National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is over for 2009. I wrote almost all of the way until the end--stopping at a little before 11:30 pm yesterday. During the month of November I wrote 99,733 words (roughly 350 pages). I didn't finish the novel. I'm guessing I have another 25,000 words or so to wrap it up.
Writing that much in a month is not something I would recommend for someone with other work obligations, especially ones that involve sitting. It's been a tad stressful and probably a tad unhealthy. That much sitting can't be good for you. On the other hand, I got the bulk of a novel written in 30 days, which quite an accomplishment. How good is the stuff? I don't know, and won't for at least a couple of months because stuff has to cool before I can really judge it. Parts of it seemed quite good while I was writing them. Others? Well lets just say they got the plot from point a to point b.
I wrote an average of 3324 words per day, with the 'worst' daily word count coming in at 1668 and the best daily word count 6245 words. I had two days with over 6000 words and one more with over 5000 words. Most days I was in the 2500 to 4000 word range, with 14 days in the 3000 range, and only 4 days lower than 2500 words.
This seems to have answered one question for me. I've always wondered if I wrote better as a 'plotter' or a 'pantser' (as in writing by the seat of the pants). This varies from person to person, but for me, doing a lot of plotting ahead of time seemed to help. I spent a month and a half writing up world-building notes, character sketches, and plot notes. By the time I started writing the story itself I had probably already written 25,000 words about the novel. I didn't always follow the script. Characters evolved. The plot changed. The world even changed a few times. Having the notes helped a lot though. I did most of the plot notes in YWriter 5, a piece of novel writing software. I did a lot of the writing using Write-Or-Die, which really helped my concentration.
This is science fiction--sort of alternate history but with a twist. I'm going to be changing a few character names, because they are confusingly close. With that in mind, here's an excerpt:
“I’m glad I’m doing something right. Where’s Heather?”
Amelia pointed and said softly, “She’s having a little tiff with the Haigh chick. Hair will eventually get pulled, maybe even later today, but right now they’re just trying to smile and get the digs in.”
Greg spotted the two. “Amanda Haigh? Looks to me like they’re getting to be good buddies.”
“Yeah, doesn’t it?”
Heather said something and then walked away. Amanda Haigh shot her a look of pure hatred. Greg whistled. “Wow. You sure called that one. If looks could kill my darling wife would have just burst into flames.”
The crowd thinned out, and the pallbearers took the casket to a waiting pickup truck. Reuben and Terry Haigh were among the pallbearers, as was Ermaline.
It was well after noon before the graveside service and the following reception got over. At the end of the reception, Pastor Julius walked over and told them that he was taking his tour bus out to the Lyle farm with the ‘Dunnes’ and a few others. “I can’t look too close to you three. If you mess this up I need to be able to walk away from you and keep my place in the community.”
“Leaving us dangling in the wind,” Greg said.
“Dangling in the wind. That’s a good way to put it. Mind if I steal that for one of my sermons?”
“It’s a common expression where we come from.”
“That’s one thing I did enjoy about being over in your snapshot. I love words and I got to pick up nearly sixty years worth of new ways to play with them while I was over there.”
“Did you do the Peter, Paul, and Mary thing on purpose?”
“Yep. I heard one of their songs while I was over there.”
Amelia shook her head. “Old people cultural references. Boring.”
“It’s all new to us over here,” the pastor said. “The Beatles, Peter Paul and Mary, Bewitched, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and God preserve us, rap, disco, reality TV, and the Brady Bunch.”
Greg watched the Haigh family go by in a pickup truck that was nearly dragging a muffler. “You picked up a lot in a few days.”
“I wouldn’t be a pastor in this community if I couldn’t pick up culture fast. Of course we got twenty years worth of Buddy Holly instead of just a few, and overall we’ve had nearly sixty years of music and movies and television you’ve never seen too. There is going to be a lot of money made in moving that stuff back and forth between the snapshots.”
Ermaline drove by in jeep with Lyle in the passenger seat. She had changed into blue jeans and a grey and black flannel shirt. Tears were flowing down her cheeks and her long red hair flowed out behind her in the wind. Lyle glanced at Greg as the jeep went by, but didn’t smile or acknowledge him in any way.
"She's not really a Neanderthal, is she?" Amelia asked.
"Sure, why wouldn't she be?"
“But she was driving.”
“Yeah, and she comes to church once in a while and eats with a knife and fork, and she wipes her chin with a napkin after she’s done. I imagine she even brushes her teeth, though I’ve never seen her do it.”