nonionay: (nano summoning)
Just wrote 2400 words in less than two hours. I seem to have a couple styles of writing. One is prose intense, pretty, and usually involves short stories and/or lots of action, description and inner monologue. The other happens in my novels, and is the way I started writing. I inevitably fall into the pattern of having a bunch of characters sitting around talking. And that's what happened with this scene. One line just flows after the other (especially since I'm dealing with my second favorite character, ever) and suddenly, I've got 2400 words, of mostly dialogue. Whether or not this is a good thing is something I'll determine later. I'm just happy to be writing, even if it's all indulgence.

I'll give you my favorite bit (which, look! doesn't involve dialogue!)

Vittore was taken up a graceful but gray spiral staircase to the Low Matriarch's office. It was much like the rest of the temple--simple but with bright and careful embellishments. In this case, a single line of multi-colored tiles ran around the plaster wall just below eye height. Lace curtains fluttered beside an open window and just barely shrouded the view of the ocean beyond.

The room was unostentatious without being boring. It annoyed him that he liked it. However, the straightbacked chair he sat in was, to his relief, hard and uncomfortable.

"You haven't brought me here before, Holiness," he said.

The Low Matriarch nodded. She was a short woman who appeared taller when sitting behind her polished maple desk. The mica sewn to her veil was neatly done, but a single piece was missing on one side, and a frayed thread dangled on the other. She was neither too neat, nor too messy. Matronly, with expressive wrinkles that made her interesting to look at, she was the least offensive person Vittore had ever met, and he tried hard to find ways to dislike people. She perpetuated the belief in gods, but too many people did that for Vittore to hold it against anyone. Not that he liked her.
nonionay: (Default)
And lo! I have started a new book. I might actually start a second new book, too, since I need to start the sequel to Green Night. But the book I did start is a special one. It's going to be all literary and semi-autobiographical. For this is the fabled Montana Book. For a while, I've wanted to write about the land I spent many summers in as a child, since in recent years I've discovered that land has a strange emotional hold over me. I started to really appreciate this fascination when my grandpa died, and we went over there to scatter his ashes. And so, this book is about a girl who's returned for her grandmother's ash scattering and gets possessed by a supernatural force she must overcome and release.

My dad will undoubtedly recognize the first few paragraphs from our trip to California last Christmas. That ride is where I finally got my inspiration for this.

While there will be some similarities between the characters and my own family, I'm consciously trying to avoid overt parallels, because it's not my family drama that I want to write about, but rather, the Bitterroot Valley itself and how we project ourselves onto the landscape.
Also, Glacial Lake Missoula and ginormous floods. w00t!

It's literary, it's stand-alone, it's first person, it has three clear and simple subplots, it's unlike anything I've written!


3679 / 80000 4.6% Done!



Excerpt behind the cut.
Read more... )
nonionay: (Default)
This one's from the Mistworld continuity, and was prompted by this picture

Their names were Tina and Regina, and Oscar tried very hard not to be afraid of them as they stood parallel to him in the next lunch line over. They were pretty, so it was hard not to stare. Their hair was sleek and pulled up into a single, high braid. Tina's was on the right, tied with an elastic tipped with a blue glass ball. Regina's was on the left, with a pink cloth flower. Where their torsos joined, they wore a patent leather belt over their tweed skirt.
Read more... )
nonionay: (nano summoning)
From the Pans Labyrinthesque WWII story:

The latrine was a dank little hut that sweated on the inside. Flesh puckered at the bases of the rough wooden seats. Was it a strain holding six toilets in your mouth? Was it worth whatever reward the latrine got from eating our waste? This is what I wondered when I visited, my backside being tickled by the hot breath heaving from the hole. By then I was too numb to be disturbed. In fact, the latrine, despite the eye-watering stench, was the warmest place in the camp and on many days, when our oil-burning stoves broke down, we'd gather on the soft floor of the latrine and play mah jong with digestive gurglings as our background music.

Snippet

Jun. 22nd, 2009 08:37 pm
nonionay: (nano summoning)
A sentence I just wrote, of which I'm rather fond:

"Rory remembered when Vitali got to the point in his necromancy skills that he could liberate his pale, fine complexion from the vast field of freckles that had so long oppressed it."
nonionay: (Default)
I'll post about my awesome weekend later. For now, I want to post the quick thing I wrote at the workshop. Someday, I do want to write about my life. Thinking about it on the way home, I was struck by the unique, vivid world I sometimes grew up in--filled with my grandpa moving irrigation pipes and my mom talking to her invisible people and stuff like that.

The exercise was to write about something painful (inspired from our own lives) in a humorous manner.



My grandma sat at the head of the kitchen table while my dad checked on the marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes, and the smell of turkey wafted through the air. I was making macaroni and cheese for myself.
My mom was babbling in the next room over, giggling occasionally. Thank God she was in a good mood. Hopefully it would last through Thanksgiving dinner. Then, if she started screaming, Dad would take her for a drive, and I’d go for a walk out into the surreal world that was the Bitterroot Valley.
Read more... )

Snippet

Dec. 29th, 2008 09:18 pm
nonionay: (Default)
The Running of the Zombies!
Here's a snip from what I wrote today--the climactic battle. Morya's running through a city with the zombies his family is controlling. He's the only one to volunteer to keep the zombies from eating anyone they're not supposed to.

Read more... )

Snippet

Dec. 21st, 2008 04:37 pm
nonionay: (Default)
This is from the pov of a character I've been struggling with. I now love him, because it appears he enjoys scaring himself silly.
Relevant backstory: They're a bunch of necromancers hanging out on an isolated island while making a zombie army.

Read more... )

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