Here is a NanoWrite, I set myself last summer, to give myself one month to finish a book.
This is the first chapter, the 1st draft as it was. The Story is about a mad-man in Victorian London, trying to harness magical powers...it was the first idea i ever had about a book, i wrote an idea down in pencil, and left it for ages....(admittedly perhaps oddly, I did out some of this into GREY_GRAVITY)...based on a box and the River Thames, and this word= chicaru-red...what would happen if a huge black house appeared above the water...so here is the link: CHICARU-RED...
Absolute journey, like a rubbish dump spilling out into the sea...where my ideas swim, and the journey is soooo long, but i am getting there, i must be, so read my rubbish, i dont mind, just dont.
writing 'gravity' was odd, I didn't quite form it well enough, lopped the ending down too quickly, madly putting out the first draft, and wanting to get it out, rather than keep it moving my mind in endless repetition of words....MADNESS I suppose...maybe this sequel GREY_GOOSE, will be honed better, maybe I wont bear to part with words: probably being anonymous is the best thing, most of all, I want to put "A VOICE OUT"...
I may be so bad at writing, giving myself as I said over a year, to write an actual novel, that, ; being less that are not so many days in 18 months, there were at least three months of cutting and pasting existing words, and then staring at an Internet-less computer screen, trying to work out, who Eugene is, most of all...there were less than the 18 months of course, less of me in posts and social situations, less is more...
I am the hoarder type.
I am prone to copy writer's habits, I spent youth, writing bad poetry, diaries full of bad things i couldnt get to the surface so that i was full of moral philosophies, those of girls, and developed De Quincy amounts of addiction to marijuana. And, the therapy diaries that were fantastical, and due to the 30 mins scricture of library computer time, got automatism to a degree that finally freed me, where i was free a day a week to write, despite living in a lunatic asylum, and having not wanted drugs by then, just words, and stories to tell.
So, i hoard, and confidentially put out all my trash here for you...I get better, i get lost,
“We start off with high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we’re all going to die, without really finding out the big answers. We develop all those long-winded ideas which just interpret the reality of our lives in different ways, without really extending our body of worthwhile knowledge, about the big things, the real things. Basically, we live a short disappointing life; and then we die. We fill up our lives with shite, things like careers and relationships to delude ourselves that it isn’t all totally pointless.”
This is the first chapter, the 1st draft as it was. The Story is about a mad-man in Victorian London, trying to harness magical powers...it was the first idea i ever had about a book, i wrote an idea down in pencil, and left it for ages....(admittedly perhaps oddly, I did out some of this into GREY_GRAVITY)...based on a box and the River Thames, and this word= chicaru-red...what would happen if a huge black house appeared above the water...so here is the link: CHICARU-RED...
Absolute journey, like a rubbish dump spilling out into the sea...where my ideas swim, and the journey is soooo long, but i am getting there, i must be, so read my rubbish, i dont mind, just dont.
writing 'gravity' was odd, I didn't quite form it well enough, lopped the ending down too quickly, madly putting out the first draft, and wanting to get it out, rather than keep it moving my mind in endless repetition of words....MADNESS I suppose...maybe this sequel GREY_GOOSE, will be honed better, maybe I wont bear to part with words: probably being anonymous is the best thing, most of all, I want to put "A VOICE OUT"...
I may be so bad at writing, giving myself as I said over a year, to write an actual novel, that, ; being less that are not so many days in 18 months, there were at least three months of cutting and pasting existing words, and then staring at an Internet-less computer screen, trying to work out, who Eugene is, most of all...there were less than the 18 months of course, less of me in posts and social situations, less is more...
I am the hoarder type.
I am prone to copy writer's habits, I spent youth, writing bad poetry, diaries full of bad things i couldnt get to the surface so that i was full of moral philosophies, those of girls, and developed De Quincy amounts of addiction to marijuana. And, the therapy diaries that were fantastical, and due to the 30 mins scricture of library computer time, got automatism to a degree that finally freed me, where i was free a day a week to write, despite living in a lunatic asylum, and having not wanted drugs by then, just words, and stories to tell.
So, i hoard, and confidentially put out all my trash here for you...I get better, i get lost,
it might be shite; to quote;
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