As you sit down today to write are you filled with a sense of dread? We're nearly two-thirds of the way through NaNoWriMo. I always fall behind in my word count by the first weekend, so this point in the month can be rough.
I never get as much done over the weekends that I think I will. I tell myself, “This weekend I will catch up. I’ll spend a few extra hours, knuckle down, and catch up to my word count.”
But then my wife tells me about some obligation I neglected to notice on the calendar, or my kids need to be driven places I didn’t foresee, or things break in the house that need to be fixed, and I look up on Sunday and all my writing time is gone, and I’m farther behind than I was before the weekend began.
If that’s you, don’t panic! All is not lost. Many of us have been where you are. There is hope.
An Unhelpful NaNoWriMo Strategy
I’m an intense plotter. When I write the first draft of a book, I have Excel sheets filled with narrative moves, and character sketches, and chapter outlines. I need these things to write. I have to have a road to follow or my story never gets anywhere.
So when I get behind on a deadline or in my NaNoWriMo word count, my instinct is to force my way through the outline. Like a marathon runner on his/her last leg, I put my head down and cover as much ground as I possibly can hoping to catch up.
The problem with this strategy is that it will burn you out. Writing a book is much like a marathon, and you can’t empty your tank right out of the gate or you won’t make it to the end.
The Trick to Writing Lots of Words
Rather than pushing harder, I suggest you go a different way.
If you are behind in your word count, don’t stress out and push yourself to double your count in a day. Instead, smile and write something fun. If you are enjoying what you are writing, you will write it faster and you will be energized at the end of it rather than spent.
(This is also my strategy when I’m stuck in a scene. If a scene I’m writing is going badly and I’m getting discouraged, rather than forcing my way through the scene, I try one of the tricks below.)
If you can also expand your understanding of your protagonist while having a good time writing the scene, then you get bonus points because you’ve not only advanced your word count, you’ve also built your understanding of your main character. That will pay off later when you are writing a tense scene and you have to ask yourself, “What would my character do here?”
Three Scenes That Will Boost Your Word Count
If you are stuck or behind in your word count, here are three scenes I recommend writing that can be fun to write and will increase your word count.
1. A Conversation With a Four-Year-Old
I have five kids. Right around four they all went through a “what-cha-doing?/Why is that?” phase. For a short period of time they become curious little monsters who have a deep need to know why things are the way they are.
“Hey, dad. What-cha-doing?”
“Cooking dinner.”
“Why?”
“So we can eat tonight.”
“Why?”
“So you won’t have to go to bed hungry.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the worst when you’re hungry.”
“Why?”
Or another:
“Hey, dad. What-cha-doing?”
“Daddy’s very stressed. I can’t talk right now.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s only day seven and I’m already 7000 words behind my word count.”
“Why?”
“Because you got sick and threw up five times last night.”
“Why?”
“I suspect it was the piece of trash you picked up and ate off the ground when I wasn’t looking.”
“That was gross.”
“Yes. Yes it was”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t eat trash.”
An innocent voice asking our characters “why” will push us to reveal things about our characters we may not have seen before and can give us the opportunity to have a little fun. Your character doesn’t need to have a child; just have him/her encounter one at an inopportune moment.
If you are writing a spy novel, maybe the child appears in the middle of a mission. If you are writing a romance novel, maybe the child appears as your heroine is about to encounter her love interest. If you are writing a fantasy novel, have the child arrive as your character is trying to hide from something.
2. An Unexpected Conversation With Mom
Another wonderfully distracting but informative scene is an interaction with your protagonist’s mom.
Everyone has a mom, and we are very much defined by them. Who is the woman who made your protagonist who he/she is? Imagine a phone call with her.
Is she overbearing?
“Hello, the protagonist here.”
“Hello, dear. It’s your mother. It’s Monday and I just wanted to make sure you had your shirts starched for this week because, you know, if you don’t have them starched they get that little fold at the buttons and that just looks sloppy.”
Is she passive-aggressive?
“Hello, you’ve got the protagonist.”
“Jimmy, it’s your mother. I thought I’d call and check in. I was talking to Gloria yesterday and she says that Billy calls her twice a week. You remember Billy, right? He’s a doctor now with three beautiful children. Gloria talks all the time about how wonderful it is to see her grandkids on the weekends. But I know you have important work to do and don’t have time for that. I understand.”
Or is she just dysfunctional?
“Hello, it’s the protagonist.”
“Jimmy. It's your mom. We need to talk.”
“What's up, mom?”
“Well, if you can, I need to you give me a quick loan. You see, I was out last night and I accidentally blew out a tire, and I need to get it fixed or I'm not going to be able to get into work, and if I miss too many days, I'm going to get fired. So it shouldn't be too much. Just a couple hundred.”
The true value of the conversation isn't just that we get to know your protagonist's mother—it's that we see how your protagonist responds to her.
Is your protagonist submissive? Is she/he irritated? Is she/he trapped in a cycle of guilt, shame, and self-loathing? What does your protagonist's mother bring out of your character?
3. Getting Hit On
When we are placed in uncomfortable situations, often new sides to our personalities are revealed. Throwing your protagonist into that kind of situation can help you understand how they will react in more difficult encounters.
We are looking for a scene that is annoying, fun to write, but not high stakes. Imagine your protagonist walks into a room and is approached by a B-character who begins flirting. What kind of advance would make your protagonist the most uneasy?
Maybe the B-character comes on confident in his own appearance like Joey Tribbiani from Friends.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“How you do'in?”
Or maybe the B-character has a more cartoonish approach, like Steve Martin's Vinnie in My Blue Heaven.
“Excuse me, miss.”
“Yes?”
“It's dangerous for you to be in the frozen foods section. I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because you could melt all this stuff.”
Or maybe the B-character is shy and slow to get to the point.
“Um, excuse me. Miss?”
“Yes.”
“Well, um. I was wondering if…”
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah. I'm sorry. I'm blowing this. I was just . . . I never do this. I'm sorry.”
“It's okay. I'm just not sure . . .”
“Well, I was wondering, if you didn't have one already, if I could possibly buy you a drink?”
As with the mother scene, the value of this scene doesn't just come in writing a fun interaction. How your protagonist responds to the B-character's advance will tell us a lot about your protagonist.
Is she sharp and can't be bothered? Is he confused but honored? Is she impatient but polite?
This is a moment that can reveal to readers who your character is.
Here's The Point: When You Fall Behind, Have Fun
Whichever scene you choose to write, the key to catching up isn't pushing harder. It's to have a good time writing something fun. You will write faster if you enjoy the scene you are writing. If you can learn something about your character in the process, then it's a double win.
Don't stress. Don't try to make up two lost days in one night. Just smile and write something entertaining.
Even if you don't keep it after your first edit, you will have built out the character and the world you are writing in.
What tricks do you use to make up for lost time? Let me know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Pick one of the three scenes above and spend fifteen minutes writing it. Don't worry about how it falls within your existing plot. Just write it and have fun. When you are done, post your work in the comments and leave feedback for your fellow writers.
I remember when my brother’s son, Johnny Jr. took a fancy to me, his teenage aunt, and asked ‘why’ all day long, and me trying to answer all his ‘whys’ in a simple way, so he’d understand. It seemed to go on for ever. Then one day I found how to end the conversation after answering two ‘whys’, like this:
“Why are you wearing that dress?”
Because i like it.”
“Why do you like it?”
“Because it’s pretty.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s green.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Just because?”
“Okay, then. Can you tell me a story?”
Sorry Jeff, I haven’t done the practice you suggested. I often fall behind with my NaNo word count and try to catch up when I’m free, in the hope that I can keep at it without any one calling for attention.
This year I’ve outlined, sorta, my NaNoWriMo project. If I feel my Muse isn’t holding up his/her end, I just head to another plot card that could be more interesting to write, like a fight scene, murder scene, lunch, protagonist giving secondary character a tip to not let the neighbor suck her into a matchmaking scenario.
Lunch — perfect!
Have you ever been in an awkward situation when you are standing in the corner of the party waiting for your lazy boyfriend to arrive and then comes a a boy with the perfect body shape and sleak black hair and starts flirting with you? Well I have and this is how it went…
“Exxcuse me?”
“Yes?”
“I wonder what a beautiful girl is doing here all alone rather than enjoying the party?,” he smirked in a completely flirty way
“Um…..I am waiting for someone…”
“Seems like that someone is taking too much time. No worry I can give you company by then.”
“I am alright. Thank you,” I awkwardy smiled
“No it is alright,” he laughed,” How about I buy you a drink?”
“Listen mister,” I put my hands on my hips,” I have a boyfriend which I am currently waiting for so I am not interested in you epic fail flirting. So it will be best for you to leave because I swear if you speak one more word. The next thing you will see is my heel banged on your head!,” I huffed after I finished my rant
“Uh…OK,” he walked backwards,” See you later?”
An arched eyebrow was enough to make him dash away from me.
Never had a guy flirt with me like that. Actually, I’m way out of my element when talking about flirting or hitting on someone or being hit on. I’ve always been a pretty shy guy. I really only know what I’ve read and seen in movies and on television. Is that the way it happens for most people? Anyway, your story made me smile.
honestly some are really clingy it’s weird and disturbing.so this just popped up in my mind and in wrote it down.
P.S I am glad that I made you smile
I like turning it around on my preschooler and making sure her imagination is working well that day. She has a lot of fun making up stories herself and I love seeing what she comes up with.
“Whachadoin?”
“Working on a story.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s fun.”
“Why is it fun?”
“Well, why do you think it’s fun?”
“Is it about a fairy? Because that would be fun. Then it would be a story for me.”
“Could be.”
“Is it about a fairy that gets lost in a swamp?”
“I like that idea.”
“Does she meet an mean old witch that sends her to the bad fairy and they eat cookies and become best friends?”
“Sometimes. If they’re chocolate chip cookies.”
“What if they’re oatmeal swamp cookies?”
“Well, then we’re in trouble. She probably won’t like being fed an oatmeal swamp cookie. Would you?”
“No! They taste like Daddy’s dirty socks mixed with rotten eggs and coated in rotten milk!”
“Yuck! What will she do when she tastes it?”
“She’s going to throw up and then run away and find some magic and turn the yucky cookies into chocolate chip ones!”
“Wow! Then what will happen?”
“Then they’re going to be best friends and live happily ever after!”
Adorable!
Sounds like your preschooler has a great imagination — or is rehashing the details of her very most favorite story.
I’m all done with NaNoWriMo!
Which is to say, I never started in the first place. That’s one of the advantages of deciding not to participate.
As for the practice, Akiko’s mother is missing and she’s unlikely to be hit on (again), so four-year-old it is.
* * *
Akiko managed to find her way into a department store. She didn’t think her pursuers would attack her in such a public place, but she couldn’t be sure. She desperately wanted to find a sales clerk and ask to be led to the fitting rooms. She felt a tug at her pant leg.
“What are you lookin’ for?” A small voice said.
Great, some kid was asking questions.
“A sales clerk,” Akiko answered flatly.
“Are you blind?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Akiko hesitated. The child had no idea how profound that question was. “No one knows,” she finally answered.
“Why?”
Akiko crouched down, to be on the child’s level. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Wauwen.”
“Well, Lauren, do you think you can lead me to the fitting room?”
“Sure,” Lauren answered. There was a considerable pause as Akiko felt nothing.
“Lauren!” she called. “You’ll have to take my hand. I’m blind, remember?”
Akiko stretched her hand out into the blackness. Lauren didn’t answer, but Akiko felt a tiny hand take her own.
* * *
Okay, Akiko is unlikely to encounter a four-year-old, either.
Well, that’s good. Sometimes – even with superpowers – those pesky four year olds playing in the street, might race themselves right into Akiko … before she becomes fully aware of them …
Now THAT may make an interesting scene! Thank you, Tina.
My kids still ask questions…..and think you. It can help to write better……
Do you have to be in NaNoWriMo for this practice? I’ve been hashing out my work for a lot more than one month (and I do more that one draft of the same stuff sometimes).
This character already finally succeeded in “hitting on” Krisha to the extent of his dreams [i.e., no more “just friends” status], and some of the scenes associated with are not suitable for reading as a children’s bedtime story, but here is part of my work in progress when Krisha would like to cry. Background is: this is their twelfth date in half as many weeks:
“Soooo, Gerrard. What was all this? What does it mean to me, when I wanted you,” she grabbed at and gripped his akimbo arms, “just to be my friend? Still do.”
“We can’t be friends,” he replied.
“The hell we can’t!! What we CAN’T be is friends with benefits …. This changes everything with me. I can cheat on you only with my work and my Happy Hours and all that entails.”
“So, you go to Happy Hour and you … uh, you try to get a little less happy?”
“I am not so happy, now. The pot wore off; and I pray I don’t get flashbacks from the magic cactus buttons … can’t afford to zone off at my job.”
Krisha banged playfully on Gerrard’s chest … “Was I actually getting anywhere with what I wanted?” she nearly screamed at him. She exercised his arms as if she were a bioenergetics practitioner.
Gerrard extricated his arms from her grasp. “This is patently ludicrous. Why don’t we take this relationship a half-hour at a time?”
“There you go with the time again. You did tell me to forget about time.”
“That hadn’t been all I’d said just before. I’d told you, you were just driving me crazy, when we’d been partying. And you were light-years closer to me, than when I’d phoned you right after we first met. And you’d been all over me.”
“It was Adela, that freak!” Krisha exclaimed. “Layering on the party kush like there’s no tomorrow.”
“No, I left plenty for you, which you willingly took. There wasn’t very much to go around. I actually WANTED to screw your brains out. Stoned, drunk – and alcohol does affect ME very much, thank you; sober. On a mountain, on 500-count silk sheets, in a boat, I want you.”
“That’s your Viagra talking, not you!”
“I am not ON Viagra, believe me, Krisha.” Gerrard mused, “Is it my fault that when you drink, you’re such a high-functioning drunk? Not so on weed, evidently, you fox.”
Krisha tossed her blonde hair to one side, and brushed some strands out of her eyes. “I know, but introductions are in order: Gerrard, time for you to acknowledge something that I usually arrive with. Gerrard, meet STREEEEESSS!!” Krisha shrieked. “STREEEEESS, meet Gerrard.”
“I am very jealous of STREEEEESSS. It seems to get into you first,” Gerrard laughed. “But you did forget about it long enough, such that we can’t be just friends anymore.”
“You better tell Adela, RIGHT NOW, that she better put her ‘shaman hat’ back on, and tell her that I am angry that God made her do this to us, made her get us wasted again, so this could happen …! Otherwise, I will SCREAM!!!!”
This is from one of my WIP. The protagonist Mr Anderson (I’ve changed the name here) is a successful business tycoon. He is cold, composed and there is no place for love or such weakness in his heart. But he feels attracted strangely to his secretary who has a natural and innocent beauty.
The scene is on the evening of the day he transfers her to another branch to avoid this attraction. He is in a ball and standing on the balcony alone, thinking about his last interaction with his secretary.
Here it is-
**************
Before my annoying inner voice could throw any reasoning at me, a nasal voice from behind almost startled me.
“Owwwww….. Mr. Andeeeerson! It’s youuuuu! Hooowww deliiiightful, isn’t it! ”
It was none other than the fake blond in red dress. From afar I thought it was red, but now I saw that her dress was a hideous shade between red and orange. And the cutting of the dress left very little to imagination. From her make up to her jewelleries, everything screamed of bad taste and extravagance.
It was so different from the simple and innocent beauty of…… uhh… I think we shouldn’t continue on that line.
Back into reality, I suppressed the urge to say, “No, it definitely is not.”
I just raised one eyebrow in question, regarding her with cold indifference.
She was, however, too enthusiastic to notice. That is why she came sauntering towards me and stood very close, invading my personal space.
She even dared to tilt her head towards me a little and dropped her voice an octave, “Let me admit Mr. Anderson, when I first saw your pictures on the magazines, I thought those were edited. But now I see that you’re as handsome as shown on that photoshoots, if not even more! ”
Before I could get annoyed with her, I felt pity for her. What a cliché line! And I bet that she thought she was behaving super seductive and in no time I would fall into her arms.
So before showing her the rightful place, I just got a bit curious to see how far she would go. Or maybe if I don’t respond with anything, she would get tired and leave me be. That would save me from wasting words on her.
But just after a fraction of second I regretted the decision. Because she didn’t waste another moment to come even closer and put her hand on my arm. I stiffened under her touch, in repulsion.
“Mr. Anderson… I was thinking… may be we can…”
I snatched my arms out of her reach and glared at her coolly, “As you can see, Madam, I am not inside the ballroom. If I wished for company, I would have been inside.”
Her confident smile faltered a bit. But she managed it with surprising speed. She came closer, again and placed both of her hands on my chest and positioned her upper body in such a manner that her cleavage was in full view.
Bringing her mouth dangerously close to my ears (she smelt sickeningly sweet, the kind of sweet which wants you to vomit. So unlike the fresh scent of…. ahemmm) and said in a voice she perceived seductive, “May be you haven’t found the right companion inside, Mr. Anderson….”
I didn’t know my own name could sound this revolting before she pronounced it in her fake nasal voice.
I sighed. Time to stop being polite.
I placed my hands on her waist, she didn’t waste a second to come closer and pressing her body to me. I suppressed the urge to pick her up and throw her down from the balcony with legendary self control.
I brought my mouth close to her ears and spoke softly, “You’re absolutely right, My Lady.”
“I am! ”
She couldn’t believe her own ears. She didn’t expect to have such fast result herself.
“Yes, you are. You see, the guests in attendance are not quite up to my… standard and taste, specially those with fake blond hair, too much cosmetic surgery and orange dresses.”
She stiffened and pulled back from me.
“I… you mean…”
“You are an intelligent woman. Aren’t you, Miss…”
“Yates.”
“Miss Yates. You must know what I mean.”
She flushed, her face almost the colour of her dress and stuttered, “Yes, of course. Ummm…. so you would be..”
“Leaving. Find some other guy who appreciates your taste in….” I eyed her from head to toe, “… everything. Goodnight, Miss Yates.”
I ended up getting stuck this week in a book I’m working on. Here’s my attempt to get out of it:
The child sitting across from me seemed out of place in the bar. I didn’t invite him to sit. He came to the table with the cheese fries I ordered. When the fries were delivered to the table, he took a seat and began happily snacking on them. I watched him with amusement. I didn’t care about the food. My anxiety about Saturday had killed my appetite. I ordered the fries, burger, and a beer because that’s what I do when I go to a bar. The routine was comforting and saved me from having to think.
“These are good,” the boy said in between bites. He was short with a buzz cut and a high pitched scratchy voice.
“I’m glad you like them,” I replied.
“My mom doesn’t let me get cheese on my fries. She says it’s gross,” he said making a face. Two of this top teeth were missing.
“Where’s your mom right now?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes at me. “At home. Where’s your mom?”
“She’s at home too?”
“Where’s that?” he asked.
“Boston,” I said.
“I don’t know where that is. My mom is at our home in Baltimore,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “Is your home close by?”
“It’s down the street,” he said. “Do you like fries?”
“I do,” I said.
“Well, you aren’t eating any. If you don’t get some I’m going to finish them.”
“Does your mom know you’re here?” I asked.
“Of course. Where else would I be? Do you always have dinner by yourself because that seems sad. Billy says that people that come into the bar and eat by themselves are probably lonely.”
“Who’s Billy?” I asked.
The kid turned and yelled across the room in the direction of the bar, “Billy!”
A young man wearing think rimmed glasses and a Pac-man t-shirt looked up and yelled, “Little Boss!” The kid raised his fists in the air in celebration and then turned back to face me. “Guess what? Yesterday, when I was at recess, we played zombie-dead-tag and I wasn’t even scared even though Timmy was the zombie and he’s scary because he gets in trouble with the teacher a lot.”
“What kind of stuff does he get in trouble for?” I said with a grin.
“Like cutting in line and talking when he’s not supposed to and not staying in his chair when Miss Barksdale said he’s supposed to stay in his chair. And this one time he called Audrey a bad word and it made her cry, but I didn’t cry and I told her it was okay.”
“That’s very nice of you. Is Miss Barksdale your teacher?” I asked.
“Miss Bark-en-s-dale,” he said, rolling his eyes at me again.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Is Miss Barkensdale your teacher?”
“Miss Bark-en-dale,” he said with increased irritation. “You need to say her name right because she gets upset when you say it wrong and she makes you say it again. One time, Timmy had to say it five times before he got it right and he almost had to be late for recess and she said he was saying it wrong on purpose.”
“I’ll make sure I get it right then,” I said. “What grade are you in?”
“First grade,” he said with pride as he searched the pile of remaining fries for the perfect one to eat next.
“Wow, that’s an important grade,” I said. “Do you come here a lot and eat other people’s food?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he said. “I like going to get pizza more though. Pizza’s my favorite. But not with all the other stuff on it. That’s gross. Just cheese. And pepper-reponi. And mushrooms. And pineapple. I got pineapple once and it was good. I liked that.” He dug into the pile of fries with his fingers, retrieved one from the bottom, and popped it in his mouth. “These are sticky,” he said examining his fingers before he licked them.
The waiter the boy called Billy delivered my hamburger. “Little Boss,” he said to the boy in front of me, and the two of them did a fist pump. The waiter didn’t appear to be disturbed that a strange child was eating my food. I watched him leave and wondered it giving customers food to strange children was a normal occurrence in this establishment.
“Why does Billy call you Little Boss?” I asked.
“Because I’m the boss but I’m little. I’m not little in my class. In my class I’m number four tallest. Timmy is taller than me. And Audrey is taller than me. And that one boy… He has a Superman backpack. Do you like Superman?”
“I think he’s an unrealistic representation of masculinity and paints an unachievable image of heroism that has developed unrealistic expectations in society,” I said. I took a sip of my beer, proud of my answer.
“I like Flash better. I think Flash could beat up Superman because Flash is fast and Superman couldn’t catch him and Flash would win,” he said.
“What does Miss Barkendale think?” I said.
“Miss Barkensrail,” he laughed. “You need to work on that because she won’t like it if you say it wrong. But she doesn’t know Superman kind of stuff,” he said. “But her boyfriend is really tall and he has big muscles but he’s not dumb. Even though Billy says people with big muscles are usually dumb because they can’t lift books and stuff, but I don’t know, because they are really strong so I think they can lift books. Sometimes Billy says wrong things.” Then the boy leaned in and whispered, “And sometimes he says bad words but I don’t tell Dad because I don’t want Billy to go on red.”
“Go on red?” I asked.
“Yeah. Like when Timmy is talking in class and Miss Barkensdale moves our frog from green to red and we have to sit quiet for two minutes. I think you are probably smart because you don’t have a lot of muscles.”
“Thanks, I think,” I said. “So where’s your dad?”
The boy pointed across the room to a brown door with a small circle shaped window. Through the window I could see the bustle of the bar’s small kitchen. “He’s going to get Randy fired because Randy made bad food that dad didn’t think people would like even though dad said no.”
“Who’s Randy?” I asked.
“He’s the number two cook,” the boy said. “Tony is the number one cook and he will make me whatever I want but Tony doesn’t work on Sundays because Tony is a catholic so Tony takes Sunday off but he works every other day and when he is here he will make me pizza even when it’s not dinner time.”
“So is your dad that Big Boss?” I asked.
“Yep,” the child said. “Daddy’s the Big Boss and I’m the Little Boss. I don’t tell people they are fired though because that makes people cry and I don’t like it when people cry. Audrey sometimes cries at school so I tell it is going to be okay even though Timmy is mean sometimes.”
“It sounds like you like Audrey a lot,” I said with a grin.
“She’s my girl-friend. But we don’t kiss or anything. I just give her my chocolate milk which is okay because I like the strawberry better anyways. Do you have a girlfriend?” he asked. The pile of fries was almost gone. He pushed a small ball of cheese around with one as he talked.
“I use to have one,” I said. “But then I made her cry.”
The boy pointed the fry at me. “That’s not very nice,” he scolded.
“I know,” I said and I took a long drink of my beer.
“You should say you are sorry,” he said still wagging the fry at me.
“I did,” I said.
“It will be okay then,” he said, putting the fry in his mouth.
“We’ll see,” I said.
Behind the boy the door to the kitchen flew open. A short man with a skull and crossbones tattoo on his neck stormed out of the kitchen, across the crowded bar, and out the front door.
“Was that Randy?” I asked the Little Boss.
“Yep,” the child said. “He wasn’t crying though. When Dad fired Sarah she cried a lot and Dad had to tell her to stop because she was upsetting the guests.”
A second, larger man came through the kitchen door. He was tall and heavy. He wore a black suit and with a deep red tie. His clearly dyed, jet black hair was slicked straight back. He called across the bar, “Vinnie. Let’s go. Mom’s waiting.”
The little boy sprung to his feet. “What’s your name again?” he asked me.
“Andy,” I said.
“Nice to meet you Andy,” he said. “And no charge for the fries. They’re on the house,” Then he ran to his father and the two of them walked into the kitchen together.
“Nice to meet you too, Little Boss,” I said.
I loved it. thank you for sharing
Interesting conversation.
Luna walked around behind the stores. She liked it back there, mostly because she’d always be alone with the dusty floor and broken glass panes. The walls were lined with unpainted red bricks, the air smelled of some kind of chemical she’d find in a lab.
While walking through the small path, she felt familiar buzzing in her ear, one that she usually hear while walking on the streets with her loud friends. It was electricity. Some kind of animal probably bit the wire that connected the main power to the local stores.
Out of curiosity, Luna walked to see.
It was around the corner, and it seemed that the culprit was still there-as she saw a small figure crouched down on the floor, with its long arms reaching out for something. Luna turned the corner, and, by surprise, saw only a little girl sitting on the floor, reaching out for a torn wire that was sparking with electricity and spilling out bright blue liquid that she was familiar with while working in magic labs. They’re mostly used in stabilizing substances, but as it’s spilled over the floor and mixed with the dust, it’s not in working order.
“Hey, stop that!”
As if someone had hit the pause button, the girl froze. She had long black hair, and dirty bandages draped loosely somewhere around her forehead. Luna couldn’t see her face, since the girl was still had her back turned.
“What is it?”
She asked, turning her head around. The bandages and poorly cut hair bangs covered her eyes, signaling that she’s having trouble with them, and she had the small shivering voice of a starving child.
“What you were going to touch. That’s dangerous.”
“What is that?”
She pointed down to the sparking wire.
“It’s a broken wire. If you touch that, you’ll get hurt.”
“Why is that?”
Luna stayed quiet. She wasn’t sure if a little girl would understand if she told her that her body was composed of water and electricity passes through water, and lastly, she’d get shocked.
“Miss? Are you still there?”
The girl stood up, reaching out her long, slender arms and tottered around to find Luna.
“You seem like you’re having trouble with your eyes. What happened?”
Luna asked. The little girl stopped.
“What are eyes?”
“We use them to see. They’re on our faces, you have yours covered with bandages now, right?”
“Oh, those! I remember now!” The little girl was suddenly excited, she was beaming.
“Mommy told me about them once. They’re different colors for everyone, right? Mommy told me there were blue eyes, and green eyes, and brown eyes, and…oh! And red eyes! Can you tell me what all those colors look like? I don’t understand it when she tells me.”
“You’ve never seen colors before?”
“I haven’t. What does blue look like?”
Then it hit her. The little girl was blind. Behind her, Luna saw a piece of broken mirror, and in them, she saw her own eyes. The brightest shade of lightning blue. No matter how much thought she jammed into her head, she couldn’t find the description.
“I…don’t know how to explain it either. The only way to know what colors look like is to see them.”
“Why is that?”
“Because when you explain something to someone, you use colors to explain what things look like. So you can’t really explain that kind of thing, right?”
“Then…what if I never see blue? Or red? Or green?”
Luna bit her lips.
“You probably will one day. When your eyes are…better.”
“But miss…mommy told me that….”
The girl mumbled something Luna couldn’t make out.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“She told me that…I don’t have eyes.”
This is very interesting! I wasn’t expecting those, I’m definitely going to try them at some point. Me, I noticed that everytime I get stuck, I tend to write about a party. I just find an excuse to get the characters into a party and write through it. Parties are interesting environments, because there is a lot of interaction going around and there are so many opportunities for incidents! A secret can be heard, a random character can join the conversation and add something to the plot, even a tragic death can happen, instilling a mystery. Parties have a lot of potential and they work amazingly well when you are stuck in your plot. =)
I love to write to fun prompts. Thanks, Jeff.
Here’s my little scene – a typical one in our van.
Angel pressed her face against the back window of the van.
“Look, Gramma, look!”
“At what, Sweetie. You know I’m driving. I need to know
which way to look.”
“Over there!”
“Over there to the right. Or over there to the left?
“”Angel became animated, waving both arms, and lunging
forward.
“Do you have on your seat belt?” Amonster-sized truck cut in
front of her mini-van.
“Jackass!”
“Gramma, that’s a bad word.”
“I’m sorry, Sweetie. I’ll try not to to use that word. SOB.”
“Did you see it, Gramma?”
“Why?”
“I was too busy getting out of the way of that son of a
biscuit, Sweetie.”
“That’s okay, Gramma. Look, over there!” Angel waved her
six-year-old arms and hopped up and down in the seat, making the van wiggle.
“Look at . . . OH, never mind.”
“
Hi Disqus. I find that my email address and cell number are appearing on my messages that I post in response to messages on this site. Please can you advise how I can remove this information? I have tried to contact you directly but have not been able to do so. Thanks.
I am not in the NaNoWriMo, but I like the advice. I can use it in the 100 day write a book challenge with Joe Bunting. In fact, when I get stuck, I do something like a walk to the gym and from what I have seen on my way that can make a scene. Then while training I try to think if it fits in my original scene, and “he-presto,” like magic, I am training and can’t wait to get back home. Today, and this is true; I thought why are all my characters going to the same place and in my Eureka moment: (“My characters have taken over my subconscious mind not even I know when the bomb is going to go off!!”) That’s now my last chapter in my book “Annie and the Golden Chain.”
These are some great ideas!
I remember one day getting into a conversation with a three-year-old I was babysitting. She’d spied the smallest bit of cellophane that had fallen on my kitchen floor. Ah, but it was from a candy wrapper. That made all the difference.
“What’s that.”
“Just a bit of paper.”
“What’s it from?”
“It’s just a bit of wrap from something.”
I made an attempt to deflect her interest with something else because you KNOW if you say it’s part of a candy wrapper where the discussion will go. But children have a one track mind when it comes to candy.
“A wrap from what?”
“From a candy.” I’d lost the battle.
“Did you eat the candy”
“Yes”
“Do you have any more candies?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have one?”
“Okay”
“Can I have one to take home for my sister, too.”
“Okay.”
You, may think, “What a thoughtful child!” But I wonder if sister ever got that candy, or if it got eaten en route.
I loved these ideas especially the child with the why questions. may just use these later. When I fall behind as I am now ( I lost over a 1000 words somewhere, still looking for them) I go to Youtube’s Nano s Virtual write ins. And use the prompts I have found a lot of interesting things out about my characters I never knew before.
I loved these ideas especially the child with the why questions. may
just use these later. When I fall behind as I am now ( I lost over a
1000 words somewhere, still looking for them).
http://www.emetechnologies.com/industrial-training-in-chandigarh/6-months-mechanical-engineering-training-in-chandigarh-&-mohali.php