The rules are simple. You elaborate on the sentence since this is an exercise to get on all out for Nanowrimo. I will give the sentence and you can post your entry here. PRIZES will only be available at the kick-off so if you're not at the kick-off then too bad. Considering in all the years that the entries ended up being multiple sentences instead of one long one, YES, it's allowed as long as you pimp it out somehow and that we know that it did refer to the original line.
EXAMPLE: It was a blue shoe.
EXAMPLE OF PIMPED OUT SENTENCE:
It was a luscious shade of blue, like the sky in the heavens above, like the shade of his crystalline eyes. The sole was torn, torn like the depths of his own soul only more rubbery with an old piece of gum stuck to the bottom of it like a disgusting piece of old gum. The laces were tied into a neat ribbon even though it was useless when no one wanted to wear it. Oh yes, it was clearly a blue shoe.
Okay go be imaginative and descriptive. Here is the line you need to pimp out.
She stole his book.
EDIT:
OH YES, DEADLINE for this is 30th October, 4pm.
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Co-ML for Singapore
50,013 / 50,000
Oct 21, 2009 - 17 17
Lying down on that coffee table, that leather bound jewel glowed in her eyes, fantasies of hours of intellectual enjoyment whirled in her mind. How she wished to have it, to hold it in her hands, to touch and caress each side and take in its juicy contents all for herself. Her hand reached out, inching towards the forbidden fruit and then she retracted. Morality was banging its gong in her head and her angels were screaming in their loudest voices, drowning her own head with cries to stop. She stopped. She paused. But, she wanted it, she wanted to know that dark secret that brewed within him, that secret that lies within that leather bound object, which is now so vulnerable and helpless. Black flames of desire burned within her, and her gong of morality melted in its heat and her angels fled for cover. In one swift motion, she extended her hand towards the table.
She stole his book.
51,998 / 50,000
Oct 22, 2009 - 19 20
The demons exist only in her head.
She is sure of it, as she huddles down in the corner, her arm wrapped around the courier bag in her lap.
It must have been.
She started hearing them in the street earlier, the metronomic beat of leathery wings sending her heart lurching with its subsonic pulse and the downdraft of furnace-hot air tainted with a sulfurous stench washing around her like the foulest zephyrs of hell, as needlesharp talons started plucking at her skin to draw blood from stigmata only she could see.
And nobody had even looked up. Hence, it's all in her head. It must be, because even in this uncaring city someone would have noticed the foul familiars he sent after her when he found his treasure missing. Instead, all she had received were curses as she pushed through the crowd, invisible demons hot on her heels.
But that doesn't make it safe. Knowing that your pursuer is a mere nightmare is no comfort when you are nothing more than a dream yourself.
So now she stares at the door. The wingbeats have stopped, and instead there is a brief skittering, as of claws on varnish before the tortured squeal of tearing wood replaces it.
She would be afraid, but the warmth of the package in her bag lends her strength, whispering awful words of power into her ear that will her to open her mouth and let them speak her like a puppet on a razor chain.
Soon the door will fall.
She should not have done it, but she hates him. Hates him with the passion that comes from love gone rancid, and so when the chance had come-- the kind of wonderful, glorious improbable oppoturnity that only comes when you are totally disregarded as a threat, when the enemy sees you as a nonentity if at all-- she reached out and taken the heart and soul of his power.
She stole it.
She stole his book.
And now he wants it back
----------41,737 / 50,000
Oct 22, 2009 - 23 21
Oh... my... HECK.
----------Co-ML for Singapore
51,998 / 50,000
Oct 23, 2009 - 00 53
Not enough words?
----------123,427 / 50,000
Oct 23, 2009 - 01 49
Jy Jy. No interest in participating.
----------Try this facebook app if you have nothing better to do and you like games which don't require your attention: http://apps.facebook.com/ghost-trappers/index.php?si=1225860790
50,103 / 50,000
Oct 23, 2009 - 03 15
I think we have a vague rule that although one sentence is not required one paragraph is, otherwise it could end up as a novel of 50,000 words (which is the idea at the end of November but right now it's really just practice).
----------Former ML for Singapore 2005-2008
Possibly my last NaNoWriMo.
51,998 / 50,000
Oct 23, 2009 - 03 34
Well, that disqualifies me straight out.
Fun, though.
----------50,103 / 50,000
Oct 23, 2009 - 21 28
Fun, though.
No reason why there can't be multiple entries.
----------Former ML for Singapore 2005-2008
Possibly my last NaNoWriMo.
50,103 / 50,000
Oct 23, 2009 - 21 42
Le livre -- the book -- sur le table -- on the table. Est -- is -- sur le table -- on the table. Son livre -- his book -- est sur le table -- is on the table. Vouloir -- to want -- elle veut -- she wants. Voler -- to steal. Je vole, tu voles, il vole, nous volons, vous volez, ils volent -- I steal, you steal, he steals, we steal, you (plural) steal, they steal. Mais -- but -- où est elle? -- Where is she? Elle a disparu -- she has disappeared -- avec le livre -- with the book. Son livre -- his book.
----------Former ML for Singapore 2005-2008
Possibly my last NaNoWriMo.
22,829 / 50,000
Oct 25, 2009 - 05 17
She was Angela, and the name derived from the word 'angel', beings of light and goodness with the connotation of blessings, and sure enough she looked as if she was one, angelic, innocent and peaceful features, rosy cheeks and all. She stole. Stolen, not taken, not given, not borrowed and not even found on the floor whatsoever but stolen and if you still don't get it, I don't know how else I can make you understand it. It was his. Charlie's. Charlie Soh's. Not hers, but his, his and his alone. Not even theirs since they weren't even related in anyway except being unfortunate enough to be lecture mates. And it was his book. The book of notes that contained all his observation and contemplation of Mr Lye's philosophy's class on Plato. And so honestly speaking, she didn't just steal the book alone. She stole his effort, his views, his work. She should be classified as fallen by now.
----------Yours Truly, Goh Koon Hui
Raphael
3,000 / 50,000
Oct 25, 2009 - 05 36
She stole his book. Yes, she, her. And it was his book. His. She had no idea who he was, some proficient author with a popular following, someone she’d aim to be like. But that story, that book! It reeled her in, drawing her so deep until she couldn’t free herself. Her mind raged with thoughts of that story, that book, till she became breathless. She had to have it. It called out to her from the shelves of the bookstore, all shiny, glistening in the bright light. Come, come…you know you must have me… So she’d done it... ripped off a fresh, irresistible torrent file from the internet. With shaking hands, she’d opened the file, eyes growing wider as the flat arial text strode into view. But the satisfaction of finally getting the story did nothing to fill the growing darkness in her heart. Yes, she stole his book.
Well, downloading it from the net counts as stealing right?
----------Look to the Aozora
50,103 / 50,000
Oct 26, 2009 - 21 27
So few entries? So I stand a better chance of a prize.
----------Former ML for Singapore 2005-2008
Possibly my last NaNoWriMo.
50,103 / 50,000
Oct 28, 2009 - 20 10
Now that the bad, bad person's post has gone, gone, gone, then maybe we can re-start this competition.
It is based on the TV show "Pimp My Ride" where wrecks of cars are remodelled into shiney new, sparkling, best-of-everything versions of their old selves.
So... keep it all-ages suitable and PG please!
----------Former ML for Singapore 2005-2008
Possibly my last NaNoWriMo.
30,098 / 50,000
Oct 28, 2009 - 20 53
John held the book close to his chest, his eyes darting about, his steps quickened, clearly he is protecting the book. He knew the woman was following behind; the clacking of her Louboutins muted by the worn ecru carpet of the library. John darted around a corner and hastened his steps - there was no way he was going to let that woman lay her hands on the book. Oh, the book. It is a nondescript hardcover. The spine is adorned with nothing but the title, same with the rest of the jacket. The book isn't particularly thick - about two hundred pages printed on acid-free paper. John sprinted to the self-checkout machines while the woman walked as fast as she could in those dreaded 110mm stilettos. As John dug into his wallet for his library card, the woman ran up behind him and clubbed him on the head with her bag. The gold hardware of her Chloe connected with John's head with a resounding crack that reverberated in the strangely empty library. John collapsed and the last thing he saw was the woman checking out the book using his library card. She smiled and left the library with his book in hand, gleeful at the thought she would not need to return the book nor incur any fines from the library for that one last first print of her favourite book.
49,182 / 50,000
Oct 29, 2009 - 01 05
She coveted it like a bratty child coveting candy that he can't have, like a man with a middle age crisis coveting the sexy, red Ferrari and the younger, sexier trophy wife. She coveted the the leather bound, jewel encrusted thing on his table. He wasn't doing anything with it; just letting it sit there, perilously close to this coffee cup. She couldn't allow such a treasure to be spoiled in the hands of an ignorant fool who didn't know what he had. So she did the only thing that she could. She stole his book.
----------Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia. ~ E.L. Doctorow
41,737 / 50,000
Oct 29, 2009 - 22 08
2 more hours till closing!
----------Co-ML for Singapore
10,405 / 50,000
Oct 29, 2009 - 22 30
The book looked at her with fierceness. Its leather-bound yellowed pages showed no mercy. She felt a surge of anger rising up into her chest like a ball of fire. The book mocked her for all that she had failed to do. Her eyes burned with tears as she gripped the edge of the desk. She did not want to do this. It had nothing to do with me! She thought. Still, the book held its ground, the golden emblem on the rich chocolate cover glistened, reflecting the light from the warm fireplace. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks as she attempted to drive away the voice inside her head. Then she heard.
----------Footsteps.
And she took the book.
---------------------------------------------
~ 'Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend.
Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read.'
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51,998 / 50,000
Oct 29, 2009 - 23 18
Sin is a relative thing. To lie about where you were last night is a small sin in the scheme of things, and to run your key across the freshly-waxed pristine gleam of your recently-promoted colleague’s brand new Beamer hardly figures at all—at least, if you don’t get caught. But there are sins and then there are sins. And this was no small thing at all. Because there are lines you don’t cross—that you cannot cross and still proclaim innocence—and she had just crossed them all in one go. It was his fault. If only he weren’t so secretive; if only he would answer his mother’s questions as to what was on his mind and in his heart, rather than scribbling away in that little leatherbound journal that he locked with the key he wore around his neck at all hours. Yes. That was it. It wasn’t her fault; it was his. And maybe her actions were wrong and a monstrous sin and a betrayal of the trust that a child lays in his parents’ hands, but to not take them would be an even greater violation of that trust and thus an even more monstrous sin; how can a mother do the best for her son if she doesn’t even know her son? And so it was that with a clear conscience she stole his book.
----------40,537 / 50,000
Oct 29, 2009 - 23 33
The minister took a deep breath and head out to greet his masses, the confession with this unnamed woman before tired his mind immensely. She said, "I'm going to sin, I just know it," He thought nothing of it and quickly dismissed her. The thought ran through his mind even as he stepped out to the balcony in full sight of the cheering masses. Then, raising both his arms, he started his speech, only to find that the golden sealed tome he always used was not on the podium. The minister directed his attention to his attendants quickly but soon caught sight of a familiar looking woman at the corner of his eye, edging through the crowds, clutching onto something. The voice rang in his head again, "I'm going to sin, I just know it. Keep the Golden Tome away from me!" The minister's eyes lit up and he pointed and ordered, "SEIZE THAT WOMAN!"
----------~ Joelyn Alexandra
joelyn.alexandra@gmail.com
http://joelynalexandra.wordpress.com
52,980 / 50,000
Oct 29, 2009 - 23 46
The doors slammed shut and she skidded down the steps five at a time, landing on her butt at the bottom and then scrabbling back up to sprint straight down the empty street, through the wavery pools of illumination from the few unbroken streetlights. She got half a block before the poets came charging out after her, yelling at the tops of their voices - and they were LOUD, not to mention profane. A gunshot rang out and the bullet flew wide, hitting a third floor window. The poets from the Temporal Artists' Association were largely lousy shots. That didn't mean they wouldn't do some serious damage if they caught her, though. TAA people loved to push their work at everyone unlucky enough to be walking by, but there was nothing they hated more than having their half-finished manuscripts stolen.
The thought brought a big grin to her face and one hand shot into her vest, where the purloined exercise book lay flat against her stomach. She'd actually walked into a TAA cram session and made off with the handwritten draft of D.Z. Twit's latest anthology. The only draft. There was money in this, plenty of money - if she managed to outrun the yelling, cursing poets who were coming up behind her with an assortment of guns, knives, improvised clubs and, for some reason, rolls of toilet paper.
Another bullet cracked off the surface of the road to her right, far too close for comfort. She picked up her pace, still grinning madly into the night.
----------“You’re the ‘god’ here. Why are you worrying about questions?”
http://evilnovel.wordpress.com
http://worldsofmint.wordpress.com
41,737 / 50,000
Oct 30, 2009 - 00 18
4pm! Competition over! Thanks for the entries guys! Winners can only collect their prizes at Kick-Off! So if you're not at the kick-off, then too bad!
----------Co-ML for Singapore