So what was the last scene you wrote, and how will it merge into the next scene? Describe it briefly here! If you don't know what to write next, I bet we can probably give you a bunch of wacky ideas!
The last scene I wrote was the wedding between a young woman from my criminal family (though no one knows they're criminals) and the younger prince. Aww, it was so cute! :3 The next scene I'm going to do is the party afterwards, bringing in more of a foreboding, foreshadowy feel. A bit incongruous, but I think it'll work.
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All writing begins life as a first draft, and first drafts are never any good. They're not supposed to be.
- Patricia T. O'Conner
33,070 / 50,000
Nov 4, 2009 - 15 35
Last scene was the reappearance of to-be ally character named Yvette, where she talked my heroine into going to avenge her father's death. Yvette talked really weird...I'm going to have to fix that dialogue later. Was just...odd. Anyway. Next one is going to to move to Nottingham, an inn of some sort where Rosa is supposed to meet Yvette. At least, assuming she gets there. >.> That next scene is the start of chapter 3.
----------Using NaNo to complete my second book in this imagined series...
In Search of Truth: The Sherwood Chronicles
1. Stained
2. Forest of Lies (written!)
3. Unbroken
4. The Bow (NaNo)
and hopefully more...
12,744 / 50,000
Nov 4, 2009 - 17 11
The last scene I wrote was one in which my main character whines like a hormonal teenage girl (he's a guy) because his janitor buddy isn't driving fast enough. The scene I'm TRYING to do now is one in which said main character and said janitor have a large moral dilemma.
----------"What are you doing here? I thought I killed you yesterday!" grumbled Albi quite racistly.
"No, Albi. You didn't kill me with your dragon flames. I crawled to safety, but you did leave me very badly disfigured," laughed the boy.
-Flight of the Conchords
31,702 / 50,000
Nov 4, 2009 - 18 49
"It is done." I said, sighing contentedly and sitting back in my big,
comfortable "Dean's Chair", holding my head a little. I relaxed for a
few minutes, eyes closed, cutting off telepathic contact form
everyone, in silence and at peace. I opened my eyes again and sighed
once more, jumping out of my chair and walking out of my office, down
the hidden corridor and into the halls. Kierian was tending to the
gardens, and it was my shift to watch the human.
I sat outside her classroom, letting the voices and thoughts of the
room enter my head, along with Isabeau and Damien's in an entirely
separate wing of the school to keep a mental eye on them. Isabeau had
been deeply uprooted by Silvia's entrance into the school and it was
the authority's duty to keep and eye on that to see how it progressed.
Damien was merely concerned for her, a real softie inside, but only
concerning her.
"It seems our human is settling in quite nicely." I spoke mostly to
myself, glad for once that things seemed to be going right. She was
almost completely at ease, only slightly upset at something, but
relieved at it too. "Seems I'm out of practice at reading humans
minds." I commented under my breath, rubbing at my temples some
because of the strain of isolating specific minds.
I continued in this same fashion throughout the day, never alerting
her to my presence. I even followed her home and stayed in her closet
for the night. Making a quick escape to the school as she started
waking up, Kierian was left behind doing the job I had just done and I
made it to the Academy swiftly, and gracefully, full ready to complete
another day without sleep. After all, us vampires don't need sleep.
Old habits die hard.
That was it. I have two points of view and I got stuck on this one. So I'mma switch back to the other character for awhile, see if I can come up with something, haha~
----------NaNoWriMo 09: Grasps Of Reality
NaNoWriMo 10: The Child Inside {GoR Prequel}
Important Characters: 8
Character Deaths: 1 planned
Dares used: 6
Dream sequences: 3 or 4
Species Used: 5
Beverage Of Choice: Coffee <3
41,732 / 50,000
Nov 5, 2009 - 19 36
My last scene was a rather angsty scene with an uncle of my main character whinging at the daughter of his dead brother, who is part Asher (evil race) and who he promised to take care of, and who he resents deeply. So yeah, that was complicated and emotional. It didn't help matters that she was rooting through his desk and reading old love letters his dead wife had sent him ages ago.
I think my next scene is going to be about the girl angsting to her friend or something. Angst seems to be pretty good for getting my word count up.
----------All writing begins life as a first draft, and first drafts are never any good. They're not supposed to be.
- Patricia T. O'Conner
31,702 / 50,000
Nov 6, 2009 - 22 49
I curled up onto my side, sighing. I had forgotten to get out of one of my nice dresses before sleeping. "Kierian..." I cooed softly, like a child would for their parent. "Would you change me. My exhaustion is overwhelming, or maybe it's hers. But I can't move very well." I spoke, my voice growing ever soft and tired-sounding.
I felt my body be lifted up and handled so gently one would barely even notice if their skin weren't so sensitive. My small, frail, light weighted body was easy to manipulate. I almost felt like a marionette. A sharp memory reverberated through my body as I made that distinction and I instinctively curled in on myself a bit, a spontaneous albeit instant reaction of shock. I had been startled by my own memory again.
Kierian didn't seem to notice too badly. He had been through this many more times. He quietly and almost effortlessly slipped off all my clothes and slipped my nightgown over my head, lifting my arms and slipping them easily into the holes. He held me up when I jumped, startled and shocked form my memories and then laid me down.
I laid in silence for a few moments before turning to him. "Kierian, will you lie down with me... I haven't laid next to a warm body in a long time..." I asked, looking up at him with my young, pure eyes, my body seemingly unimaginably fragile. Kierian smiled a bit and nodded, knowing me to ask this of him every once in awhile. He got changed into more favorable and comfy cloths and held me in his arms as he laid down, like a lover, or a protector would.
I sighed contentedly and snuggled my head into his chest, gripping his shirt into my tiny fists, and for one moment, a tear formed at the corner of my eye, freezing automatically on my cold skin. For in that one moment I longed for nothing more than to be human again, and age with every year. I longed to be able to be with someone forever, and for someone to be able to be with me. Against Kierian's warm body, I wept, tears flowing freely, warmed by Kierian's body heat, cooled by my skin, just enough of each to keep them liquid.
May I remind you that Lilila{POV character} is a frail and sickly vampire who is trapped in the body of a 6-year-old, even though she'd the oldest vampire alive in my story?
And Kierian is her Elven Butler/Caretaker/Slave who's older than she is... By alot?
>>" Silvia still gets more word count. ^^"
----------NaNoWriMo 09: Grasps Of Reality
NaNoWriMo 10: The Child Inside {GoR Prequel}
Important Characters: 8
Character Deaths: 1 planned
Dares used: 6
Dream sequences: 3 or 4
Species Used: 5
Beverage Of Choice: Coffee <3
88,888 / 50,000
Nov 7, 2009 - 07 43
I spent Thursday setting up the scene I am writing right now. I am pausing to post about it because I am particularly proud of it (vanity vanity, all is vanity).
Basically, the main character is playing a game of chess against an old man in a coffee shop. With each blink, the main character alternates between seeing reality and seeing himself on a battlefield facing down an army with his own. He thinks he sees the old man, whose name is Chessman, as the black king poised on his obsidian throne. But, the main character is actually rather mistaken. Chessman is indeed on the battlefield, but he is no king.
I really like where it's going, and can't wait to finish writing the scene.
----------To victory!
12,744 / 50,000
Nov 7, 2009 - 09 09
Last scene...let's see here...
The elevator dings. We step out into a waiting room. It’s occupied by two women, each overweight or wearing really, really unflattering dresses crying into each other’s shoulders. I can hear the tick of the small clock across the room in front of the receptionist’s thin little praying mantis arms. Blue ticks. They seem to have a unique color to them. Something about that tick, which sounds more like a sharp ‘teek’, has something about it that says blue. Possibly the sad, pathetic beat it adds to the women’s weeping. It makes the scenery around it blue, like someone’s put a film filter over my eyes and made everything turn indigo and cerulean and periwinkle and every other shade of blue known to man and beast. The blue dust motes float by. I sway to the left a little. Mark pulls me up and sits me in a turquoise colored chair. He kneels in front of me and puts his hands up.
“Eight,” I say. “Eight. You’re going to ask me how many fingers you’re holding up and right now you’re holding up eight. Not counting thumbs, it’s six.”
“I was gonna tell you to settle down.”
“Ah, but your last two fingers on your left hand are down. Therefore, you couldn’t possibly be holding up your hands to calm me. You’ve got to be asking how many—”
“Shut up, Vic. You get all blabbery when you’re like this.”
“Is this chair blue?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay then.”
He stares at me and lowers his veined, azure hands. “So what? Why—”
“Well, to be honest, I don’t know.” I looked at the clock and the blue fades.
“I’ll be walkin’ around and..eh…checking on things. Be back when the coast is clear.”
I nod. “Sure.”
He walks away.
(Victor's going crazy from blood deprivation. He's like this for another eight hours or so. The 'blue' incident is followed by a flashback, staring at the receptionist from over a magazine because she looks like food, and annoying the old ladies behind him by humming Russian folksongs his mother taught him VERY loudly, especially when the women tell him to stop. I just love making him insane!)
----------"What are you doing here? I thought I killed you yesterday!" grumbled Albi quite racistly.
"No, Albi. You didn't kill me with your dragon flames. I crawled to safety, but you did leave me very badly disfigured," laughed the boy.
-Flight of the Conchords
41,732 / 50,000
Nov 7, 2009 - 16 46
I last wrote aforementioned scene of Cinderella-girl angsting to her friend, though it turned into more of a focus on them reading the letter Cinderella pilfered from her uncle's room, which turns out to be one her mother sent her like seven years ago, telling her why she left but really only raising more questions than ever.
I have an inkling this will lead to some much-needed drama/conflict, because now I've got Cinderella's friend planning to sneak into the uncle's room and grab another letter while he's out.
(And no, Cinderella's not her real name, but as she should be part of the family but is forced to work as a servant, I think the nickname is fitting.)
----------All writing begins life as a first draft, and first drafts are never any good. They're not supposed to be.
- Patricia T. O'Conner
31,702 / 50,000
Nov 7, 2009 - 22 25
First I wrote....
I could not get the thought out of my head. Meanwhile, I threw up everything I ate and the circles under my eyes were unbearable and I even hallucinated a bit. I continued to stare at people's necks or wrists whilst licking my lips or biting the bottom one, then I would shake my head and snap out of it. I could smell so much, see so much. I could sense someone walking into a room and her my mother talking worriedly on the phone to my doctor in hushed whispers so as not to 'wake me up'. I couldn't sleep one bit the entire week, but I wasn't tired at all....
But by next week all of it went away mysteriously. So after that week of panic attacks for my mother, I hopped out of bed, didn't bother to fix my hair, changed into whatever clothes I found first in my drawer, tossed on my shoes and was out the door. I breathed in gulps of fresh air, glad to be out of my stuffy house.
Then I wrote...
Ah, the school. As empty and bizarre as usual, but at least it wasn't home. Each step along the hallway echoed forever and again creepily, but I was so used to it I didn't mind. I reached my class in record time and sat down, plugging in my headphones and listening to some classical music and hiding my graphic novel in one of my school textbooks. This was an easy class, and the teacher never minded when I didn't pay attention.
I was probably one of the smartest kids in my grade. What with classes like "Modern Technology" and "The Inner Workings of the Human Mind", things were easy as pie. Mostly I just sat back and tape recorded any lectures-- Phreaq or Amyas would always signal in that case, and I'd just press a button. I would always read a graphic novel or a book or just daydream in my classes. They were fairly easy.
After school, I went back home in as good a mood as I left. The sky had cleared, the rain had left a fresh scent in the air, birds were chirping sweetly, the air tasted wet, but that was fine. I felt so alive in those moments; the moments were everything is going for you, no cares in the world, just glad to be alive, thriving in the sense of freeness and freshness and...
I spun around a few times, embracing the feeling of life inside of me. It felt great, greater than I've ever felt before. Just spinning to spin, that feeling of a child's likeness, their minds so innocent and free; how they stare at everything in wonder, curiosity never ending..... I recaptured the essence of a child in that moment. After a few minutes I stopped spinning and leaned against a fence behind me, breathing hard, but slowly, waiting for my dizzy, nauseous minded head to stop the world going round and round and round...
Next what happened was...
I took a breath while looking at the slightly darkened sky before going back to the edge of my bed, sitting beside it and turning my old, nearly torn apart notebook towards me so I could read what was scribbled into it. The handwriting was not mine. "Beware the Shadows and the Beasts Within Them; For the Depths of their Souls hide Shadows Themselves." I read out loud, in a hushed but confused whisper. My face crumpled into a distraught expression.
"What is that even supposed to mean?" I asked the air around me, as if it would answer. Suddenly a cold draft seemed to overtake my room and I shivered, less with the cold and more with a sort of deep fear I couldn't explain even if I wanted to. Suddenly I just wanted to be out of there.
And then came...
I sighed, my smile disappearing quickly. But as soon as my meal was done, it came back. I heated up some green beans as well, and ate that and an apple with my good old fashioned Mac and Cheese. I ate slowly, allowing the food to digest well and so I could really appreciate the tastes and smells of it all. I ate the apple last, the crisp sound of me sinking my teeth into it giving me a satisfactory feeling about it.
I finished eating in about half an hour and started doing dishes. Something about cooking my own food made me feel the need to wash my dishes too. I filled the sink with water and sudsy soap and got to work. I hummed as I washed, dunking and scrubbing each dish before I piled it into the second side of the sink to air-dry. It was relaxing being able to just be alone in near silence with no one watching. Even if I was washing dishes.
I finished washing all of the dishes within 20 minutes, drying the dishes that hadn't dried in about 5. I put them away quickly and sat down, wondering what to do next. I wasn't all that tired, and I really didn't want to go back into my room. I favored the idea of taking a walk and grabbed my coat and some bright yellow rain boots. I fell on my bottom as I tried putting them on smoothly but it didn't hurt that much, so I didn't mind. I got my coat on and got out of the house.
So what happened was...
I breathed deeply in, the smell of rain was enticing and relaxing and there was multiple fireflies out and about, lighting up the night a bit. The stars were beautiful, or what I could see of them. My boots clunked rhythmically against the sidewalk as I entered the light of a lamppost ad spun around a few times. I smiled, laughing a bit. My mind was clouded with the mist of my giddy relaxed mood.
As I walked through the night I started to grow tired. I soon was headed back to my house. I saw a few cars pass when I came near the street, but I wasn't surprised nor frightened. There were always a few people out late. I made it home in record time and peeled off my coat, boots and hat on my way up the stairs, dumping them at the edge of my bed.
I briskly changed into my PJs and settled slowly into my bed, the feeling of good encompassing my body with warmth. I don't remember when exactly I fell asleep, but maybe that was because I felt like I was living inside a dream anyway.
PS: Does anyone know if there's a spoiler code?
----------PPS: I love sharing my novel, for some reason. XD
NaNoWriMo 09: Grasps Of Reality
NaNoWriMo 10: The Child Inside {GoR Prequel}
Important Characters: 8
Character Deaths: 1 planned
Dares used: 6
Dream sequences: 3 or 4
Species Used: 5
Beverage Of Choice: Coffee <3
26,719 / 50,000
Nov 8, 2009 - 06 40
My last scene is threatening to become a whole chapter, or two. One of my main characters, an Ethiopian Civil/Mechanical Engineer named Kaleb, has just landed on the planet everyone and their dog wants to explore. However, due to the political climate and funding issues he went through a rather unorthodox procedure his briefing officers termed a "dirt launch." In this method each of the eight team members was shot at the planet in their own tiny capsule, designed to hopefully be too small for the other ships in orbit to detect. I've just written his drop through the atmosphere where he can feel drag fins breaking off the capsule and feel the swings and imbalance of one of the drag chutes failing to deploy properly, followed by crashing through trees and finally swinging to a halt suspended from his chute cables.
I've gone on to describe him getting down from the tree and going through the storage compartments in his capsule (finding most everything ruined) and the process of him scraping together what survival materials he can and working out how to find his team with most of his electronic equipment ruined. At the point I'm writing now he's jury rigged a radio direction finder and is about to trek through the woods following the signal beacon on one of the other capsules. He wants to get as far as he can before sundown, knowing that tomorrow stiffness will set in from the battering he took upon landing and the going will get much harder.
----------“Luke: What's in there?
Yoda: Only what you take with you.”
12,744 / 50,000
Nov 8, 2009 - 07 09
Flashback sequence GO!
Victor has a third-person flashback about his little sister, Tatiana, and how close they were. It's really cute and stuff. Then it ends with him not waking her up one day to say goodbye before he leaves and...well, he never comes back. All together now: Awwwwww!
----------"What are you doing here? I thought I killed you yesterday!" grumbled Albi quite racistly.
"No, Albi. You didn't kill me with your dragon flames. I crawled to safety, but you did leave me very badly disfigured," laughed the boy.
-Flight of the Conchords
41,732 / 50,000
Nov 9, 2009 - 06 30
I last wrote a scene about a young man in my family thinking about his position in the family. A lot of it was infodumping, but I wanted to figure out just what his role is. Turns out it's quite odd. See, he's the younger son of the patriarch, but he ends up being the one the patriarch goes to for ideas and advice, which normally would be a job for the elder son, but as the elder son has recently been getting plastered in a bar while angsting over his dead wife, the younger son has to take up the slack. So I got to make the younger son whinge about that a bit, then feel guilty for whinging and respectfully try to carry out his father's wishes.
I'm now in the middle of a scene where the patriarch's nephew confronts him about the criminal exploits he's been making the family do. I somehow managed to write 400 words of just describing him walking down the hall, and then describing what the patriarch's office looks like. Ridiculously long descriptions ftw!
----------All writing begins life as a first draft, and first drafts are never any good. They're not supposed to be.
- Patricia T. O'Conner
25,039 / 50,000
Nov 9, 2009 - 06 45
Faery princess Lucia and god of Chaos Tuann have not fallen into bed together after attending the Faery Court dance. She thinks he may still be carrying a torch for faery Honeyblossom, who dumped him. She is going home alone, where she will find all her siblings [and there are many] sitting around, talking about the dance and getting drunk.
----------The book is Chaos Brides: Lucia and Tuann, Sitting In a Tree.
http://jerlapoint.com
Jerri LaPoint
http://jerlapoint.com
33,102 / 50,000
Nov 9, 2009 - 19 13
The protagonist curiously investigating the run-down suburban house of the strange individual who's been calling him with cryptic messages, then deciding to break in, only to discover that the old man in the house happens to be a supervillain.
41,732 / 50,000
Nov 10, 2009 - 09 58
I last wrote a scene from the perspective of the guy who's heading the investigation against my criminal family. He's become convinced there's actually two criminal organizations, for the attacks to be so widespread. But actually it's just one organization >:D Anyway, so now he's got the warrant to interrogate the noble families, which puts my family in a bit of a bind.
My next scene, I think, will be my patriarch coming up with the plan to thwart said interrogation by making them look like victims rather than culprits. Heehee, I had a lot of fun yesterday brainstorming this thing.
----------All writing begins life as a first draft, and first drafts are never any good. They're not supposed to be.
- Patricia T. O'Conner
40,027 / 50,000
Nov 10, 2009 - 17 10
My vampire, Rafael is reminiscing about the time he met the Prince of Darkness as he (Rafael) finally transformed out of humanity.
----------It got a little gory and I had to stop.
brrrrrr
Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit.
41,732 / 50,000
Nov 11, 2009 - 20 17
I just finished writing the scene where my family stages an assassination attempt on their own patriarch so they won't be suspected of being the criminals they actually are. It came about rather slowly, but that was mainly because I was writing it at a write-in and was rather distracted.
My next scene will be the investigator coming to the scene of the crime and drawing the conclusions they want him to.
----------All writing begins life as a first draft, and first drafts are never any good. They're not supposed to be.
- Patricia T. O'Conner
41,732 / 50,000
Nov 18, 2009 - 10 56
Saving this from the bottom of the page! 8D
I last wrote an attempted assassination that deliberately went awry, where they were trying to make it look like they were trying to kill a councilman. Next I'll write the next assassination attempt, which will involve crossbow sniping XD
----------All writing begins life as a first draft, and first drafts are never any good. They're not supposed to be.
- Patricia T. O'Conner