Writing

Everyone has heard of NaNoWriMo, the web-organised novel writing sprint, which involves writing 50,000 words to get a novel finished during the month of November. It sounds like madness, and it is.

What’s the point of it? Well, part of the idea is that the quality of what you write isn’t all that important. It’s the very act of getting the words down on paper, or rather onto the screen, in such numbers that the whole thing just won’t seem so daunting any more. Plus, there might be some nuggets of plot or character, or maybe even a chunk of some genuinely good writing that can be salvaged. It also gives you an opportunity to say to people at christmas parties that you are now on your second novel.

Over on Palimpsest, we have set ourselves a different challenge. We are going to try and get the 50,000 words done collectively. With more of us involved, the individual word count goes right down, but complications are added, such as getting the thing to make sense, for example. Have a read of the various deliberations that have taken place over who is involved, how it can be done, and what the plot should be.

The actual document is being collated using the web word processor Writely – which is ideal for a collaborative project like this, where people from both the UK and the US are working on the same document. A copy of the work in progress is published for other Palimpeople to read and keep up-to-date.

It will be interesting to see how things turn out. It looks like there will be a massive editing job at the end.

Yesterday I finally got round to writing another piece of Parsnip, the thoroughly inept fantasy author.

They raced through the arid desert land which was what Zamora was comprised of, mostly. There were some nice bits but they were all on the coast. The two intrepid mercenaries had to go as fast as possible. They weren’t sure just when the news would come through that they were there, but when it did, those orclins and harbingers would be all over them, like a nasty rash you might pick up from a disease-ridden whore in the fetid city of debauchery that is Muckdanton. While Huth drove, he and Pedro exchanged tales of their lives so far.

“So, Pedro, how did you come to be in the service of Bogg-Ryder, the warrior Queen of Zlup?”

“Heh. That’s a tale, believe me. When I left Technocollege, I worked for a while with Blei-dorian, a jester who knows more than he is comfortable with. He was jestering then for Bogg-Ryder’s father, Marsh-Bender, and I used to help out, you know, wiping down the audience and picking up the limbs after each show. When Blei-dorian left to take part in the Eter-Tele show Jester Love Island, I was assigned to be Bogg-Ryder’s bodyguard. It was great work, and she came to really trust me, which is why I am here now. She wants to make sure this job gets done, and that you are safe. Let’s just say she would like to see the Tadotian uprising work.”

“Blimey! Right, well. It’s good to know we have some support. I knew her and Frek Necktuck, the Chancellor of the Blaartian ruling Council, didn’t get on, but that’s pretty amazing news! Hang on, what’s that ahead?”

Pedro engaged his megavision goggles and peered forth through the windscreen.

“Crikey!” he exclaimed. “A huge army of orclins on the horizon! The Praelector, acting on behalf of Gaxor, must be aware of our presence and sent these bastards to try and stop us. You have battled these bad-boys before, Huth, and survived. What should we do?”