NaNoChaos

Thu, 30 Nov 2006 21:33:33 GMT

As of Day 30

Word Count: 50213

You know what that means.

Thu, 30 Nov 2006 07:10:53 GMT

As of Day 29

Word Count: 47333
Lights at Ends of Tunnels: 1

One day left and less than 3000 words to meet the goal. A week and a half ago I was sure I'd blown it, but I'm almost there. It'll be just under the wire, but I'll be damned if I quit now. I have 2667 words to write and a lot more time than I need to write them. Sure, I have to finish a draft of a case study before class tomorrow too, but that'll take me maybe an hour. The rest of my time is dedicated to VICTORY!

Wed, 29 Nov 2006 03:32:06 GMT

As of Day 28

Word Count: 44454
Moments of Graphic Terror: 1
Moments of Not-So Graphic Naughtiness: 1

Two days left to write 6000 words and I'm actually not worried. I did 5000 today pretty much without breaking a sweat. Sure, I had from 3pm to 9:30pm to do it, but I know I can make enough time tomorrow and Thursday to do the 3000 words each I'll need to meet target. I forgot, I tend to rev up close to a deadline. This feels like almost done to me. Feels like a win.

Tue, 28 Nov 2006 07:10:03 GMT

As of Day 27

Word Count: 39385
Matrix-like Special Effects: 1
Cops' Minds Blown: 1

3400 words tonight. Maybe not the very best I could have done, but it's enough to stay on the track I want to be on, and I'm getting tired. It's an early week this week, by my standards anyway. I've got most of tomorrow to get lots done, as well as wednesday evening and a large chunk of thursday so I'm not really too worried. A couple of days ago I was sure I wouldn't be able to finish, but now I'm feeling pretty close to success. The important thing is that I'm not giving up like I did last year.

One more write-in tomorrow and then I'm on my own for the rest. Watch this space for 50k.

Sat, 25 Nov 2006 06:51:40 GMT

As of Day 24

Word Count: 35922
Flashy Displays of Power: 5
Blues Brothers References: 1

Oy, headache begins now. Did the write-in thing again today, which proved once again productive. There were four of us instead of three this time, and we spent less time chatting as well. Last week it was two hours writing, two hours chatting. This week it was more like two solid hours of writing followed by half an hour of lazy sitting around before we all stumbled home. Next time I'm likely to see the gathered writers is at the TGIO, and then there will (presumably) be many more. Determining the most convenient time for everyone to drink and be merry will be difficult. My best bet is a monday night, but I know the rest of the world is not down with drinking on monday nights. Stupid crazy schedule nonsense. Just a few days left for insane quantities of writing. Tuesday is going to be a multi-thousand word day it seems. I think I can make it this time, but it won't be a walk in the park.

Wed, 22 Nov 2006 05:45:17 GMT

As of Day 21

Word Count: 30825
Consciousnesses Expanded: 2
Revelations From On High: 1

Ok, the block appears to be very much broken. That's a little over 4000 written in one go, getting me not quite back on track, but close enough that I can use the two completely free days I have before month's end to make it to 50k. My sense of reality appears to have reasserted itself as well. All in all, the burnout seems to have passed. It probably helps that most of the Non-NaNo things that I had to worry about have passed. That is the first time I have EVER gotten a perfect mark on ANYTHING math-related. Go me. Also, I'm finally getting to the cool stuff. Now I get to start writing the stuff that'll make you think I'm on drugs.

I'm not, by the way. Just in case you were planning on asking.

Tue, 21 Nov 2006 08:52:00 GMT

As of Day 20

Word count: 26732
Lurking Fear Count: 2
Inconsiderate Shoppers Reprimanded: 1

Okay, I'm writing again. That's better than when I stalled out last year. I need to average 2500 a day if I want to hope to make it, and I didn't even hit 2000 today. I'm going to have more time tomorrow though, so hopefully I can pull ahead. The only things I have to do tomorrow that aren't writing are passing a math exam and spectating at a presentation of advanced stage combat. That should only take me to mid-evening an them I'm back to the grind. Off on friday too, that should give me some time. More in touch with reality now, since half of the things I needed to do are mostly done. Sleep now, more grinding tomorrow.

Sat, 18 Nov 2006 19:31:50 GMT

As of Day 17

Word Count: 25033
Family Schisms: 1
Bouts of Lightheadedness: 3

I think I'm starting to lose touch with reality. My head is filled with a thousand things at once, all making way too much noise and none of them coherent in any way. I've been on the verge of burning out completely for a week, and it's nothing but willpower keeping me going at this point. The real world doesn't feel quite as real anymore, and I'm having trouble keeping up with what's actually going on and what I'm just dreaming up. I think after all this is over I'm going to have to take some serious unwind time.

Mon, 13 Nov 2006 03:58:01 GMT

As of Day 12

Progress Today: none
Other Writers Schmoozed With: 5
Cost of Fish and Chips: $15.75

So I did no writing today, on account of being occupied by the mid-month dealie and gaming and helping my parents with various and sundry stuffs. I'm on track, though not ahead of the game. I'm counting on the fact that I'll be home by 8 pm tomorrow and won't have to crash until 3 am to boost my count. I did discover something mindblowing today though....

I had an EVEN NUMBER OF SOCKS in my laundry! No stragglers, no mismatched pairs. It was absolutely PERFECT SOCKAGE!

Mind, blown.

Sun, 12 Nov 2006 07:19:22 GMT

As of Day 12

Word Count: 20750
Days Afflicted by Writer's Block: 2
Number of Times Disturbed by Own Work: 2

I hit a hurdle a couple of days ago, but I appear to be over it. I got stuck trying to figure out how to continue into unknown story territory, specifically how to follow up with a character who really needed attention. It probably didn't help that I've been way too fucking busy lately. When I finally forced myself to start writing again, setting myself a 3k limit to help catch up, the words came out with surprising ease. However, I am somewhat unsettled by what was written. It feel the scene was necessary, and accurate to the nature of the situation, but I haven't written anything like that in years. I have a feeling I'll probably end up doing that again before this is over.

Lucien didn’t know how long he had been walking. He didn’t know how he had found himself at the city limits. His memory was a vague morass of broken images and sensations. He remembered the window breaking, the door being smashed, and the world going to Hell. He remembered being dragged into his dream, where he was fairly certain he had met himself. He remembered the orderlies, and their screams, and the screams of everyone else who had tried to impede him. He had laughed at those screams, but he couldn’t remember why. Nothing had stood in his way; every one of the heavy steel doors in his path had been smashed off its hinges by some tremendous force.

He remembered standing outside the hospital, staring at the big white emptiness beyond, but that was where things got uncertain. He believed he remembered walking, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. Somehow, miles and miles of snow had passed under his bare feet, and he was only now becoming aware of it. Why was he lucid now? He shivered reflexively, though he didn’t feel cold. He couldn’t imagine why he wasn’t cold. He was wearing his thin, white hospital garb and nothing else. No jacket, no gloves, not even shoes or socks. Still, he didn’t feel the chill that he could see in the vapor of his breath hanging in the air.

He heard someone whisper his name, and looked around wildly to find the source. He saw nothing, just empty snow and a thicket of trees a hundred meters or so to his right. Again came the whisper, this time more distinct, but also distinctly unreal. He knew he hadn’t heard it with his ears, but at the same time, he knew it had come from the thicket. He turned his path toward the trees, following the susurrus in the back of his mind. The trees were black and gnarled, dripping with foreboding, but Lucien felt strangely calm. The air grew deathly still, silent as a tomb as he passed through the thicket.

The trees, it turned out, surrounded a small chapel, obscuring it from view. The old building was clearly long abandoned, dilapidated in every sense of the word. The windows were broken, the white paint faded to gray and badly peeling. There was a large and plainly visible hole in the roof. The large double doors were battered, one hanging half-off of its hinges. The chapel radiated malice, its very existence an open threat to anyone seeking the faith, hope and love it had most likely once offered.

Lucien climbed the front steps one by one, repelled by the place, but more powerfully drawn to it. He pulled open the broken door, stepping into the dark building. The shadows were oppressive inside, the only light coming from the feeble sun trickling in through the hole in the roof. Lucien found that his eyes needed no time to adjust. He was able to take the tiny church in at a glance.

Inside, the place was even more ruined than outside. Pews were scattered, many of them smashed to splinters. Candle-holders were overturned and had clearly been lit when they fell. The floor around them was scorched as though it had been soaked in gasoline before the flames touched it. Curtains and wall hangings were similarly burned, and ripped to tatters. The floor looked unstable in places, broken floorboards revealing a black emptiness below. There were dark brown stains all over the floor, and further forward, near the altar, it looked as though those stains had once made a pattern.

Lucien found himself gravitating toward the altar. It was a plain, unassuming block of wood, so dark as to nearly be black. It was pitted and scarred, and as he drew closer, Lucien saw that some of those scars were symbols, though they belonged in no church he knew of. There were complex sigils he did not comprehend, though they immediately struck him as somehow offensive. There were pictograms depicting things which were definitely obscene. In many places along its flat surface, it too was made even darker by mysterious stains whose origins Lucien could begin to guess.

At the vary center of the altar was a stone goblet. It was simple and unadorned, like any chalice one might find at a church’s communion. It had clearly once been filled with something dark and sticky that stuck to its inside like dried paint, the same dark brown as the stains on the floor. Uncertain why, but compelled to do so, Lucien reached out and took hold of the goblet.

The sky turned black, and what sounded like thunder rumbled overhead. The chapel came alive around Lucien. The pews reordered themselves, the smashed ones coming back together as though they had never been damaged. The doors straightened on their hinges, the curtains and tapestries rewove themselves to artistic splendor. The floor was left unmarked and swept clean as the candles righted themselves and ignited their wicks. The black sky was blocked out as the hole in the roof disappeared. The thunder was overridden by the low, persistent singing of a choir that Lucien could not see, whose words he could not understand.

Before him, standing behind the altar now alive with tiny candle flames, a priest in black shouted at his gathered congregation, his face a mix of pure wrath and religious ecstasy. The gathered worshippers were enthralled by him, but Lucien could not hear his words. All he could hear was the choir singing a monotonous hymn in a tongue that Lucien had never heard. The priest was clad in black, including the collar at his throat. Lucien observed that the cross that decorated his raiment appeared to be broken. The congregation looked like the population of any country church at the turn of the century, though they seemed enraptured beyond the point of reason; hanging on the father’s every word.

The priest held the goblet in one hand, and in the other, a knife glinted in the light of hundreds of candles. He kept shouting in his silent voice, gesturing definitively, and pointing the knife like an accusation to his side, where a child was brought forward. A little girl of no more than nine, clad in a simple white shift. Her brown hair was tied back with a string, and her green eyes were shimmering with fear. But she stepped to the altar, standing in supplication before the priest.

She made no protest as he turned her violently to face the congregation, shouting again, some statement of divine righteousness. The congregation responded vehemently in unison; Lucien could not hear them, but he could feel their answer, their misguided faith resonating like a shockwave. The child did not dry out as she was forced to lean over the altar, her head pulled back cruelly by her hair. She did not scream as the knife was brought to her throat, slitting her open. Her blood was poured into the goblet, spilling over the sides. She stared Lucien right in the eyes as her life faded away, her own eyes filled with fear, but also with a heart-wrenching devotion.

The priest held the goblet high over his head, his face contorted as he screamed some prayer or affirmation. Two youths in black surplices took the dying body and knelt at the base of the altar, drawing lines on the floor with the girl’s blood. They were on either side of Lucien, working right at his feet. Lucien looked down to see what they were creating with a child’s life blood.

The symbol that the old stains had tried to form was whole in fresh blood. A thirteen-pointed star surrounded Lucien, leaving him at its center. As he stared, the boys drew a circle around the star, enclosing it and him. The choir grew louder, and then faded as the voices he couldn’t hear before were suddenly audible, the priest screaming ecstatic blasphemies. The congregation all but howled in return, before going utterly silent, filing up to the front to receive their unholy communion.

The symbol around Lucien’s feet began to glow as the room span around him. His head was filled with noise, a hundred voices screaming in agony, rage and fear. He fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands, as he saw everything. Every innocent sacrificed in this place played before his eyes; cut open, bled dry and fed to the worshipping mass. Every horrible act committed here before the final sacrifice.

He saw the doors locked, the congregation again sitting in ordered silence like any good churchgoers as the priest gave his fiery sermon. This time, though, there was no child brought before the altar. Instead, the unholy father gave a signal to his altar boys, and they tipped their candles onto a path of floor stained dark with some liquid. The flames spread quickly along the path the fuel gave them, forming the circle, the thirteen-pointed star around the whole congregation. They stared, shocked and meek, the pattern broken and their confusion obvious.

The fire did not consume the church itself. Instead, once the sigil was complete, the flames rushed inward unnaturally to the center of the room. Every member of the congregation was singed by that passing, many were badly burned. When it reached the center, the fire seemed to extinguish itself, and all was silent for a few seconds.

The empty spot in the air where the fire had died erupted. A shockwave smashed the pews against the walls and threw the worshippers into the air, where they were held. As one, they screamed as fire consumed them from the inside out, searing their bodies into ashen caricatures on human remains. The altar boys screamed as well, as smoke streamed from their surplices and they were likewise consumed. The priest laughed in the throes of maniacal revelation as his body smoldered, and he kept laughing as he, too was reduced to cinders. The unseen forced that battered the church swirled around like a hurricane, destroying everything in sight, but leaving the altar, and the goblet at its center, untouched.

Lucien stumbled back, the images burned into his brain. He made it as far as the middle of the chapel before the floor collapsed under him. He plummeted into the darkness of the cellar, landing on his hands and knees, somehow unhurt by the fall. The screams of the dead and tortured did not leave his mind as he fell below the chapel. Now he was in their midst, as he witnessed the burial of each young victim. Dozens of children had died here, and he was privileged to see each and every one of them.

The earth under his feet was alive with tiny hands, burrowing just beneath its surface. He could hear their howls and whispers, their cries for vengeance and pleas for comfort. They were all in his head, their pain ripping through him as their fear and rage set his mind on fire.

Lucien screamed a long, wordless howl of empty rage that echoed throughout the church above him. That scream also carried a hunger he could not name, but somehow recognized intimately. He could feel a power in this place, filling him as he emptied himself of that deluge of raw, black emotion. He was on fire, but he did not burn, he was drowning, and yet he breathed. The cellar around him shifted from stone and soil, to unending darkness and fire, and back again. He felt a raw, primordial strength flowing through him, and he felt that presence he had recognized last night in his room at the hospital.

You see it, Lucien, it spoke in his mind, you feel its power and you recognize its meaning. This is the gift of humanity. The power to destroy themselves and each other. To consume their own flesh and blood and offer it up to those truly worthy of their souls.

“You,” Lucien gasped, fighting for breath and sanity, “you feed on this.”

It is offered to me, and I take it. How can they be worthy of it if they would give it up so foolishly?

“But you made them do it,” he cried, “you forced them to sacrifice their own children!”

I forced nothing, the voice in his head contradicted, it was, as it will always be, their choice. I took only what was given to me freely. You can feel the power in it, Lucien. These pitiful sheep gave of themselves with nothing offered in return. There was no deception, no tricks. They knew exactly what they were doing.

“They…they knew? They did this willingly?”

Such is humanity. They kill, feed and breed endlessly, mindlessly signing their souls away for the briefest moment of rapture. The universe is granted a favor by their deaths.

Lucien could feel the honesty in the words. He had felt the dead in his own mind, could feel their memories. He knew their lives were given willingly, each and every one. His own race, so easily led into oblivion. How could they be spared, when they would not even spare themselves?

“Who are you?”

I have been named many things, the voice intoned, I was once simply called destroyer. I am the devourer of the unworthy, called Abaddon by some, but you will know me as Apollyon.

Lucien stood, the world becoming stable around him, but subtly changed. He was seeing things differently, as though a curtain had been drawn back and he was allowed a glimpse at what was hidden. He could still see the dead writhing beneath his feet, but his pity for them was blunted by his derision. He could see the power of this place, even as he consumed it. He could see that he was the sane one all along, afforded glimpses of the world as it truly was while everyone else stared with the eyes of the blind.

He left the chapel behind him, nothing but an empty building now, drained of its purpose. He followed the voice of Apollyon away from the thicket of twisted trees and back toward civilization, to prepare. He had to prepare and plan, he was told, because even those who would inherit the earth must be ready for opposition when it came.

Wed, 08 Nov 2006 08:53:24 GMT

As of Day 7

Word Count: 15056
Occurrances of Weird Shit: 4
Thickening Plots: 1

I'm hitting the hard part: writing the stuff I don't already have written in my head. I need to find a way to link the mundane beginning with the fantastic continuation. Soon, it's supposed to get very cool, but I think it has to get weird for a while first. Then I can start writing my flashy action sequences.

Tue, 07 Nov 2006 09:08:32 GMT

As of Day 6

Word Count: 13215
Emotional Roller-Coasters: 3
Uses of the name "Phil": 23

Still ahead of the game, and I'm going to need it. I've got an exam to prepare for, math homework to keep up on, and now I'm expected - not encouraged, EXPECTED - to apply for TLDP. Ohhh, things are going to be interesting.

I know I'm supposed to focus on quantity, not quality, but I think tonight's product was the shittiest writing I've done in a good long while. I have a feeling that most, if not all of it will be deleted and rewritten after month's end.

Mon, 06 Nov 2006 08:51:50 GMT

As of Day 5

Word Count: 10978
Human Lives Callously Tossed Aside: 16
Occurrances of Weird Shit: 2

It is very late now, but I have managed once again to get past Mom's word count. It is higher than the website says while I am typing this, because she forgot to update it. I wasn't planning on making it a competition, but when she decided to participate, it was a forgone conclusion. She confirmed it in conversation with Adam, and he passed that confirmation on to me. Without any fear of doubt or ambiguity, it is on.

I am tired. Now is time for sleep.

Sat, 04 Nov 2006 08:21:20 GMT

As of Day 3

Word Count: 6058
Chemical Dependancies: 3
Instances of Thinly Veiled Innuendo in Dialogue: 1

I was a little worried when I got started tonight that I wouldn't hit my stride, but it seems I'm on the ball so far. As it happens, I'm still just dealing with the boring preliminary stuff, but this story is so much more personal than last year's, or more specifically more people-oriented, that I'm just having fun letting the characters interact with each other. I feel like I've got too much dialogue though, because I'm basically just letting them talk until I remember that I have to progress the story. Not sure how forced the dialogue is, I'm not very good at that. I'm going to have to show one bit to Mom too, because I'm a little worried about the implications I might be making.

Right. Sleep now, more writing at the witching hour tomorrow.

Day 2 Update

Fri, 03 Nov 2006 08:12:45 GMT

Title: Devil's Dance
Genre: Modern fantasy with just a hint of metaphysical theology
Daily Quota: 2000 words

As of Day 2
Current Word Count: 4544
Important Characters Introduced: 3
Incidents of Violence and Destruction: None

This year, not only do I have to juggle NaNo and work, I also get to throw school into the mix. I know this is a doable thing, because I know others have done it with a lot more school than I have. But I also know that some people aren't participating because of school, in partcular because of what school is like for those in university. Hopefully they'll take some initiative to have their own NaNo at a more opportune time.

Thu, 01 Jun 2006 04:16:56 GMT

Deleted everything I posted here from NaNo, for safety's sake. There's a good chance I'll be continuing it though. We shall see.

Sun, 26 Feb 2006 00:16:41 GMT

Brother, can you hear
The world beneath your feet?
Touch it, can you feel
The slowly growing beat?
Look up, can you see
The swarm that fills the street?
Don't deny the taste
No virtue is as sweet

I will show you what's to come
(Look in the mirror)
I will tell you what to do
(Don't turn away)
I will show you who you are
(See what I've made you)
I will make your dreams come true

The Gate

Fri, 10 Feb 2006 22:21:16 GMT

Through me
The city of woe
Through me
Pain you cannot know
Through me
The lost eternal go
What you've done
My creator knows

The hand that raiseth me: divine
Supremest wisdom, love sublime
Crafted by immortal hands
Before me nothing mortal stands

Eternal I remain
Eternity knows my name
All hope lay down
Go by me

Blood on the throne

Fri, 10 Feb 2006 22:02:22 GMT

Honor my father
Don't call me your son
Honor thy brother
Don't forget what you've done

Murder most foul
Hear the dead king howl

When the prince comes down
To the real world
He's got Fate in his eyes
A twice bloodied crown
In the crosshairs
A subliminal prize
To Hell and back
Is a one-way trace
He knows the way it's paved
The first-born called to honour
Sin to be the saved

Wed, 30 Nov 2005 21:37:48 GMT

Yup, I blew it. Lost my stride about two weeks in and never got it back. Totally fucking failed. At this point I'll be happy if I just keep writing, that'll make the whole thing worth it.

Thu, 10 Nov 2005 23:31:02 GMT

Word count: 14269
Vampires Killed: 2
Languages Learned: 4
Communists Traumatized: 25

Moving along quite nicely, but I've noticed that I'm not getting any writing done at work anymore. I'm doing all my writing in the two hours between getting home from work and sleeping. Despite that, my daily word-count has gone up to 2000, so I'm managing 1000 words an hour, as well as any necessary research and distractions. Considerable has been the research I've had to do lately. A large chunk of that research has revolved around firearms, a subject in which nanomontoya's knowledge and the mighty Wiki have been invaluable. Additionally, I've had to get the hang of eastern Europe in 1955, which is an interesting challenge.

I'm off tomorrow, so I've got extra writing time both tonight and tomorrow. I've been hoping to have some sort of write-in somewhere tomorrow, but I'll need to find out if anyplace is open first, then hopefully I'll be able to gather a horde of writers.........muahahahahaha.

Sun, 06 Nov 2005 00:11:22 GMT

Word Count: 10160
Vampires Killed: 2
Total Fatalities: 41

I was a lot less productive last night than I expected to be, as MOD was a lot busier than it usually is on a friday night. I had to make up for lost time today. But my goal for this weekend was to go over 10k, so I'm back on and possible ahead of schedule, as I still have writing to do tomorrow. So far, so good.

Fri, 04 Nov 2005 22:01:35 GMT

Word Count: 6613
Vampires Killed: 2
Total Fatalities: 19

I have six hours of MOD today, so I should be leaving work with a very sore writing hand. I don't know if I'll be awake enough to type it all up tonight, or if I'll have to wait until tomorrow to handle that part, I'm already pretty out of it at 4 pm, so I don't think I'll be up any later than I need to be. Either way, I hope to have broken 10k by the end of the weekend.