It's proving to be a real struggle here at the end of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). See the chart? I'm catching up to my goal slowly, but am having to write 2,750 words a day minimum to recover from the week on a writing course (isn't that paradoxical?) I was also caught out by the NaNoWriMo "Words Per Day To Finish On Time" in the image above. I assumed it was my daily goal, but even if I finish and add my daily word count, the figure still includes the current day - something I had not realised at the start. So, for example, I have two days left, Sunday 29th and Monday 30th. But that
Words Per Day To Finish On Time 1,849
is actually only a third of the 5,547 words I still need to write! So I have to halve it and add it back on to get the real figure of 2,774 words on Sunday, and the same on Monday. Yes, it caught me out. Maths is not my strong point.
I think if this was a novel I'd find it easier, because characters and settings and styles would carry on: but when I have to start a new story every few days I have to reinvent all that, dig out a different folder of research to assimilate, and somehow force my brain into creativity.
How's it going? Well, I finished the drafts of the following stories:
- Harvest Festival (action survival horror)
- Web (dark; women's fiction)
- Living In The Present (Christmas horror)
- Claws True For Buyer (the working title; archaeology gone wrong)
- Overload (teenage techno horror)
- WV (not got a proper title yet; wintry and ghostly horror)
- Sinker (Scottish angling horror)
I'll have to do another couple of stories to take me to the end, and have a few options as to which will best fit this motley collection of monstrous tales.
Will I finish with 50,000 words? I hope so. And I'll know I've not cheated. I haven't included word counts for anything I have written which isn't specifically part of the horror collection. 200 words about childhood? Doesn't count. 10,000 words of blog post? Ignored. I am a strict taskmaster. And strictest on myself.
I have a mild headache but I'm going to do this. Oh yes.
I'll finish today's update with an exercise from the Arvon course a few weeks ago. We had a few minutes to write on the topic of "My First Day At School". Maybe it explains why I moved to Wales.
Back to Manchester.It's supposed to be the big boy year. 10 years old.Supposed to be Manchester, hard, act like a man, fill in for Dad.So why’d they make you wear fucking shorts like a kid?Legs red with cold, red with slaps from the lads who’d been at the school for years, who weren’t the dadless new boy.Manchester is shit.