Today I found all of the handwritten pages from NaNoWriMo 2010 stuffed in a drawer under my 6th grade yearbook, a couple ’08 calendars, some markers that didn’t work, and the entire American Heritage dictionary.
They’ve been there since December 2nd, when I removed those shameful, hastily-written pages from my sight. Flipping through them, I wondered the entire time what had been going through my mind. The dialogue is horrible, I forgot about one of the main characters (just because I misplaced her profile on day six) until chapter 17 or so, I threw in a couple torture scenes that fit nowhere in my plot because I got bored, and around the end I just started writing about ponies.
But among the mud, dirt, horrible character development, and crappy transitions, I stumbled across a few diamonds in the rough. I thought I’d share those here, for lack of a better post.
(Quick summary– Aaliyah, Zach, Jessie, Nicholas, Gail, Zip, Eric, and Drake are teenagers living in a mental institution that doubles as a Matrix-esque boarding school with psychotic teachers and secret tunnels leading from the storage closet to a torture chamber. IT WAS NANOWRIMO, alright? I had no sanity left, especially as the month went on. It was pretty much just a month of writing practice. I ended this novel at about 35,000 or 40,000 words, although I lost a considerable amount of pages in the laptop transition, so that’s just an estimate word count. It was definitely a learning experience. And sometimes I wrote while drinking chocolate milk. Below is the cover Mercy made for me :D. And yes, it shares a title with this blog. The book actually came first.)
Without further adieu, quotes.
That was his flaw. For a supervillan, he was too trusting of his victims.
“Make way, make way!” Dr. Cornelius shouted. His whiny voice echoed on the dark stone walls, the cobblestone floors slick with bloody saliva. He yanked open the cell door, leaving it wide open behind him, and rushed to the center of the group.
It was about ten seconds before he realized his mistake–and about four minutes before he was shivering in the back of the cell, hands tied behind his back and held securely by five lengths of rope, fiberous cloth rubbing his mouth raw.
Gail shook with laughter as they exited the dungeon. Bloody, exhausted, sore as all git-out, but alive. “I can’t believe him. Such an idiot.”
Yeah, my antag’s an idiot and my protag’s too snarky. Wait till she finds out about Zach’s feelings for Zip.
Eric grinned lazily.
“Who’s sittin’ in the tree now, buddy?” Gail smirked, pushing her rumpled black hair out of her eyes.
Zach looked back at Zip, who was shivering, soaked, hiccuping and sputtering, talking in a hushed tone to Nicholas, and nodded at Gail. “I wish. I don’t think she feels the same.”
“Don’t be mental. Of course she does,” Jessie chided.
The joke in that is that they’re ALL mental–that’s why they’re stuck in an asylum.
“Sorry to interrupt the little emotion-fest,” Gail said, in a tone that most certainly indicated she meant full-well to interrupt, before they all started crying and applying for therapy, “But we have the aforementioned problem of escaping this heckhole. Alive, prefferably.”
“As opposed to…?” Eric asked.
“A body bag,” answered Drake.
Eric’s kind of the funny idiot everyone appreciates for breaking up tension. But sometimes he doesn’t pick the best time to be stupid.
Gail crossed her arms. “Focus, guys. Escape now and hope for the best, or stay here and hope for the best?”
“That’s a lot of hoping,” said Zach uncertainly. “I’m not so good with hoping.”
“I say we go,” Eric offered.
“I say we stay,” said Zip.
“We vote,” Gail ordered.
And this is more of where the ‘insanity’ part comes in. Nicholas’ the know-it-all of the group.
“It’s a tie?” Aaliyah moaned. “Eight of us… four and four…. Snaaap….”
“My vote can count as two,” Gail smirked.
“No, wait. We’re missing someone.” Aaliyah ticked off names. “Me, Nick–er, Nicholas–, Gail, Eric, Zach, Zip, Drake, and Jessie. We– OH! Ekard!”
“He doesn’t count,” whined Eric. “He’s the same person as Drake.”
“No, he’s not,” said Drake defensively. “The definition of disassociative identity disorder is–” He looked at Nicholas.
“What’re you looking at me for?”
“Oh. Disassociative identity disorder, or DID, includes multiple mannerisms, attitudes, and beliefs that are not similar to each other, exhibited within one body.”
“So just beause Drake voted to stay doesn’t mean Ekard will?” Aaliyah asked.
“Exactly,” nodded Nicholas.
Oh, Wikipedia, how I love you. I printed off 30 pages at the end of October on mental heath issues and spent many a lunch period highlighting the important parts, like symptoms of schizophrenia 🙂
“So we’re going,” Aaliyah said with an air of finality.
Ekard nodded. “Drake’s gonna kill me for this…”
“Wouldn’t that be suicide?” Jessie asked, more to herself than anyone.
Ha, get it, ’cause they’re in the same body? No? Not a good joke? Sorry.
Zip shot her a look. “But we don’t have enough food or intelligence to escape.”
“She’s right about the food,” said Eric weakly, “But I think we’re smart enough to–“
“She means information, idiot,” Jessie rolled her eyes.
In the next one, I used a NaNo dare to create a rhyming war between two characters. I got a little carried away…. So I’ll leave you with this 😉
“This is great,” grinned Bryce.
Gail growled. “It’s you I hate.”
“You’re such a pig.”
“I’d rather do Trig.”
“I’m turning orange.” Bryce smirked.
“Don’t touch the doorhinge.”
“You want a beating?” Gail was feeling violent. And poetic. Bad combination.
“You cannot contend.”
“This will be your end.”
“I want to kiss you.”
“Your family’d miss you.”
“What the heck?”
“I’d pay a fortune to see you smile.”
“Jog down Rodeo Road a mile.”
“I’m not getting it.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He smiled. “You’re just shy.”
“No, I’m super-fly.”
Gail made a head-chopping motion. “Cuuut.”
“You can’t derail me.”
“I’ll puncture an artery.”
“Was that a threat?”
“Heck, you bet.”
“This is getting violent.”
“You’ll quickly go silent….”
“Are you talking my death?”
“Your very last breath….”
“Stop loving this!”
“Your misery; my bliss.”
“But I’m your imagination!” It was true; he was a hallucination.
“Destruction is creation…”
“You’re going too deep.”
“What, can’t keep up with me?”
“No, I’m destined to win.”
“Not a contest I’m in.”
“How long can you go, Gail?”
“As long as it takes until you bail.”
“All I want is for you to be mine.”
“On your heart, then will I dine.”
“Zombie thoughts? Don’t be mean.”
“The truth I’ll glean.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“HA!” Gail jumped up triumphantly. “You don’t have to make sense, idiot. It just has to rhyme.”
He sighed. “Will you be mine?”
“No. Stop. I won. The contest is done.”
He smirked. She cursed.
“Now I can’t stop… the rhymes just won’t drop… your head I will lop…” She let loose a battle cry and tackled Bryce.