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Genre: Fantasy
About NaeraLocation: Victoria, BC Age:15 Favorite novels: Good Omens, The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul, Slaughterhouse 5, Some of the Kinder Planets Favorite writers: Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, Kurt Vonnegut Favorite music: Classical Opera Non-noveling interests: slinkies, queen (the band, not the royalty), provoking my cat, giggling at stupid euphemisms, dark chocolate, photography, coffee, confusing myself with existential questions, wondering if I have a secret superpower, ranting about stupid things, typing like a madwoman, boys, guitar riffs, freddie mercury, skydiving, rockclimbing, spontaneity, serendipity, quixotism, instant noodles, and frozen yoghurt. |
Joined: July 22, 2008 This Year: Official Participant NaNoWriMo History: NaNoWriMo posts: 33 NaNoWriMo buddies: 6
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Brief Author Bio: The author was born in big cold city and later moved to a temperate small city. She likes her big city better, and plans to move when she goes to university. Her grandmother was a published writer, so she can't take credit for any remote amount of talent. She has more ideas than time, and has an unfortunate tendency to either say far too much or not enough. She likes photography, coffee, and people, respectively. Her inspiration consists of messed up dreams while hopped up on NyQuil, some really nifty paintings, and some even niftier friends. She thanks them all. |
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Synopsis: Of Airships, Pears, and the Unfortunate Business of Falling in Love
There's some characters. Some stuff happens. People die. People fall in love. A house goes looking for a pack of gum. An eventual conclusion is found and (mostly) everyone is happy. The end.
Excerpt: Of Airships, Pears, and the Unfortunate Business of Falling in Love
Disclaimer: These excerpts, like my novel, are barely coherent, let alone cohesive. Do not expect as much. Enjoy.
We join David Palinstropolis on a fine Sunday afternoon, firmly wedged between two crates of pears in a storage room of Sector 6K, Inventory Level, on the pleasure cruiseship Apathetic Meanderings.
Everything was going according to plan.
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He, for one, was headed to the corner store. The rather troublesome part about being a lovely victorian chateaux in the middle of a Norway forest is that well, he was in the middle of a Norway forest. There weren't exactly convience stores abound.
He was going to pick up some gum. He'd recently been used as shelter for a lost traveling gum salesmen (he'd been eaten by bears later on. Winston didn't care. He was itchy.) and the mysterious rubbery and rather smelly substance the poor man was always chewing had intrigued him.
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