Really, I think that it’s clear who should be elected, but I know that my opinion is not everyone (or anyone) else’s opinion–so yeah.
So, if y’all haven’t voted today, get on that donkey like now. It needs to be done. This is how we are heard, and sometimes, being heard means that our better angels can shout down other’s devils.
This time more than maybe any other.
So, yeah, I’ve been promising a National Novel Writing Month post (and have been avoiding it because I’ve been saving my words for my novel, but I think I might have a few to spare today).
National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo to those of us poor souls that schlep through it every year) is basically attempting to write a 50,000 word novel (roughly equivalent in length to Brave New World by Aldous Huxley) over the course of November.
Yep, you read that right: 50,000 words in 30 days.
Terrifyingly, it’s actually doable.
You don’t worry about out-of-character-ness, grammar, spelling, plot-holes, or anything. That’s all worried about in the editing. You just worry about getting out a draft.
My novel this year was actually sparked by my series spindle’s work, Zellandine’s denouement (and Gnome saying, why don’t you do Zellandine’s Museum and have all you pieces be in it all Night Gallery-esque), so kinda derivative from shows like Night Gallery and Warehouse 13 and Friday the 13th: The Series but different. <–Yes, I am ridiculously well-versed in bad horror and scifi series. Deal with it.
My main character is Enim Hallow, who is the most recent generation of Hallows and becomes the Object Curator of Zellandine’s Museum. My other characters are Benedict “Benny” Orwell Timothy Carroll IV, the Objects Auditor; Orestes “Wolf” Lacon, Object Security and Stabilization; Zellandine “Z” Rose, Object Research and Collection; and Gilmer “Gil” Enkid, Object Tracker. A couple of characters from my other novels are making cameos: Jael Delilah Scarlett, a Hood (basically, the Hoods are were-animal Hunters, but Delilah isn’t really having it; she’s also what is called an Enkite [i.e., she’s a knowledge keeper] who is being recruited into the Ninkasi, a secret order within the Enkites who want to bring down the Hoods), and Tierney MacKay, an Indidem Sanguine (sort of a born-vampire).
After a fashion.
Basically, before the entire vampire-thing, Tierney and Enim went to art school together.
It makes more sense in my head, I think.
But, yep, this is November. I’ve completed NaNo before, but this time, I’m aiming for something a bit further along on the useable than my other novels have been (like, there might be a plot that can actually be used, and characters that don’t need a drastic overhaul when I’m done).
Enim just—stopped. He stopped and he looked around Zellandine’s Museum and saw nothing that looked remotely dangerous.
Honestly, if Enim hadn’t been being told his entire life that many of these objects were exceedingly old, he had have thought that they were pieces of contemporary art. Really, he didn’t think that they were that old; they were just made by an artist he had never heard of, had never met.
Because that was the way of the world sometimes.
Seriously, they would have been incredibly interesting art pieces, and yeah, there were pieces that were just like “what the actual fuck are these things doing in a Museum?”–like the old turquoise glass stoppered bottle that was filled with sea urchin carapaces and spins.
Pretty, but seriously huh?
But, evidently, the oldest piece (and the piece that looked least like it was old) was a piece called Zellandine.
Evidently, the Museum was named after this piece. Or the piece was named after the Museum.
Or, door number three, there was absolutely no correlation between the name of the Museum and the name of the piece.
But it was described as being made of handspun yarn, copper wire, handspun silk, handmade flax paper, and ink.
Okay, yeah, that was pretty obvious what it was made of—if you had been to art school and actually had had classes in fiber and paper and metal—but that was not really all that helpful. Or, honestly, descriptive.
But, there was something about it that made Enim want to touch it.
It looked soft, like, really soft. The fiber part, that is. And the flax paper that stood out, was sew to the fiber so that it fluttered and moved in every single tiny breeze, made an amazing rasp-slither-crinkle sound that set Enim’s nerves on edge but was also almost addictive.
Yeah, sensory art. Kinetic art. Fiber art. Total turn-ons for Enim’s art-prone brain.
…maybe he would just touch. No one would know—
The bell above the door tinkle-jingled causing Enim to jump back away from Zellandine really not knowing—remembering—why he had wanted to touch the piece so badly.
Enim turned to see who had actually come into the Museum (Had anyone ever even come into the Museum?) He had been coming here his entire life—like, he was fairly certain that he had been born in the preservationist room, but whatever—and Enim could not really think of anyone other than his family—extended and close and unknown and every flavor in-between—having ever stepped foot into the Museum.
So, yeah, that’s a little bit of the 12,000+ words I’ve written so far.
It seriously took like 4,000 for Enim and Benny to finally have a conversation that was, ya know, doing anything to forward the plot.
Okay, back to the salt mines.
Happy Election Day!