NaNoWriMo Check In – Days 3 & 4

Day 3 of #NaNoWriMo and #wrimohero’s prompt was #calltoadventure – how do you generate ideas? I get a lot of my ideas from the environment around me. Places, found objects, the weather – my imagination spots the most random and insignificant things as I’m going about my day and runs riot with them! I collect these scraps of ideas, along with words, quotes, and anything else that takes my fancy, in my commonplace book. When the ideas are ready to become part of my story, they worm their way back out of the pages and into my writing.

Day 4 of NaNoWriMo is behind us and the prompt for #wrimohero was NaNoCheckIn – 6,668 words? The answer is yes! And more! I’ve had the best start to my first ever NaNo and have managed to bash out over 11,000 words so far! I’m glad to be getting ahead of the word count goal because, by all accounts, things get tough in weeks 2 and 3! So far, though, I am truly enjoying getting this story out onto the page. I was worried that I didn’t know where it was going to go but really, the story is writing itself, I’m just tapping the keys. I’m super excited to see where it goes.

Fellow NaNo-ers, how’s it going?

#NaNoWriMo Check In – Day 2

Day 2 of NaNoWriMo is here and the prompt for #wrimohero is ‘Ordinary World: What’s your setting like?’ This is the beautiful building that inspired the first seed of my story: it’s the incredible John Rylands Library in Manchester. A key part of my setting is a stunning gothic library. I’m also going to be sneaking in a few of my other favourite Manchester places and Peak District haunts, all alongside and mysterious other-world where ideas manifest and thrive with none of the restrictions of our human world.

NaNo Word Count: 5,448

Taking The Plunge

I wasn’t going to do this. I really wasn’t going to do this. Why would I? November is ALWAYS one of the busiest months in my year. Extra intervention programmes to run at work means increased workload and longer working hours. My birthday (Yay!) means fun outings with friends and family. Drawing closer to the big C the following month means there’s shopping to be done and family to be visited. It’s entering theatre season for us which means we have tickets booked for multiple shows. And on top of all that, this year we’re still at the tail end of our DIY/home renovation adventures, which we want to have finished before Christmas. Plus, we now have a dog who needs walking and playing with, and even if she didn’t NEED those things I’d do them anyway because she’s far too cute to ignore.

So why, oh, why, I hear myself ask, have I decided to sign up for NaNoWriMo? Why have I decided to take on the, already ridiculous, challenge of writing 50,000 words in 30 days, when I’m clearly too busy to do so? I can feel me giving myself accusatory glances and hear my brain muttering things like “always taking on too much!”…well maybe it will be too much, maybe I won’t manage it, but do you know what I realised? I am always going to be too busy to write a book. There will always be other priorities. I will always be busy with work and swamped with housework. But if writing a book is something I truly want to do (and it is) then one day I’m just going to have to sit down and make time to write the damn thing. And why shouldn’t ‘one day’ be now?

There is no reason why it shouldn’t be now. No real reason anyway. No reason that won’t still exist next month or next year or in a decade.

So, lovely readers, here I go. Plunging in at the deep end. I have set myself the traditional NaNoWriMo target of 50,000 words in 30 days. I’m going to do my damnedest to hit that goal. If I do, brilliant! If I don’t, I won’t beat myself up about it and will try again. And hopefully, in the meantime, I’ll have written more than I would have done normally.

I won’t be writing anything for the blog, aside from, potentially, the odd NaNo update to chronicle my progress (or lament my lack there-of…). I will be putting any writing energy I manage to muster into this mysterious and as yet unknown story.

Wish me luck! See you on the other side…

If you’re a NaNo-er and want to add me as a writing buddy, you can find me under the username Bookwormdancer.

Hello Jack Frost

Hello, Jack Frost

How have you been?

Back again

To make the world gleam

With glittering starlight

Brought to ground

I love it when

Your time comes round.

When what was breath

To clouds does turn

And icy fractals

Plate autumn’s burn.

The world goes quiet,

The earth stands still

And arms wrap selves

In hugs until

It’s time to retreat

Back to our beds

With glittering starlight

In our heads

And winter’s song

Upon our tongue,

We bear the chill

Of your belonging

Because, Jack Frost,

You playful rogue,

Though you might freeze

Our hand and nose,

We have a secret love

You see

For how you tame

The world, nightly:

Not with lies

And not with war

Not with thunder’s

Mighty roar

But with a scattering of stars

Brought from the heavens

To light our hearts

So hello, Jack Frost

How have you been?

It’s nice to have you

Back again

Ignore our grumbles

It’s just fine

To paint the world with

Your icy rime

And take our breath

For clouds instead

And let us walk

Your starry bed.

Wild & Improbable Tales – Hope in Invisible Prisons

Suspended inside iridescence, she watches the world pass by. It is beautiful. But she cannot reach it.

Rainbows ripple across the surface of her invisible prison, distorting the view: the hopeful land morphing into looming, shadowed threats; the lilting sound of laughter and music ringing hollow in her ears. She knows those terrors are lies but still her heart races in fear. She knows there is wonder and joy to be felt, but her head echoes with emptiness.

Some shadows loom larger and nearer than others and occasionally their undulating forms resolve into something familiar. Comforting. Her heart contracts with hope and love blooms somewhere deep in the pit of her twisting stomach, as a hand reaches out and penetrates the walls she has bloodied her fists trying to break.

They do not shatter, even now, but still the hand is there, holding hers.


“You’re a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable,” she pleaded. “Something beautiful and full of monsters.”

Strange The Dreamer by Laini Taylor

Inspired by Erin Morgenstern’s Flax-Golden Tales, I have decided to embark on my own creative writing blog series, “Wild & Improbable Tales”, as a way to write more freely and more frequently. At least once a week, I will choose a card at random from The School Of Life‘s ‘Small Pleasures’ box and use the image and/or writing on the back to inspire a short piece of creative writing. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Wild & Improbable Tales – She Came From The Water

The tap had dripped for as long as they could remember. They had heard the insistent plip, plip, plip the night they had moved in, as they lay down to sleep. It was the strangest thing, though: they could hear the drips, could see them gather and fall from the tap into the bath, but no water gathered underneath and no water fell into their hands cupped beneath the faucet, though the steady beat continued.

A stream of plumbers couldn’t fix it. No amount of twiddling the taps made it stop. They felt sure that replacing the whole bathroom would do it but as soon as the water was back on, the infernal dripping resumed.

After a time, they grew accustomed to the quiet, regular rhythm and it faded into the background of their lives.

It was with some surprise, then, that in the early hours of a November morning, many years after they had first come to live in the house, they found themselves woken by the dripping noise. They lay awake in the darkest hour of the night listening as the dripping became louder and, somehow, closer.

Shrinking together in fear, they watched, frozen, as the bedroom door opened, to reveal a young girl illuminated in the ghostly, pre-dawn light; grey skinned, blue lipped, her sodden nightgown clinging to her slight frame, she watched them, a steady drip, drip, drip falling from the water-heavy tangles of her raven hair.


“You’re a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable,” she pleaded. “Something beautiful and full of monsters.”

Strange The Dreamer by Laini Taylor

Inspired by Erin Morgenstern’s Flax-Golden Tales, I have decided to embark on my own creative writing blog series, “Wild & Improbable Tales”, as a way to write more freely and more frequently. At least once a week, I will choose a card at random from The School Of Life‘s ‘Small Pleasures’ box and use the image and/or writing on the back to inspire a short piece of creative writing. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Wild & Improbable Tales – Bone Weary

Bone weary, she watched as the rain painted the window with its tears. The city blurred in and out of focus. Her head felt heavy and she leant her cheek upon the cool glass.

Blinking blearily, she tried to focus on the world outside. Clouds drifted in slow motion over the tired town, their eraser strokes wiping out the blue of the sky. An errant thought stumbled into her mind: she wished the rain would wash the world away – the clouds rub out the whole of the heavens.

She blinked again.

Sighing, she turned away from the melancholy view and headed back to her desk.

Unseen, the steady rainfall began to wash away more than just the dust and grime of the city streets; first the tower blocks, then the houses, then the pavements ran away in rivulets of grey. Slowly, the city dissolved.


“You’re a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable,” she pleaded. “Something beautiful and full of monsters.”

Strange The Dreamer by Laini Taylor

Inspired by Erin Morgenstern’s Flax-Golden Tales, I have decided to embark on my own creative writing blog series, “Wild & Improbable Tales”, as a way to write more freely and more frequently. At least once a week, I will choose a card at random from The School Of Life‘s ‘Small Pleasures’ box and use the image and/or writing on the back to inspire a short piece of creative writing. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Wild & Improbable Tales – To The Edge Of The World

In quiet solitude they rowed for days. The world was drowned in an ocean of grey: a sea of shadow and light. Inky trees stretched up from the land around them towards the glowering slate sky; the steely surface of the water was disturbed only by their passing; the grey days faded into black night and back again, hazy white sun replaced by the crisp silver disk of the moon and her pinprick sister stars.

They saw not another soul.

Some would have filled the endless hours with chatter, but they spoke not a single word.

Most would have gone to shore every now and then, to rest their arms or sleep until the sun brought the singing dawn, but they continued on, never pausing.

Time became meaningless but it passed all the same. A quiet turning of the world and seconds filled with tiny infinities.

They paddled on, right to the edge of the world. And when the water dropped away below them and the land disappeared, they paddled still, beating steadily on into the eternal night, leaving their greyscale world behind and heading for the stars.


“You’re a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable,” she pleaded. “Something beautiful and full of monsters.”

Strange The Dreamer by Laini Taylor

Inspired by Erin Morgenstern’s Flax-Golden Tales, I have decided to embark on my own creative writing blog series, “Wild & Improbable Tales”, as a way to write more freely and more frequently. At least once a week, I will choose a card at random from The School Of Life‘s ‘Small Pleasures’ box and use the image and/or writing on the back to inspire a short piece of creative writing. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Wild & Improbable Tales – When The Rain Falls

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The first time she had stood, unnoticed, on the street corner, the city had barely been a hamlet. Now the rush and bustle of a metropolis surrounded her: the neon lights and constant hubbub buzzing like flies in the periphery of her vision.

She had stood on this spot on the same day each year for centuries. She waited from dawn to midnight, never knowing when he might appear. It always rained. At least now she had an umbrella to disguise the fact that where she stood, the rain did not fall. And she was rather fond of the warm glow that shone from the streetlamp through the red canopy overhead.

He always appeared without warning; blink and you would miss it, concluding that there had always been two figures huddled under the red umbrella, not one as you had previously thought.

A mere moment pressed together: no words exchanged, just a gaze that held myriad emotions and a million unspoken thoughts, and a thick, parchment envelope, sealed with red wax, passing from the hands of one to the other.

And then he was gone and she would turn and walk away, the heels of her boots making no disturbance in the puddles on the street.


 

“You’re a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable,” she pleaded. “Something beautiful and full of monsters.”

Strange The Dreamer by Laini Taylor

Inspired by Erin Morgenstern’s Flax-Golden Tales, I have decided to embark on my own creative writing blog series, “Wild & Improbable Tales”, as a way to write more freely and more frequently. At least once a week, I will choose a card at random from The School Of Life‘s ‘Small Pleasures’ box and use the image and/or writing on the back to inspire a short piece of creative writing. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Wild & Improbable Tales – The Winter King’s Summer

Dawn light broke through the reaching, inky fingers of the trees.

Though summer was barely waning, the forest stood denuded of its leaves, as it always had. As it always would.

The villagers had long stopped questioning why their wood did not bud and bloom and turn with the seasons. They knew it still lived, suspended in its own eternal moment of magic.

On the hottest of summer days, stepping into the shade of those trees you would find yourself engulfed in the chill of winter’s breath. Nothing moved; nothing grew; no birds sang; and yet the beauty of those bare black limbs stretched across the land, a frosty rime clinging to them in diamond chains, was enough to stir the soul.

Here the Winter King ruled all the year, his magic great and terrible. The lore told that he never left the wood, until it was winter’s turn to walk the world, but this August dawn glinted on a betrayal of tradition: a trail of frost that escaped the forest and touched the nearest cottage.

Within, two sisters, who had lived and loved some thirty years in their home which hugged the Winter King’s realm, now held a new repose: one sat regal, crowned in snowflakes, the other lay lifeless, an icicle through her heart.


“You’re a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable,” she pleaded. “Something beautiful and full of monsters.”

Strange The Dreamer by Laini Taylor

Inspired by Erin Morgenstern’s Flax-Golden Tales, I have decided to embark on my own creative writing blog series, “Wild & Improbable Tales”, as a way to write more freely and more frequently. At least once a week, I will choose a card at random from The School Of Life‘s ‘Small Pleasures’ box and use the image and/or writing on the back to inspire a short piece of creative writing. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.