End of NaNoWriMo! and a Story Snip

Another NaNoWriMo under my belt!



I didn't get quite as many words as I'd like -- was hoping to have the final action scene written already, since I find those difficult. Then I can reward myself with the fun of writing the Happily Ever After epilogue!



But hey, at least I don't have to type it all up! I've been getting better at drafting straight into the notes app on my phone. It's more intuitive than drafting on the computer (which has way too many distractions) and comes closest to the feeling of falling into the story that writing on paper gives. Paper actually has other limitations for me -- I'm more inclined to slack off and write silly things, especially in dialogue, and to start writing in note form rather than complete sentences, to the detriment of the story.

I've just spent a few minutes hunting for a snip to share. They all seem confusing or sappy or too mysterious when out of context, but I think the moment when Rory's ex-wife reveals her fears might be a good one:
She still hadn’t told him what was what by the time their food and drinks arrived. He’d have ordered a burger if they’d sat downstairs, but up here it was fancy fare, and he had some sort of game before him. Mercedes, scanning the menu, had mentioned that it came highly recommended. Not caring, he’d ordered it. Now he wished he’d chosen something different. It was galling slipping back into old roles, as if she’d never left him, still decreeing what was best, based on some social judgement scale he’d never understood.
He poked at one of the five decorative baby potatoes huddled to one side of the massive white dish, like naked baby turtles seeking the sand, popped it in his mouth, and seethed.
He wanted to tell her to feckin' get on with it, but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He ignored her plaintive poking at her salad, and busied himself with the matter at hand. It didn’t take long to clear his plate, with no conversation, and then damn it to hell, he caved.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked.
“Don’t bark at me.” She set down her fork, made a moue.
“If you don’t tell me what the hell is it this bloody instant, I’m walking.”
“I think he’s killed someone.”
This was so far beyond the pale that he gaped at her for half a minute, unable to compute it. It wasn’t like Mercedes to give a straight answer, rather than flaring up at his tone. Never mind that the words she’d said couldn’t be believed.
“Who?” he asked finally.
“His father.”
“No I mean, who’s killed someone? You mean that oily sleazebag of yours?”
“Kurt.”
“Stop nagging about my --”
“Non, that’s his name. Kurt. He’s not from romandie.”
“Right, then. Start from the beginning and tell it to me straight.”
“He’s a few years younger than us. Lives -- lived with his father.” Her voice still came as quiet as ever, and that odd note of something that might be fear was still there. It kept him from making rude comments about a man in his thirties who lived with his parents. He skulled his drink and listened to the story.

I've added a lot more songs to my playlist for this year's and last year's NaNo stories, especially as school is nearly done for the semester and I've got to go back to editing last year's, The Charm of Time. It's an odd mix of songs, for sure.


Speaking of school, tomorrow is Saint Andrew's Day, and the University of Edinburgh is hosting a concert!: "Join us for an evening of music and song in Scotland's oldest concert hall to celebrate St Andrew's Day. Some of Scotland's finest singers, fiddlers and pipers will perform in the recently refurbished St Cecilia's Hall ... Originally opened in 1763, St Cecilia’s Hall is the oldest purpose-built concert hall in Scotland. This is the first St Andrew's Day concert to be held in the Georgian Hall since it closed for ... refurbishment in 2014." Wish I could go!

Short post this week as I'll be posting next Monday instead of Wednesday, to celebrate THIS.

Congratulations to those of you completing NaNo!

What concerts are you attending in the next little while?
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