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Protect the flock! From JP and Hachette!

AKA come write 50 000 words in a month. It's fun, I promise. (Moar info here.)

So, any other NaNoers here? (I'm Artaxiad Prescott.)

If so, got a plan yet? What's your novel about?

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About 24 hours to go. Does everyone have a writing idea? I was hit with a good one recently that could generate a nice wordcount? How are all of you doing?

I've been really busy being dead.

 

...I have plans, but if they don't come off they don't and I just spend the month playing video games instead.

I know what you mean. Halo: Anniversary and the full version of Minecraft will also be competing for my attention.

We shall see...

The novel I've been working on and plotting since sometime last year but haven't had time to do yet. 

My plotting is going amazing and I just have such high hopes for this year.

I'm kind of regretting asking my friends to do this now though.

Possible idea:

"Welcome, dear guest, to my Bazaar of the Bizarre, Shop of the Strange, Emporium of the Extraordinary, Market of the Mystifying, Gallery of the—oh. It’s you.”

Needless Things: A rather innocent looking store located at the crossroads of Salvation and Damnation; a mysterious little shop that you could have sworn wasn't there before. Inside, you'll find row upon filled row of shelves, holding useless junk and priceless antiques indiscriminately. (It's highly recommended that you don't touch anything. You break it, you buy it, and don't think that just because there aren't any security guards you can just waltz in and steal what you want...) Should you make it through the complex labyrinth, you'll find a desk at which sits a bored teenage girl sitting in front of a computer, who immediately perks up at the sight of you. After all, in a Shop like this, customers are rare, and company even more so, and when you work twenty five hour day shifts, eight days a week, three hundred sixty six days a year, there's little time for socializing. The girl's name is Trader, and she owns the Shop--or perhaps it's the other way around.


You can buy anything from Needless Things--dreams, nightmares, and everything in between. The Curio of the shop aren't limited to the tangible or even the real--you can buy a talent, a memory, immortality, anything you want. For a price. Nothing in life is free, and here the price for what you want isn't just money. The things being traded have to have equal value to you, and it's almost impossible to come out of the deal ahead.

 

Feel free to browse. Just, whatever you do, remember not to try and haggle.

 

((That's the description or whatever.))

Good start, to what end?

No end, really.

 

I'll be writing a few short stories regarding her interactions with various people, finally concluding with all of the people she's helped along with the few friends she has doing something nice for her.

 

Not sure what I'm trying to say with this. Probably something about loneliness, which is odd as I'm not really that lonely any more. Which I guess might be why I'm writing about it, come to think of it....

You always have such intriguing ideas.

Gramercy. ^_^

 

Mind you, I stole the premise for this one from the whole, "Creepy shop that disappears and reappears randomly," thing, but obviously I'm telling it from a different perspective than usual.

Go go go!

Not here, not yet.

I don't know whether I should stay up another two hours.

Hm. Kinda tempting...

5.6k. Pretty proud of myself, actually, it's been a good first day. Even though I fell asleep in Spanish.

Going to try to pull out another thousand or so tonight, then 4/7 of my periods tomorrow are frees, so I'll get all my homework done then and write for a solid couple of hours tomorrow afternoon.

I have...well, almost no plan for mine - there are three or so key points that need to be reached eventually, but I can take my sweet time bullshitting and improvising between those points. It's been fun so far, definitely.

I rejoined the site because my FB friends were tired of my spamming their newsfeeds and I don't want to clutter up my Tumblr.

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