[Psykeout]

here i am!
look, my avatar is destruction, who defines creation!
(read sandman!!! neil gaimen!!)

[The Game]

Took me forever to get started today, but I finally did and It's coming along nicely!

[Psykeout]

Took me forever to get started today, but I finally did and It's coming along nicely!

pppsssssstt. post your profile.
>.>
<.<

[Obbl]

OK I've got my story idea, but I can't find a good place to start writing from *le gasp*
But I've done a bit of work getting my character backgrounds all squared away, so I at least understand them

[Psykeout]

Hoooi, big thread bump. but hey, its coming up quick, and if you're doing it. why not stop in the shiny brand new Channel our very own Dylan made?

it's called #nanowrimo, if you're in the normal chat room* just type in " /join #nanowrimo " or, point other people out to it by saying " #nanowrimo "
Stop in anytime to give aspiring writers inspiration, help them out, or cheer them up! even if you're not writing you should still help out by joining!

And if you ARE doing it and need some real kick-butt writing time, turn everything but some music off and go write like heck!



*on a "how to" to join the normal chat just go to the IRC thread!

[Mr. Noms]

Mkay, well I don't know where to post this, so I figured here might suffice? Anywho, ANY feedback would be lovely. Thanks- Noms

It was then, late one evening early in the month of May, that our story began to unfold. Waves of rain descended upon the town of Nettlesburg, deep in the heart of the Catskill Mountains, halfway between the somewhat larger towns of Denning and Claryville, New York. The downpour, particularly severe even for this time of the year, was causing the normally-dry mountain gullies to become raging torrents of swirling water, compelling all but the most steadfast travelers to seek shelter from the storm. Some may say it was fate that this storm forced Charlie Lind to pull into the driveway of a handsome cabin along the side of the road he travelled; other would say it was mere chance that found his camouflaged hunting truck in proximity to the residence of Jonathan and Susan Sutters. However the situation came about, perhaps by the work of an omnipotent hand or perhaps by a quizzical roll of the dice, is not known to me, only this I know; of all the locations to be in at the moment, Mr. Lind was by far, in one of the worst.

If you knew Nettlesburg, as Mr. Lind did, you would know that the town played host to some of the richest folk in the world, not rich in terms of dollars and cents, but rather rich in love for family, community, and even strangers, such as Mr. Lind had claimed to be. It was this love, this hospitality, which would lead to the eventual demise of Nettlesburg, though the majority of its citizens would remain blissfully ignorant of the events that took place that night. But before we can look forward, we must first look back, because even the beginning is not always the beginning.

Charlie Lind was in a foul mood as he pulled into a parking space of Frank’s Gourmet Bistro in Roanoke, Virginia, seeming out of place as he boasted four large “mud tires” and an oversized suspension on the underside of his truck, which he drove on the premise of being an avid huntsman, hunting all sorts of game in every state of the continental US and Canada. He had driven to Roanoke under the guise of participating in a massive dove hunt. Though this was not particularly true, Charlie was nonetheless equipped with all he would need to hunt dove. In fact, Charlie was, at all times, armed to the teeth, having in the “gun box” in the bed of his truck a wide array of hunting rifles, shotguns, and even an M-16A2 assault rifle, illegally modified to fire a 3-round burst of 5.56mm bullets each time the trigger was pulled. Charlie also had a concealed weapons permit, which he never failed to take advantage of. Though the men he had come to Roanoke to meet liked to think of him as being paranoid would occasionally ridicule him about it, he liked to play it safe, “We’ll see who draws mockery when you are consumed by your own evils,” Charlie thought to himself as he turned the key to silence the big truck’s engine.

Lind had been to such meetings in Roanoke no less than 20 times in the past 5 years, though none had been called with as much urgency and without warning, as this one was. Upon exiting and locking his vehicle, Mr. Lind could not help but think that something was amiss, not surprising considering the buffoons who he was working in collaboration with. It was not fear of being betrayed by his colleagues that concerned him, though idiotic some of them may have been, loyalty to their cause was a trait none of them lacked. None of them, except Mr. Lind, that is.

A black sedan, nice enough to satisfy men of wealth, yet not so costly as to attract excess attention arrived three blocks away from Lind’s current location, “On time,” he muttered, “as always.” The driver, having already picked up the other man he was tasked with delivering, thumped his fingers on the steering wheel, wary to be around men who he knew were up to no good, though just how he could only ponder. Lind walked toward the sedan at a brisk, yet mundane pace, wishing to be out of sight as soon as possible. As he strolled up to the car, he saw there was another man sitting in the car, though he could not guess who it was due to the heavy tinting on the windows. As he opened up the car he grimaced, sitting there, less than five feet away from him sat his least favorite coworker, possibly his least favorite person on the face of the Earth. With a grimace he got into the car, facing a chuckling man with a silver incisor. “Hello friend!” the slender man exclaimed with a heavy Russian accent. He had long since gone bald and his sunken eyes held intelligence even Charlie Lind had come to fear. The man who shared the back of the car with Charlie, not only disgusted him, he terrified him. For there, talking to him like an old friend sat the only man with any inkling as to what Lind was planning.

[Blue Braixen]

Mkay, well I don't know where to post this, so I figured here might suffice? Anywho, ANY feedback would be lovely. Thanks- Noms

It was then, late one evening early in the month of May, that our story began to unfold. Waves of rain descended upon the town of Nettlesburg, deep in the heart of the Catskill Mountains, halfway between the somewhat larger towns of Denning and Claryville, New York. The downpour, particularly severe even for this time of the year, was causing the normally-dry mountain gullies to become raging torrents of swirling water, compelling all but the most steadfast travelers to seek shelter from the storm. Some may say it was fate that this storm forced Charlie Lind to pull into the driveway of a handsome cabin along the side of the road he travelled; other would say it was mere chance that found his camouflaged hunting truck in proximity to the residence of Jonathan and Susan Sutters. However the situation came about, perhaps by the work of an omnipotent hand or perhaps by a quizzical roll of the dice, is not known to me, only this I know; of all the locations to be in at the moment, Mr. Lind was by far, in one of the worst.
If you knew Nettlesburg, as Mr. Lind did, you would know that the town played host to some of the richest folk in the world, not rich in terms of dollars and cents, but rather rich in love for family, community, and even strangers, such as Mr. Lind had claimed to be. It was this love, this hospitality, which would lead to the eventual demise of Nettlesburg, though the majority of its citizens would remain blissfully ignorant of the events that took place that night. But before we can look forward, we must first look back, because even the beginning is not always the beginning.

Charlie Lind was in a foul mood as he pulled into a parking space of Frank’s Gourmet Bistro in Roanoke, Virginia, seeming out of place as he boasted four large “mud tires” and an oversized suspension on the underside of his truck, which he drove on the premise of being an avid huntsman, hunting all sorts of game in every state of the continental US and Canada. He had driven to Roanoke under the guise of participating in a massive dove hunt. Though this was not particularly true, Charlie was nonetheless equipped with all he would need to hunt dove. In fact, Charlie was, at all times, armed to the teeth, having in the “gun box” in the bed of his truck a wide array of hunting rifles, shotguns, and even an M-16A2 assault rifle, illegally modified to fire a 3-round burst of 5.56mm bullets each time the trigger was pulled. Charlie also had a concealed weapons permit, which he never failed to take advantage of. Though the men he had come to Roanoke to meet liked to think of him as being paranoid would occasionally ridicule him about it, he liked to play it safe, “We’ll see who draws mockery when you are consumed by your own evils,” Charlie thought to himself as he turned the key to silence the big truck’s engine.
Lind had been to such meetings in Roanoke no less than 20 times in the past 5 years, though none had been called with as much urgency and without warning, as this one was. Upon exiting and locking his vehicle, Mr. Lind could not help but think that something was amiss, not surprising considering the buffoons who he was working in collaboration with. It was not fear of being betrayed by his colleagues that concerned him, though idiotic some of them may have been, loyalty to their cause was a trait none of them lacked. None of them, except Mr. Lind, that is.
A black sedan, nice enough to satisfy men of wealth, yet not so costly as to attract excess attention arrived three blocks away from Lind’s current location, “On time,” he muttered, “as always.” The driver, having already picked up the other man he was tasked with delivering, thumped his fingers on the steering wheel, wary to be around men who he knew were up to no good, though just how he could only ponder. Lind walked toward the sedan at a brisk, yet mundane pace, wishing to be out of sight as soon as possible. As he strolled up to the car, he saw there was another man sitting in the car, though he could not guess who it was due to the heavy tinting on the windows. As he opened up the car he grimaced, sitting there, less than five feet away from him sat his least favorite coworker, possibly his least favorite person on the face of the Earth. With a grimace he got into the car, facing a chuckling man with a silver incisor. “Hello friend!” the slender man exclaimed with a heavy Russian accent. He had long since gone bald and his sunken eyes held intelligence even Charlie Lind had come to fear. The man who shared the back of the car with Charlie, not only disgusted him, he terrified him. For there, talking to him like an old friend sat the only man with any inkling as to what Lind was planning.

I think you can post it on NaNoWriMo's website, though I'm not sure since I'm not participating.

[Liam]

Small question: Can one only read excerpts the authors provide or can you see the full contents of a participant who uploaded his writing for word-counting?

[rickgriffin]

They don't require a full upload of the text. But for final wordcount verification, it's not displayed to anyone, the words are just counted by the server, though you're allowed to scramble it.

[Liam]

Ah, I see, thanks.

'Nother question: What's the status of Blasphemer's Prayer?

[rickgriffin]

Still in the middle of the second draft

[The Game]

I currently have 1, 830ish words! When I reach 2,000 I get a sticker and some candy!

[Psykeout]

AAAAAAAAAAA...AAAAHHHHH!
IM SO BEHIND! ALREADY!

[Senator_Sunburst]

I put the goal for myself at 100 thousand words by the end of the month. So far I'm still on schedule with 3,470 words. I need to have at least 6,668 words by the end of today though.

[Psykeout]

I put the goal for myself at 100 thousand words by the end of the month. So far I'm still on schedule with 3,470 words. I need to have at least 6,668 words by the end of today though.

someone's ambitious.

[The Game]

I put the goal for myself at 100 thousand words by the end of the month. So far I'm still on schedule with 3,470 words. I need to have at least 6,668 words by the end of today though.

Have fun with that Mr. Senator Sir.

Is anyone going to post their novel? Or at least a link to it?

[Psykeout]

I put the goal for myself at 100 thousand words by the end of the month. So far I'm still on schedule with 3,470 words. I need to have at least 6,668 words by the end of today though.

Have fun with that Mr. Senator Sir.

Is anyone going to post their novel? Or at least a link to it?

Anyway, why don't we sign up on Nanowrimo.org and add eachother?

my account is Right here.

This way when we log in to put in our word count we can check up on each other.

[The Game]

That doesn't show the entire novel though.

[Psykeout]

i thought you could do that. i am mistaken.

we should still post our accounts, though.

[Senator_Sunburst]

Is anyone going to post their novel? Or at least a link to it?

I'm not going to. Despite this not actually being quite true, I've always felt that posting something on-line for free which you intend to eventually publish is bad.

[Jimmy Jazz]

Uhm, I might post it if I can find a host and if you don't mind reading a first-draft piece of junk.

But like many I'm way behind already, but I promised myself I would do a marathon tomorrow so I can catch up and hopefully get ahead enough to rest the next day. >__>

Well, right now I'm still way behind but whaaatever.

[Psykeout]

my november weekends will be *censored*

aiiiieeee, stupid school!

[Teh Brawler]

So, I'm dropping this, on account of having a webcomic and now being in a band.

[Liam]

Because I can string words making somewhat sense together, too.

[Senator_Sunburst]

I'm 6,680 words in and I've realised something.

It's a little hard to try to write hard science fiction without actually knowing the details of the relevant science. I'm having to skip large portions of book just because I don't know enough details to adequately describe places and character actions. At the rate I'm going I'll be lucky to get "done" with 50,000 words. I mean, I plan to go back and fix everything after learning enough details, but still!

I'm just so dumb, why didn't I see this before!?

[Psykeout]

I'm 6,680 words in and I've realised something.

It's a little hard to try to write hard science fiction without actually knowing the details of the relevant science. I'm having to skip large portions of book just because I don't know enough details to adequately describe places and character actions. At the rate I'm going I'll be lucky to get "done" with 50,000 words. I mean, I plan to go back and fix everything after learning enough details, but still!

I'm just so dumb, why didn't I see this before!?

i nearly did something similar to this, but i changed my book at the last second. :3

[MilesKingford]

I'm 6,680 words in and I've realised something.

It's a little hard to try to write hard science fiction without actually knowing the details of the relevant science. I'm having to skip large portions of book just because I don't know enough details to adequately describe places and character actions. At the rate I'm going I'll be lucky to get "done" with 50,000 words. I mean, I plan to go back and fix everything after learning enough details, but still!

I'm just so dumb, why didn't I see this before!?

You could just make up the science, lots of people do.

I managed to get my ideas together and now I have started.
I don't know how long it will take me but it will be an interesting
test of my productivity.

[Senator_Sunburst]

You could just make up the science, lots of people do.

The point of hard science fiction is to not do this.

[Sleet]

Or rather to make up as little science as necessary to make the premise work.

[Liam]

A sci-fi piece's "hardness" is less a matter of the absolute accuracy of the science content than of the rigor and consistency with which the various ideas and possibilities are worked out.

Or take the Banks method. He stuffed his Culture series full with made-up physics (gridfield, etc.), but wrote them internally consistent and evocative of real science to let his fictional universe appear convincing.

[The Game]

2,000 words!
*noms on candy*